I hook her knee over my shoulder, open her wider, drive deeper. The bed slams against the wall. Her breasts bounce with every thrust. I lose the last thread of control and fuck her the way I have needed to since the moment she shoved that placard under my nose—hard, possessive, relentless.
She comes again, violently, squeezing my cock like a fist. The orgasm tears through her, ripping away every last defense. She sobs my name, shaking, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she claws at my back.
I follow her over with a roar that shakes the room. I thrust deep and spill inside her, pulse after heavy pulse, emptying years of hunger into the only woman who has ever made me feel anything real. I keep moving through it, grinding against her, wringing every last tremor from her body until we are both wrecked.
When it ends, I don’t pull out. I collapse to my elbows, face buried in the sweat-slick curve of her neck. Our hearts hammer against each other. Her fingers loosen from my biceps, then slide into my hair with a tenderness that burns my throat.
She is mine now. In every way that matters, Riley Miller belongs to me.How long before she accepts that?
I gather her to me. Roll onto my back, bringing her with me so she is sprawled across my chest, still impaled, still connected. She is limp. Weightless. Her breath hitches against my sternum.
I reach down and tip her chin up. Her eyes are swollen, her lips bitten red.
“Riley,” I say softly.
She looks at me. No walls. No placard. No price tag. “Yeah?” Her voice is a thread.
I brush the matted hair from her forehead. “Are you alright?”
She stares at me for a long moment, as if she is seeing me for the first time. Not the Pakhan. Not the monster. Just a man, holding her tighter than I should.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m… I’m good.”
“You sure?”
A faint, watery laugh. No sarcasm… just quiet. I let her have the moment. I need one, too.
I kiss her temple. Her eyelid. The tip of her nose. I don't trust myself to speak. So I just squeeze her closer.Because, hell, what the actual fuck?
She settles against me, her hand over my heart. Within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep. I stay awake, holding her, feeling the warmth of her seep into the places I thought had iced over decades ago.
I press one last kiss to her hair. “My Baby Girl,” I whisper.
She sighs in her sleep, her fingers twitching against my chest, and holds on.
Chapter five
Riley
Mikhail's voice rumbles outside the penthouse door. I can't hear the words, but I know the tone. Low, rough laughter. Probably, "How's your future baby mama doing?" and the answering chorus of chuckles. It's easier to picture that than the truth—that he's checking on the prisoner he's keeping locked in a penthouse like a very expensive, very willing hostage.
I haven't left. Why would I? I'm still here in his shirt. The black button-down I grabbed this morning, sleeves shoved to my elbows, the hem barely skimming the tops of my thighs. It smells like him—that expensive, dark cologne that clings to men who own entire cities. Heat gathers between my thighs before he even walks in.
The door opens, and Mikhail fills the frame. Black wool coat open, gray eyes pinning me immediately. The shadows under his jaw are darker than yesterday. Neither of us slept. I know exactly why.
I lean back against the kitchen island, letting the shirt ride higher on one hip, and give him a slow, filthy smile.
"You couldn't stay away, huh?" I purr, voice low and mocking. "Middle of the day, Pakhan? Don't you have people to terrify?"
He doesn't answer. He shuts the door. The lock clicks. Once. Twice. The sound sinks straight between my legs.
Four long strides, and he's on me. His hands ask no questions and allow no arguments as he spins me against the wall, rattling a framed photo. My breath leaves in a sharp gasp. The wall kisses my shoulder blades. His mouth crashes down on mine before I can speak again, all lips, tongue, and raw hunger. I'm here for all of it.
One thick thigh wedges between mine and grinds up, dragging the coarse fabric of his trousers against my bare clit. I moan into his mouth, hips rolling shamelessly against the pressure.
"Always running that fucking mouth," he growls against my lips, voice dark and wrecked. His hands shove the shirt up to my waist, exposing me completely. Cool air hits my wet pussy right before his fingers do—two thick digits sliding through my folds, spreading me, testing how soaked I already am.
"Fuck," he mutters. "You've been dripping for me all morning, haven't you?"
