Then the fire alarm starts screaming, and I think oh damn just as the kitchen door bursts open with explosive force. A man with a gun in his hand rushes in and immediately pulls me behind him with one strong arm while two others rush through the main entrance, weapons drawn and scanning for threats. And then there is Drogo, appearing in the doorway in nothing but his boxers, his chain necklace and bracelet and his index finger ring, with a gun in his hand and murder in his eyes. Damn, boy, who gave you the right to be this fine?
The four men just look at each other in stunned silence while the fire alarm continues its ear-splitting shriek. Oh shit. I raise one hand from behind the guard and say as cheerfully as I can manage, "I made breakfast?"
Drogo's expression transforms instantly from deadly to amused, and he starts laughing—actually laughing—as heapproaches me. The three guards step aside quickly, lowering their weapons. "Babe," Drogo says, pulling me into his arms and pressing a kiss to my temple. "Smells wonderful."
"I made extra for the rest of you," I say, pointing at the three guards. They all exchange shocked glances with each other like they cannot quite believe what they are hearing. Drogo pulls on a pair of sweatpants and gestures for everyone to sit, and somehow we all end up at the table with plates of burnt food.
The eggs are too dry, the steak is charred on one side and raw on the other, and I am pretty sure the kale is actually just ash at this point. But they eat. Politely. Without complaint. "Oh, this is crap!" I finally say. "I will order something—"
"No, babe, this is wonderful!" Drogo interrupts, pulling my chair closer to his until our thighs are touching. He takes another bite of the cremated steak.
The men start talking in rapid Russian. Then Drogo stands up and grabs a bulb of garlic from the counter, breaking it in his hand and popping a raw clove into his mouth like it is candy. Two of the other men immediately do the same. The hell? I stare at them chewing raw garlic at 6:30 in the morning like this is completely normal behavior.
By the time 7 AM rolls around, I stand up and lean down to kiss Drogo on the cheek. "I am going to go get ready," I say. His hand wraps around my wrist gently but firmly, stopping me in place, and all three guards' eyes snap to me with intensity. "For?" Drogo asks, his voice low and careful.
Something in his tone makes my hackles rise. I look down at where his hand is holding my wrist. "Let my hand go now," I say slowly and clearly. He does, immediately, his fingers releasing me. But his eyes stay locked on mine, waiting, and the three guards are still watching me like hawks.
I smile sweetly. "Car, editor, and Lucy for brunch." Then I turn and walk toward the stairs, feeling their eyes boring into my back with every step. Behind me, I hear the guards exchange rapid words in Russian, their voices tight. This is going to be a problem, I can feel it. But right now, I am going upstairs to get ready for my day, and Drogo and his Bratva buddies can deal with their control issues on their own time.
49
DROGO
The moment Alena disappears up the stairs, I turn back to the three men at the table and switch to Russian. "Talk," I say, my voice low and hard.
Konstantin leans forward, his expression grim. "Klaus is moving. We have intel from Viktor —he is coming to London. Could be as soon as this week."
My blood runs cold. "Why?"
"Not sure yet. Could be to check on operations. Could be he suspects something." Konstantin glances toward the stairs where Alena went. "Either way, the women cannot be alone. Not for a single minute."
I nod slowly, my mind already racing through contingencies. "Alena and Lucy both get full protection. Round the clock. I want two men on each of them at all times, rotating shifts every six hours. No exceptions."
"Already arranged," Dmitri says. " Viktor assigned his best men."
"Good." I pull out my phone and text Marcus: We need to talk. Now. Then I stand, pushing my chair back. "I need to tell Alena her guards are coming with her today. She is not going to like it."
Konstantin smirks. "No, probably not."
I head upstairs, already planning how to explain this without making her feel like a prisoner again, but when I open the bedroom door the explanation dies in my throat. She is bent over at the waist in nothing but her panties,leaning down to search through a lower drawer, and the sight of her ass perfectly displayed makes my cock go rock hard instantly.
I close the door behind me immediately and lock it, crossing the room in three long strides. My hands grip her waist, and I pull her back against me, letting her feel exactly how hard I am through my sweatpants. My other hand wraps around her throat, bringing her head back against my chest.
"Hold the dresser, babe," I growl in her ear, and I watch her hands fly out to grip the edge of the furniture. Damn, that is my good girl. I hook my fingers in her panties and slide them down slowly, watching her step out of them obediently.
"Drogo—" she starts, but I cut her off by sliding two fingers between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing slow circles. She moans immediately, her hips pushing back against my hand, and I can feel her getting wet already.
"Quiet," I murmur. "People are downstairs." But even as I say it, I am pushing my sweatpants down and lining myself up at her entrance. I push in slowly, watching her back arch, feeling her walls stretch around me as I fill her inch by inch.
She gasps loudly, and I remember my own warning about the men downstairs. No man is hearing my woman scream except me. I cover her mouth with my hand, muffling the sounds as I start to move, thrusting deep and hard, using my grip on her throat to control the angle.
She moans against my palm, the vibrations going straight to my cock, and I pick up the pace. The dresser shakes with every thrust, items rattling on top of it, but I do not care about anything except the feeling of being inside her, of claiming her again, of making sure she goes through her day carrying the evidence of what we just did.
My hand on her throat tightens slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to hold her exactly where I want her, and I feel her clench around me in response. She likes it—likes being held, controlled, claimed like this. I thrust harder, deeper, changing the angle until she is practically screaming into my hand.
"That is it," I growl against her ear. "Take it. Take all of me." I can feel her getting close, her body trembling, her walls fluttering around my cock. I slide my free hand down to rub her clit again, and she comes hard, clenching around me so tight I see stars.
I keep thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, making it last until she is shaking and whimpering. Then I let go, slamming deep one final time and coming hard inside her, filling her completely while my hand stays firm over her mouth to muffle both our sounds.
