“I…I’m parched,” I said helplessly.
“There’s water beside you.” His eyes were half open now.
I sat up and angled my body to pour cucumber and mint water into a glass and drank it. It was almost five. I had slept for two hours. Maybe less.
But the fact was, I had slept beside my husband. I didn’t know what door that opened in our relationship.
“I…I need to go back to my room.” Maybe shower. There was an unbearable pinch between my legs, almost like an itch. I had to squeeze my thighs together. God, did he eat my pussy while I slept and leave me hanging? I didn’t remember any erotic dreams.
I was about to scramble out of bed when I found myself hauled back and under my husband.
His weight bore down, and his hips wedged between my legs. His erection rubbed right where I needed him the most. He was hard and long. I stifled a moan. Delicious and scandalous.
His eyes darkened, and his jaw hardened. “It’s been torture, waiting for you to wake up.”
His face was an inch from mine and his scotch-scented breath made me want to kiss him.
“Are you still drunk?” he rasped.
I shook my head, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. I wasn’t outraged. Why wasn’t I outraged? Because I understood him more. From what Aralina told me and what he divulged on the rooftop, my husband was a man shaped by the harsh bratva life. There was more to process, but there was a thread inside me that wanted to reach out to him. He was my husband after all. Aman of contradictions. Despite the way he sought revenge, it was backfiring.
I wasn’t the one losing sleep.
He was.
My tormented husband.
“God, I want to fuck you.” His roughened voice made my pussy pulse in answering need. He dropped his forehead to mine. “Fight me. Stop me.”
My heart threatened to pound out of my rib cage. “I don’t know if I can.”
His mouth crushed mine. His tongue ruthlessly plunged inside me as he savagely kissed me. My mind short-circuited and I responded with the same intensity. Our tongues and teeth clashed. His hands skimmed my sides. When he cupped my breasts, tweaking my nipples, I gasped into his mouth, realizing that he was touching me bare, skin to skin.
A growl rumbled in his throat, and he tore his mouth away. My shirt was bunched up on my collarbone, and he attacked my breasts. Biting the side before he sucked in a nipple. And as if that weren’t enough, his teeth grazed it.
I cried out, surprised by the erotic sensation that it evoked. I grabbed his hair, but I did nothing to stop him. He continued sucking and swirling, tonguing around it before he headed lower.
And lower.
He peppered kisses on my belly button and the skin around it.
“I can smell you, Lusenka. I’ve been dying to bury my face in your pussy.” His tongue speared the top of my mound through my cotton undies.
“I didn’t expect you to be wearing virginal white underwear,” he mumbled. “But I like it. I want to do bad things to you. Makeyou blush to the roots of your hair. I want you to come all over my mouth, my fingers, and my cock.”
I attempted to squeeze my thighs, and I managed briefly, but it was because Kirill stripped me of my panties.
Before I could react, he shoved my legs apart, and then he was there. His mouth fell on my pussy, attacking it with relentless ferocity. He yanked my hips closer and threw my legs over his shoulders. He immediately lapped me up in broad, hard swipes before fastening on my clit.
I exploded and screamed. Goose bumps radiated across my skull, and my toes curled.
Oh my God.
Endless pulses rocked my pussy, and I swelled against his lips. Like all my blood had rushed to it.
Kirill inserted his fingers inside me, pumping in and out. I was embarrassingly wet.
“You’ve drenched my fingers, baby,” he rasped. “But I need to get you ready.”
