No mercy. Just raw possession.
“Come again,” I growled. “Milk my cock. Take every drop when I fill you.”
She broke, her pussy clenching in tight, greedy pulls around me, mewling as she gave me what I demanded. I slammed deepone last time and followed, my cock throbbing as I emptied my balls into her body, pumping thick ropes of cum inside her.
We stayed locked together, panting, her back against the wall, my arms banded around her like steel. I didn’t pull out right away, just held her there, face buried in her neck, breathing in her scent.
She trembled in my arms, spent and shaking, nails lightly scratching my back as if she couldn’t stop touching me.
I finally eased out with a low groan, feeling her pussy clench one last time around the head as I slipped free. She whimpered at the loss. I kissed her hard—possessive, claiming—then scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her to the bed.
I laid her down on the sheets and spread her thighs wide without asking. She looked up at me, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling fast. I dropped between her legs, hooked her knees over my shoulders, and buried my face in her pussy.
Zoya was a mess, swollen and slick with my cum and her own release, pink and glistening. I groaned against her; the taste hitting me like a drug. She was salty, sweet, and all mine.
My cum leaked out of her and mixed with her wetness. I licked it all up in slow, deliberate strokes with my tongue through her folds, lapping every drop, and swallowing it down as if it belonged to me.
“Fuck, Zoya,” I growled into her pussy, voice muffled and rough. “I can taste us mixed together.”
I sucked her clit into my mouth in a hard, relentless pull. She arched off the bed, hands fisting the sheets, crying out my name. I didn’t let up as I sucked at her clit, tongue flicking fast, and tasting every fresh rush she gave me.
“Get my mouth all wet,” I ordered, dark and commanding. “Come on my tongue. Let me drink every drop while you fall apart.”
She shattered harder than before. Fresh wetness flooded my mouth as she cried out and gripped my hair in tight tugs. Her thighs clamped my head, body convulsing.
I kept licking, slower now, drawing out every tremor until she was whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at my shoulders.
I finally pulled back, chin and lips slick with her and me, and crawled up her body, caging her with my arms. When I kissed her deeply, it was because I wanted her to taste us both on my tongue. Zoya moaned into my mouth, hands clutching my neck as if she needed me closer.
I rolled us so she was curled against my chest, one arm banded tight around her waist, the other cradling her head to my shoulder. Her leg draped over mine, warm and soft, and she sighed, already drifting, completely spent.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, voice low in the dark. “My malyshka.”
She murmured something soft, barely audible, then her breathing evened out, slow and steady against my skin.
I stayed awake a little longer, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine, the weight of her in my arms grounding me. Tomorrow would bring more in terms of plans, threats, and bloodshed.
But tonight, she was here, and exhausted from taking everything I gave her. And for the first time in thirty-eight years, I slept soundly.
Chapter 17
Zoya
Men like my father didn’t rush unless they were cornered. He preferred patience and applied pressure slowly, invisibly, until people folded without realizing they were being bent.
I’d seen it countless times just in the confines of my expensive prison.
When Dmitry’s phone rang just after noon, the sound cut through the house like a blade. I sat silently and watched from the bed as he checked the screen, jaw tightening, then looked at me.
“He’s pushing,” he said.
My father.
I sat up straighter. “What is he saying?”
Dmitry didn’t answer right away. He walked to the far window instead, scanning the tree line out of habit, not fear. Then he spoke, voice calm and even.
“He wants a time and a place. Today.”
