She meets every thrust, her strong legs locking around my waist, pulling me deeper. The sounds are obscene—the wet slap of our bodies, our mingled groans, the creak of the bed. She claws at my back, her passion tipping over into a slight, delicious pain.
I feel my own end approaching, a tidal wave of pleasure building low in my gut. But I’m not ready for it—not yet. I want this to last. Every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Valentina’s body is mine to worship, and I’m not done showing her just how much she means to me.
My pace slows, my thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate. I press my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling as I whisper, “You’re incredible. Do you know that? Every part of you… it’s like you were made for me.” Her eyes flutter open, glazed with pleasure, and she nods, her lips parting in a silent cry as I hit that spot inside her again.
Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, but I don’t care. The pain is nothing compared to the ecstasy of being inside her, of feeling her body tighten and pulse around me. “That’s it,” I growl, my voice rough with need. “Take all of me. You’re so strong, Valentina. So fucking strong. Let me feel you.”
Her hips rise to meet mine, her legs tightening around my waist as she pitches closer to the edge. I can see it in her face, in the way her mouth opens wide, her back arching off the bed. “Isaiah,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m close. I’m so close.”
“Then let go,” I command, my voice a low, desperate rumble. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.” My hand slips between us, finding her clit and circling it with a firm, steady pressure. Her entire body trembles, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she shatters beneath me. Her inner muscles clamp down on me like a vice, pulling me deeper, impossibly deeper.
The sensation is too much, too perfect. I bury my face in her neck, my hips snapping forward as I lose all control. My release tears through me like a storm, white-hot and consuming. I groan her name against her skin, my body shuddering with the force ofit. For a moment, there’s nothing else—just her, just us, wrapped in each other, completely undone.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m still inside her, both of us trembling and slick with sweat. I press a tender kiss to her collarbone, my lips lingering against her skin. “It doesn’t matter who, or what you choose,” I murmur, the words soft but fervent. “I choose you, okay? You.”
6
VALENTINA
I siton Xavier’s desk with my legs crossed, boots dangling over the edge like I’m a trespasser waiting to be caught. The mahogany is solid beneath me, carved with the scars of rings, knives, and every bad night he never talked about. Being up here feels wrong in a way that settles deep in my spine. Like I’m perched on something that holds too much history, too much weight, too much of him.
It feels like sitting on a coffin that hasn’t finished closing.
I smooth my palms on the wood, chewing the inside of my cheek. My stomach swirls at the thought of claiming Xavier’s territory, his world—and he isn’t here to smirk about it, bark at me, or shove me off.
“At least pretend you’re listening.”
Asher’s voice cuts clean through my spiral. He stands in front of me, posture rigid, shoulders squared. He’s been explaining things for the last twenty minutes: routes, lieutenants, territories, supply cycles, debts owed, debts collected.
“I am listening,” I say.
He lifts his eyes—pale, unreadable, too observant for my liking—and the single glance is enough to tell me he sees everything I’m failing to hide. The tension in my hands. The nerves pulling at my spine. The way my gaze keeps drifting to the corner of the room where Xavier’s jacket hangs limp over the back of a chair.
“No,” Asher says, voice cool. “You’re not.”
I exhale sharply. “What gave me away?”
“You haven’t blinked in forty seconds.”
I blink. Hard.
His eyebrow twitches—the closest thing Asher gets to a smirk now-a-days.
He taps the top page next to me on his desk with the blunt end of his pen. “This is the Riders’ route map. You have three crews scheduled for runs tonight, and you’re supposed to green-light them.”
I stare at him, then the paper. “Runs where?”
He inhales, slow, patient in the way that makes me want to stab him and kiss him at the same time.
“North Dallas, South Dallas, and Waco,” he answers. “And if you accidentally approve overlapping territories, they’ll end up shooting each other.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, don’t want that.”
“Correct,” he says, dry.
He hands me the papers, and I take them, though they feel like lead in my hands. My eyes flick over the messy scrawls of names,arrows, highlighted boxes. My brain is still lagging two seconds behind everything.
“Why is there so much?” I mutter.
