I’m drowning in this heat.
She’s choking on my cock, but I’m the one who can’t breathe.
Except she’s not choking. She’s swallowing, inhaling, and swallowing again. Fucking my length with her throat and rocking us with the motion.
I know what she’s doing. She’s not giving up. She’s seizing power. Telling me she can handle everything I am and then some and looking so composed as she does.
Her hair flutters like a ribbon, dancing around her shoulders as she speeds up and elongates her strokes. Tight, then tighter. Hot, then hotter. Better, then even better. My balls clench up. I’m right on the edge. Should I warn her? Try to withdraw? Come down her throat until she finally chokes?
Just the thought is enough to push me?—
She stops, then opens her mouth completely, abandoning my dick.
Frustration rips through me, leaving my balls aching.
Are you kidding me?
My hands tighten in her hair, trying to tug her back, but she stays exactly where she is, between my knees but not touching. Then she slowly lifts her head to peer up at me.
Her lips are swollen, red, and wet from sucking my cock. Snowy hair lies in complete disarray over her shoulders, some strands plastered to her flushed and sticky cheeks, some still clutched in my fist.
She’s a damn goddess.
“Did you really think you could break me?” She licks those plump lips, her eyes dark and dangerous. “You don’t even know what matters here.”
What?
I try to think through the fog of lust and need and desperation. “What matters, Nika?” Other than flipping her over and fucking her until she begs for me to finish. Giving her so many orgasms that she becomes a limp puppet who only moves with the motion of my dick.
She strokes me once, just her hand palming from base to tip. “You sure you want to know?”
Lust barrels through me, and my hips buck. “Yes.”
Her hand squeezes me, the pressure cutting through the heat consuming me like a spike of ice. “You think you can handle the truth?”
My brain struggles to understand what’s happening. Of course I can handle the truth. “Spit it out.”
Her hand relaxes just enough for me to breathe, and her eyes harden. “Roman, the man you think is so devoted to family, to the Bratva, murdered his wife. He killed my mother. That’s why I want him to suffer.”
Time stands still.
The fire crackles. Outside, the wind howls. My heart hammers against my ribs as the words spin through my mind.
Roman…killed Lilia Kozlov?
No fucking way.
Chapter 24
Max
That makes no sense. None at all. Even my sex-addled brain knows that one simple fact. I must have misheard her. “He what?”
She releases me, the cold absence of her touch less shocking than her absurd declaration.
“He killed her, and then he reached down and ripped the locket from her neck.” She meets my gaze, anger coloring her cheeks. “It was my locket. My mother said so. But she was never able to pass down that inheritance, because Roman killed her. Then took it for himself.”
A sharp, ugly laugh tears from my chest like broken glass.
