And I can’t either. I push back savoring the feeling of his huge hot rod detonating a sweet spot buried all the way inside. My head clouds, my walls pump in time with his rhythm.
“Fuck, fuck,” he snarls.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Oh, angel. Good girl. Just like that?”
“Like this, Daddy?”
I pump my hips even faster, knowing I might regret this later. Maybe even in minutes. But, I’m addicted to the searing, beautiful feeling inside, the way the lust swells and swells and …
He covers my mouth when I scream. I bite down on his hand, tasting him, as my orgasm erupts. He collapses closer, his cock pumps a final thrust, holds inside me, then begins to wilt. I even love that wilting feeling inside me. I lean back against him.
This man killed Dad. The father I loved and respected. And yet I love the feeling of his killer’s arms wrapped around me. His dick buried so intimately inside me. “Why did you come here?” I murmur, unable to make myself sound outraged.
“The Bratva know about my feelings for you,” he snarls. “I damn near killed three of them for talking badly about you. I’m sorry. I know I’ve already done enough. Enough to destroy your life. Iam sorry. But ‘sorry’ will have to wait. You’re not safe. We have to go.”
I turn in his arms. His eyes glimmer and sear into mine. His tough face flooded with emotion. “What if I say, no?” I whisper.
He slides his hands to my hips. Squeezes like he owns. “The second I did what I did, you became my responsibility. So, you can either pack a bag, or we can do it the other way.”
I bite down. Look at the floor.
He’s saying he’d take me anyway. And the really crazy part?
I want him to take me. I trust my father’s killer.
“You killed my dad,” I whisper, my final attempt at sanity. He leans down and gently kisses the edge of my mouth.
“That business isn’t as simple as you might think. Come with me, beautiful. Trust me. There’s nothing left for us here. No future for me— or you.”
I can explain.
9
RADOMIR
“Ishould’ve explained this better,” I tell her, as we drive across the bridge, out of the city. I’m constantly checking the rear-view, the side mirrors, instincts honed over years of mistrust. “But … hell, I thought maybe I could stay away. Maybe give you space. Room to breathe. Re-find yourself”
She sits in the passenger seat, wringing her hands. Looking out the window. Then risks a glance at me, a conflicted look in her perfect eyes, as though she’s not sure she can trust herself around me. She probably shouldn’t. I know the damn feeling.
“And … the freedom to remember him how you clearly do.”
“Dad?” she says.
“Check the glovebox,” I say. “Then you’ll know what I mean by this not being simple.”
She reaches for it, then covers her hands again. She glances at me. Lips trembling. Devastatingly human and heartbroken. “Is this something to do with Dad’s … work? Because I know, okay?I know he walked on the wrong side of the tracks. I know he wasn’t … all good. But he told me he never did anything I’d be ashamed of.”
“I’m sorry, beautiful, but he did. He wronged you. I mean, if that’s what he told you.”
She snatches the glovebox open, takes out the tiny audio player. “Oh, Jesus,” she murmurs, as if she knows there will be something terrible on it.
I reach over, tenderly lay my hand on her arm. “Maybe it’s messed-up, the fact I’m the one who’s here for you. But I am here for you, Mara.”
She offers me a tight, confused smile, then clicks play on the recorder. I watch the road as her father’s voice—interrupted with shudders and coughs of pain—explains who he really is. What he really does.
“… I’m the one who personally expanded the trafficking beyond just women. “ A long pause with the sound of scrapes and heavy footsteps. Then I hear another voice, close and threatening. “Tell me what you mean. Or—” Radomir’s voice is stern.
