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With that, he lowered his phone and viciously tapped the screen to end the call. Silence charged the air for long moments as he typed out a text without looking away from me.
“Finch has been spotted,” he told me, a gravelly quality to his voice that sent shivers down my body. He glanced down to send whatever text he’d written, no doubt to Eli and Jonathan, and then put his phone away. “He landed in Monaco by helicopter this morning. He was never even in London, Vasya. He was in Nice.”
I blinked, digesting that fact. We’d been so scared, and he’d been in a completely different country. I didn’t doubt his network of henchmen could hurt me just as well as him, but… Finch was the bogeyman. We were scared for nothing.
“He’s in Monaco?” I asked, slowly approaching Damien and acutely aware of the file in my hand, the gallery behind me, and the fact the balcony doors were cracked open.
He was trying,reallytrying to make up for yesterday. I knew it must have taken serious effort and nerve to open those doors. And probably a call to Dr. Korte.
“My uncle found a flight charter to Nice two months ago, and footage of him arriving in Monaco this morning. We’ll find him, my queen. We’re close. And when he’s dead, you’ll be safe.”
I rounded the marble island, peering into the pan to see what food he’d made—it looked like spiced apple porridge—before I wrapped my arms around Damien’s waist. “How did you make all this happen so fast?”
He rested his forehead against mine, stealing a loving kiss. “I didn’t. The ownership papers were already in the works; they were actually delayed thanks to someone blowing up our lawyer’s office.”
I jerked back in surprise. “Are they okay?”
“The lawyers, yes; the files and servers in the building, no.”
“Suspicious.”
He kissed me again. “I agree. Do you like your gallery? It’s only temporary, I’m afraid, but I hoped it’d make you happy.”
Oh sure, he just acquiredtwenty priceless works of artto make me happy.
“You’re crazy,” I told him, unable to fight a smile, “and I love it, Damien. Thank you. But—that’s not really a Dante Gabriel Rosetti painting, is it?”
“It might be,” he replied with a wicked smile, his hands mapping the shape of my back and reigniting the heat in my belly when they glided down and squeezed my ass. “I know it doesn’t change what I did yesterday but… I can’t take you to a gallery just yet, but I can bring the gallery to you.”
I blinked back tears, the contrast of arousal and emotion inside me making me laugh. “This is the craziest and best thing to wake up to.” I kissed him slowly, thoroughly, the taste of him overwhelming my senses and burning away my exhaustion. “I’ll need to spend the whole day viewing these paintings. But first, help me up onto the counter.”
It was only a little higher than my waist, but I was vertically challenged and required help. Damien smiled, bemused and clearly unaware of my wicked plan.
“Are you seeing me right now?” I asked, setting down my ownership deed and reaching for his hand.
“I’m seeing you,” he agreed, his eyes drawn to my legs when I widened them, the short velvet skirt riding up to reveal the fact I wore no underwear. “Jesus, Vasya.”
“What?” I asked innocently.
Damien’s answer was a low, growling exhale and warm hands moulding to my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the counter. “Does my wife need her husband’s cock this morning?”
“Every morning.”
He groaned, a deliciously dark gleam in his eyes.
“Fuck.” He stroked my pussy with a light touch that made my clit ache. “You’re wet for me already?”
He reached across to switch off the cooker and pushed the skirt of my dress higher, baring pale skin that was no longer mottled with bruises, even if some scars remained. His fingers found each and every one but they no longer killed his desire for me. He stroked them with a care and reverence as he reached for his trousers and unfastened them in record time.
His lips met the side of my neck and I melted with a sigh, pleasure filling me with warmth. Grateful and happy, for however long this lasted, I slid my hands up his back under his shirt and pressed him closer to me.
Damien’s mouth charted a pathway of slow, lingering kisses down my chest. Hot and needy, I rolled my hips up against his, the feel of his bare cock against my pussy throwing fuel on the fire of my lust.
“Kiss me,” I breathed. “Now.”
“So demanding, my queen,” Damien said against the swell of my breast, entirely too smug. But he rose and fused his mouth to mine, kissing me with the roughness and claiming intensity I craved. I moaned against his tongue, frantic, desperate for all of him. My back arched when he circled my clit with two fingers, but before he could give me more of the stimulation I craved so badly, his touch caressed lower, plunging inside me—slowly enough that his fingers curved over every sensitive place just inside my entrance.
“God, Damien,” I groaned against his mouth, ripping a hand away from his back to grip his hair, kissing him hard. We were all panting breaths and fierce teeth. He moaned when I bit his bottom lip, pressing my teeth until I felt the pump of blood just beneath the surface. The sound and taste of his moan made me throb around his fingers, and I ripped my teeth from his lip to beg him to stop teasing me.
