Then reality hits.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, the butt plug still inside me, my bottom throbbing.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper.
I feel a dizzying mix of desire and disgust—desire for the man who can make me come apart with just a look or a text, disgust at how easily I fall into this needy, bratty, submissive version of myself the second he’s involved.
So much for relaxing and forgetting about Kirill.
I reach back and gently remove the plug, then curl up on my side, hugging Brando tight.
My phone screen glows from across the room.
I should be angry.
I should delete Kirill’s number.
Instead, I pull the blanket over my head and close my eyes, the sting on my bottom and the lingering fullness reminding me exactly who I’m craving.
Even when he drives me crazy… I still want more.
Chapter 17
Kirill
This isn’t easy.
Was I naïve in thinking it could work?
Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake…
The grandfather clock in Viktor’s study chimes three in the morning, its deep tones echoing through the grand room like a warning.
We have been at this for hours.
Maps, photographs, and encrypted messages are spread across the heavy oak table. Empty glasses and half-full bottles of vodka stand sentinel beside them.
Time is ticking on and it doesn’t feel like we’re any closer.
Viktor leans over the table, finger jabbing at a satellite image of an old warehouse complex on the outskirts of the city. “We hitherefirst. Their main stash. Take out the weapons, burn the rest. Then we move on the secondary site near the docks.”
Ivan shakes his head, arms crossed. “Too direct. They’ll see us coming from a mile away. We need to draw their main forceout first, create a distraction on the east side, then strike the warehouse from the west while they’re stretched thin.”
I slam my palm on the table, the sound sharp in the tense room.
“Both plans leave too much room for error,” I snarl, my emotions getting the better of me. “If we miss even one senior leader, they regroup and come back harder. We need precision. We need to cut the head off the snake, not just bruise the body.”
The three of us have been butting heads like this for the better part of the night.
Tempers are fraying.
Voices have risen more than once.
This is not a simple conflict anymore—this is preparation for open war against the Mexican cartel, and one wrong move could cost dozens of lives on our side, not to mention change the course of the city’s power structure forever.
Ivan rubs his temples and exhales heavily. “We need a break.Allof us. Clear our heads before we make a decision we’ll regret.”
Viktor and I exchange a look. Despite the heated atmosphere, we both nod. He is right. Exhaustion makes men sloppy, and sloppy men die.
