His lips tugged at the corners. His pace never faltered. He reached between my legs.
“You first,dorogaya,” he rasped.
The pressure against my clit made my muscles tense, pain blooming again alongside everything else. My eyes fluttered as he worked both—filling me, rubbing me, the dull thuds slowing as the air thinned and I tried to find oxygen somewhere in the haze. My body trembled as the tension coiled past the point of bearing.
“Now. Come for me. Come on my dick, little ass whore.”
His fingers pressed. Then circled.
My body shook from the force of it. His cock never stopped.
Somewhere in the haze he roared.
My head came to rest on the hard wooden table.
I savoured every last twitch and jerk as he emptied himself inside me—the heat of it, the finality of it, the precise satisfaction of a woman who had got exactly what she wanted while appearing to offer an apology.
Perhaps the Bratva wasn’t so bad in some aspects.
Chapter 74
Vadim
This was why I didn’t socialise with women.
Men were simple and prompt. A shower, a change of clothes, a comb through the hair. Women had an entirely different relationship with time—the hair alone could account for twenty minutes, then the face, then the accessories, then the question of which shoes matched the bag or the outfit, then the jewellery, each piece apparently requiring individual consideration.
I pushed my sleeve back and checked my watch again.
If I had a reservation it would be gone by now.
Bogdan cleared his throat.
“Shall I fetch her?”
“What are you going to do if she refuses?” I asked, without looking up.“Pistol whip her again?”
The colour left his face. He shook his head.
My eyes wandered to the top of the staircase again. Business dinners, high-stakes poker games and murderous activities were all well within my comfort zone. But this was new territory entirely. Taking my wife out for dinner.
I touched my tie to ensure it sat centred at my collar.
“Why so tense,brat?”
I closed my eyes. If I didn’t need the extra security at home I would have tossed him off the property weeks ago.
“Here. Have a drink.”
I turned with a sigh. The vodka looked good. I took it and threw it back before handing the glass back.
“Is this what they call it?” he said, warming up to whatever was coming.“Ah-ha. Date night.”
Four days after the basement, Sergei had died and his body been planted where it would be found. I was a little sad to have the basement empty. Perhaps my brother could fill the vacancy as my punching bag.
“Oh, wow,” Konstantin said, looking past me.
I turned.
