“I’m absolutely sure,” I say, pulling her bottom lip between my own and biting down gently. “I want you to ride my face like only my queen can.”
She doesn’t take any more convincing, instead she steadily moves into position, holding onto the headboard of the bed and looking down at me. The view is amazing. Her glistening, ruined pussy, her round stomach, her perfect tits, nipples already little peaks of anticipation, and her face looking down at me through swathes of dark, sex-mussed hair.
She lowers herself slowly and I grip her hips in my hands, bringing her exactly where I need her to do what I’ve been wanting to do since the night I brought her back to mine.
It doesn’t take long for her to find what she needs. I swipe firm licks of my tongue over her, use my lips to suck hers into my mouth and flick my tongue over them. I wait for her grinding to become desperate and needy before moving to her clit. As soon as I suck at her delicate bud, she turns feral, riding my face with reckless abandon until she is shivering over me, her creamy juices coating my chin.
Once it subsides, she looks down at me again, her eyes hooded, her expression one of pure bliss.
She climbs off me with shaky legs and continues to jerk every few seconds with the aftershocks.
“I don’t think I’m going to survive this,” she says as I lean over her and suck a nipple into my mouth. She is just so fucking delicious I don’t ever want to take my mouth off her.
“Me neither,” I confess. “But it’s a great way to go.”
Claudia
I begin to adapt. To the lifestyle, the expectations, the sex.
This is what my entire life has trained me for, the ability to enter a new environment, read its rules, and operate within them with the fluency of someone who was born there.
Rovin's world has rules. Some are explicit, spoken by him or his brothers or the household staff with the directness I've come to associate with the Mostovoi family. Don't discuss business outside the house. Don't use the building's east entrance after dark. Don't question the security detail's instructions, even when those instructions seem excessive.
Other rules are implicit. I learn them through observation. The staff address Rovin asMr. Mostovoiand they move around him with the focused deference of people who understand that their employer is both generous and absolute. The building operates on a hierarchy that is never stated aloud but is always visible, in who speaks first, in who holds doors, in the particular way everyone straightens when Rovin enters a room.
I am folded into this hierarchy seamlessly. Within a week, the staff address me asMiss. Hartley, and then, after Rovin corrects them, asMrs. Mostovoi. The correction happens at breakfast, in front of me, and I watch the kitchen manager absorb it and adjust without comment.
I look at Rovin. "We're not married yet."
"We will be." He drinks his coffee. "The name starts now."
A warm current that feels like triumph runs through me, but I keep my expression composed.
I start learning the business. Not the specifics, Rovin draws boundaries around certain information with a precision that I respect even when it frustrates me. But the logistics, the partnerships, the web of relationships that hold the Mostovoi empire together. Akyl and Serik explain what they can during the afternoons when Rovin is at meetings. They spread documents across the dining table and walk me through the family's legitimate interests: property development, import-export, private security consulting.
"And the illegitimate interests?" I ask.
Akyl smiles. It is the smile of a man who appreciates directness. "Those you learn from Rovin. In time."
"He's protective."
"He's obsessed." Akyl leans back in his chair and studies me. "You know that. You see it. He was the most controlled person I knew until you walked into his life, and now he calls home three times a day to make sure you haven't left."
"He calls home?"
"He calls security. Same thing."
I don't know whether to be unsettled or pleased, and I suspect the answer is both.
Volody visits on a Thursday with the redhead I recognize from the dinner, who he introduces as Liv. The youngest Mostovoi brother is different from his siblings, warmer and more physical, with an easy laugh and a tendency to touch people when he talks to them. He greets me with a kiss on both cheeks and holds my shoulders at arm's length and looks at me appraisingly.
"So, you're the one who broke my brother."
"I didn't break him."
"You absolutely broke him. I've known him my whole life and I have never seen that man look at another human being the way he looks at you. It’s unnerving."
Volody stares at me, then lets out a laugh that fills the house. "I take it back. You didn't break him. You replaced him. There's a whole different man in there now."
