She nods. It’s not in submission. It is because she knows my threats aren’t idle.
Sergei is mere hours from discovering that himself, and Vladimir won’t be far behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
Trey grins at me over the rim of his bottle of beer when I yank Justine down from the coffee table she’s dancing on. She kept her word, she’s dancing with her clothes on, but what she said earlier is true. You can be sexy with your clothes on, and she is as sexy as fuck.
I trust my men, they have my back no matter how dangerous the target, but they’re a bunch of horny fucks who wouldn’t feel an ounce of shame using Justine’s seductive dance moves as inspiration while lessening the tension their whores can’t.
There’s an edge of seduction attached to women who don’t flaunt their goods. The saying, ‘what you can’t see makes you want it more,’ is very on par with Justine, and no, I’m not just referencing her seductive-as-fuck body. The woman I see in her eyes is just as ravishing as the one who’s been dancing up a storm the past hour.
Silence falls between Justine and me when I carry her into the kitchen. Sergei’s blood is still spilled on the floor. It whitens Justine’s gills as much as it sobers her up.
“I’ll have that cleaned up in the morning,” I promise through a growl, frustrated by the lack of spillage.
If there was more blood, I wouldn’t have needed to seek confirmation on if Sergei had succumb to the knife wound I slashed across his throat. I would have known without a doubt.
After placing Justine’s backside onto the kitchen counter, I toss a tea towel onto the blood, then move into her pantry. It’s one of those old-aged ones you’d expect to find in the south during the slave era. It’s the size of a bathroom and echoes from the emptiness down one end.
Once I have a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and a jar of jelly in my hands, I return to Justine’s side of the kitchen. She’s clearly drunk, but just like fear will never be the first emotion she displays around me, a belly full of vodka can’t hide the lust in her bloodshot eyes either.
A ghost-like smile touches her lips when I slather two slices of whole-grain bread with a generous serving of condiments, shred it into two even halves, then hand one to her. “The carbs will help absorb the vodka in your gut.”
Her half smile switches to a full-blown grin when I rip through my half of our sandwich like I’m a savage. I’m as hungry as fuck. My hunger just has nothing to do with food.
I swallow down the chunk of gooey bread without chewing before jerking up my chin, wordlessly demanding for Justine to follow suit. She hasn’t eaten since lunch, which means there’s nothing but Vodka and Xanax in her stomach.
She takes a little nibble on the crust before rolling her eyes. “I’d rather greasy bacon.”
“And I’d rather you naked and on your knees sucking my cock, but we can’t always have what we want, can we?” I’m lying. If my actions weren’t being monitored, I’d give her everything she wants—including my head between her legs.
Justine tries to the hide the heat flaring across her face with her sandwich, but it does her no good. She’s redder than the strawberry jelly sitting on her top lip.
When I clear away the blob of sugar with my thumb, her hot breaths fan my cheeks. I stare at the lips I’ve fantasized about sliding down my cock more times than I’ll ever share while she peers at me with hungry, desperate eyes. Her stare alone is hot enough to tempt a devil into becoming a saint, and it has me thinking recklessly.
Leaning in, I drag my nose down the vein beating out a funky beat in her neck, confident its thump matches the one between her legs. When the scent of her needy cunt, which has gone from subtle to dangerous in less than a minute, fills my nostrils, I’m hard in an instant.
With my pulse as high as my wish to claim her as mine, I place my hands on Justine’s thighs before spreading them wide enough for me to slot between them. While brushing the back of my hand down the heat making me mindless with need, I lock my eyes with Justine’s. She returns my stare, knowing she should tell me to stop, but aware she never will.
She wants this.
She wants it as badly as me.
Her breaths batter her ribcage when I curl my fingers around her neck. My hold is dominate but painless. The soft moan she releases when I tighten my grip assures me of this.
When I inch her mouth closer to mine, ever so slowly, yet also impatiently, warning alarms sound, consequences are assessed, but more than anything, need prevails. She’ll be the most expensive trophy I’ve ever owned, but she’ll be worth the risk, the torment…my death.If she survives me, she’ll be strong enough to survive Vladimir. I am the devil reincarnated, the spawn of all evil. I’m worse than Satan himself. I fear nothing—except how weak she makes me.
Fortunately for me, my weaknesses make me stronger. I won’t let anything happen to Justine. I will protect her and keep her safeafterI make her mine.
Our lips are an inch apart.
We’re sharing the same breath.
Then disaster strikes.
Roman bursts into the kitchen, knowing all too well what he’s interrupting. Not only does his arched brow fault his ruse, so the fuck does the device in his hand. It’s showcasing a live stream from the camera perched high above my head.
“?? ?????? ?? ?????,” I warn him in Russian, even though I’m aware he doesn’t speak a word. “Or I’ll cut off your tongue and feed it to you.”
