She cries out, and the sound bounces off the walls of the quiet apartment. I don’t care if the neighbors hear. I don’t care about anything except the taste of her flooding my tongue and the way her thighs quiver against my shoulders.
I work her slowly at first. Long, languid strokes from her entrance to her clit. She bucks her hips against my face, trying to chase the pressure and find the release her body craves. But I don’t give it to her yet.
“Pyotr.” My name tears from her throat, rough and broken. “Please.”
I pull back. She makes a sound of protest, and I squeeze her thigh.
“Tell me you’re done keeping secrets.”
“What?” She’s panting, barely coherent. “Pyotr, please?—”
“Say it. Tell me you’re done hiding from me.”
“I’m done. I’m done hiding. Please?—”
“Tell me you’re mine to protect.”
“I’m yours. I’m yours to protect. Please, Pyotr, please?—”
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard while I slide two fingers inside her. She’s so wet that they glide in without any resistance. I curl them forward, searching, and when I find the spot deep inside her, she nearly screams.
She’s close. I feel it in the way her inner walls clench around my fingers. In the way her thighs shake against my ears. In the broken, wordless sounds spilling from her lips like prayers.
I stop again. She sobs in frustration.
“Pyotr—”
“Look at me.”
She drops her chin and meets my gaze. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, swimming with unshed tears, and full of trust.
“You don’t go back to him,” I tell her. “Not alone. Not ever. Say it.”
“I won’t go back to him alone.”
“You bring everything to me first. Every threat. Every demand. Every fear you’re too ashamed to name. Say it.”
“I’ll bring everything to you.”
“Good girl.”
I increase the pressure. Faster. Harder. My tongue works her clit in tight circles while my fingers drive into her again and again. I feel her climbing higher. Feel the moment she tips over the edge.
The orgasm buckles her knees. Only my grip on her bound wrists keeps her upright. She screams my name as waves crash throughher body, and I work her through every tremor, drawing out her pleasure until she’s gasping and limp against the door.
When I release her wrists, she slides down to the floor in a heap.
I untie the ribbon carefully and check her skin for marks. Nothing that will bruise. I lift her hands to my mouth and kiss each wrist, feeling her pulse flutter against my lips.
She reaches up and touches my face. Her fingers trace the scar near my ear with featherlight pressure. “But you have to promise me something in return.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t kill him until we find another way. Kira deserves a father, even if he’s a monster. I won’t take that choice away from her.”
The request guts me. Every part of who I am says that Bogdan Lebedev deserves to die slowly and painfully for what he’s done to this woman. But she’s looking at me with those eyes, asking me to show restraint when restraint is the last thing I want to give.
“For now,” I agree. “But if he threatens you or Kira again, all bets are off.”
