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“Come for me again,” I demand, slipping a hand down to rub her clit in fast, firm strokes. “Now, Plamyashka. Give it to me.”
She shatters seconds later, gasping my name into the air between us, her body convulsing, her pussy spasming tight around my cock. It’s too much—the heat and the grip of her, the sounds she makes. My head falls back, and I groan at the ceiling as I follow her over the edge, spilling my semen into the condom in long, shuddering pulses while she wrings every last drop from me.
For a moment, everything goes still. Then I collapse over her, careful not to crush her, our breaths mingling in the aftermath.
She’s mine now—marked, taken.
The thought doesn’t ask permission. It takes root and settles deep inside my chest, possessive and unyielding.
9
GRACE
My body feels deliciously sore and pliant, like every muscle has been wrung out and put back together again in the best possible way.
A smile tugs at my lips as I stretch, arms over my head, toes curling into the sheets. Then I roll over, and the smile fades a little at the space next to me.
I ease myself upright and look around, but the bedroom is quiet and still.
Last night flickers through my mind in heated flashes—Dimitri collapsing over me on the convertible sofa in the lounge, then scooping me into his arms and carrying me up here, where he spent half of the night wrenching orgasm after orgasm out of my body. I literally had to push his head away from my pussy when I couldn’t take it anymore.
Nobody can say Dimitri Petrov isn’t a generous lover. The man acts like he’s half-starved.
What a way to lose my virginity. On a yacht, with a billionaire—my smile falters A billionaire I’m supposed to drug.
I remember Millie and how she lost her virginity. To a clueless frat guy. She deserved better. And she deserves so much better now. What kind of friend lies here glowing while her best friend is going through God knows what?
Taking a deep breath, I try to shake it off. I’m doing this for her. I’ve made contact with Dimitri. The next time we see each other, I’ll give him the medication and—and—and what?
Doubt creeps in. Will those men really let Millie go? Or will they keep her as leverage? Make me their little mule…
No. The deal was clear: inject Dimitri Petrov, and Millie and I are free.
I have to believe that. I don’t have any other option.
I cling to that dark hope as I swing my legs off the bed and stumble toward the oak dresser next to a dark-blue curtain. On top are a pair of platinum cufflinks, two expensive-looking watches, and my clothes from last night, neatly folded. I run my fingers over the cufflinks, my heart stuttering. Seeing my things next to Dimitri’s feels oddly intimate, like I’ve already left pieces of myself here. I pick up my dress and bring it to my face, inhaling. It smells fresh, the faintest trace of my perfume still lingering. It’s been washed.
The service on this yacht puts most five-star hotels to shame—at least, that’s what I imagine. I’ve never been to a five-star hotel. Probably not even a three-star.
Turning from the dresser, I mindlessly pull back the lone curtain and immediately lose my breath. Beyond the glass, crystal-blue water stretches almost as far as the eye can see, shimmering softly under the morning light, gentle waves lapping at the hull.
The city skyline glitters in the distance, the towers and skyscrapers reduced to a wall of glass and steel, and closer—much closer than I’ve ever seen it before—the Statue of Liberty stands tall against the sky.
“Wow,” I breathe.
For a moment, I can only stand and stare, drinking in the impossible beauty of it all.
But then, reluctantly aware of time passing, I let the curtain fall and make my way to the small bathroom off to the side of the room that Dimitri pointed out last night. I’m halfway through my shower when it dawns on me that I won’t be able to sneak out like I planned to.
We’re completely surrounded by water. Unless I want to swim back to the city in a cocktail dress—which, yeah, absolutely not—I’m stuck here until Dimitri decides otherwise.
Shit.
My heart starts pounding as I finish up, wrapping a towel tightly around myself.
Back in the room, I open the dresser drawers one by one. Top drawer: neatly folded shirts on one side, ties arranged by shade on the other. Second drawer: pants and boxers, equally organized. Bottom drawer: three pairs of dress shoes lined up in a tidy row.
Someone’s a neat freak.
