Doesn’t.
Should tell my men immediately.
Will.
After I come on Elliot’s cock.
“You’re drenched,” he groans. “Ride me.”
I sink down and move, greedy for every inch.
“The man?” I demand between thrusts.
“Later.” His hands clamp my waist. “Right now be a good girl and take every inch.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yes.
Fine.
Later.
More.
He snaps his hips up, punishing, perfect.
Oh, God.
“He’s got a record. Dmitry Krestov,” Elliot says, breath ragged. “Small charges. Wrong man got caught every time. He’s muscle for Oksana. You cross her? He’s who shows up to take out the trash.”
I clench around him.
Not from fear.
From fury.
“And Vitaly?”
“Terrified of him,” Elliot confirms, thrusting deeper. “Rightfully.”
He punctuates it with a thrust.
Heat coils tight in my belly, sharp enough to make my vision blur.
“Good,” he growls. “Use me.”
I chase the high.
“Orion and Callum already have eyes on him,” he pants.
Callum’s knock is two sharp raps. “You two defiling furniture without me?”
“Get in here,” Elliot calls, smug and breathless.
Callum steps in, eyes going wide. “What the fuck. No group text? Rude bastards.”
“I’m not sending play-by-plays every time one of you tries to rearrange my spine,” I shoot back.
