"My heroes." Fin squeezed my hand. "Took ye long enough." He pushed off the desk, fingers still threaded through mine. "Come on, then. Ye promised me I could drive the Viper."
EJ’s head shot toward us. “You have a Viper? Can I drive? Please? Oh man, I’ll do anything!”
Fin snorted and straightened his hat. “Trophy wives only. Get yer own.”
EJ turned his puppy dog eyes on me, and I winced. “I’m not buying you a two hundred grand toy, kid.”
I swear to God, the kid stuck out his bottom lip, and I almost gave in then and there.
Gregori patted EJ on the head. “Behave yourself, and I’ll let you take the town car around the track.”
My brother’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Really?”
I shook my head and let Fin pull me toward the door, my whole ridiculous family trailing after.
Fin
"There," I got out,panting into the sheets, "right—Christ, Aleksi, right there, dinnae ye dare—"
He stopped moving.
Two months in and the man had finally learned to leave well enough alone when I told him to, which was more than I could say for him in any other room of the flat. In bed he'd gotten good at listening, even if he’d never submit, which was just fine with me. Everywhere else he was still a stubborn Russian bastard who loaded the dishwasher like he had a personal grievance against the plates.
He had me on my belly, ass in the air with my good hand fisted in the sheets and the bad one pinned under his, fingers laced through the gap where the ring finger used to be, and he wasfucking me slow and deep the way he did on the mornings we had nowhere to be. We had nowhere to be most mornings now. That was the thing nobody warned you about: a happily ever after. It was a lot of mornings with nowhere to be and a man who woke up wanting you.
"Stop thinking," he said and kissed the back of my neck like he was trying to be romantic about it.
"Cannae. Yer no fucking me hard enough to manage it."
"Is that right?" He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, until just the head of him stretched me, and held there while I swore at him. "Say it again."
"Ye heard me, ye lazy—"
He slammed back in to the root. The headboard hit the wall, and I let out the most undignified moan yet. He did it again, hard, the fat length of him dragging over that spot inside me that made my thighs shake, and again, until the slick filthy sound of him fucking into me filled the whole room and I'd nothing left to be smart with.
"There it is," he said, low and rough behind me. "That's what shuts you up. Look how pretty you are when you’re quiet."
"Fuck—Aleksi—" I shoved back to meet him, greedy, taking him deeper. "Harder. I'm no made of glass, I told ye—"
He got a fist in my hair and hauled my head up off the sheets and fucked me like he'd been waiting all his life for permission. Deep, brutal, the wet slap of his hips against my arse obscene in the morning quiet. My cock hung heavy and leaking between my legs, dripping onto the sheets. He hadn't touched it yet, and I was already close just from the stretch of him, the weight, the way he had me pinned and open and taking it.
"Look at you," he growled. "Taking the whole thing. Greedy fucking thing, aren't you? My greedy thing."
"Aye—yours—Christ, just—" I was babbling, rolling my hips back onto his cock like I could get him deeper than deep. "Touch me, ye bastard, touch me or I'll—"
"You'll what?" He brought his hand up to my mouth instead, two thick fingers pushing past my lips, pressing down on my tongue till I gagged around them. "You talk too fucking much. Always have. Suck."
I sucked. What else was I going to do with my mouth so full—run it? I closed my lips round his knuckles and worked them like I'd worked his cock earlier, sloppy and wet, drool spilling past them down my chin while he fucked me from behind and fed me his fingers from the front. The filth of it lit me up worse than his cock had. Spit-slick, gagging, my own noises coming muffled and obscene around his hand, and him watching over my shoulder like I was the best thing he'd ever ruined.
"There he is." He pushed deeper, till I gagged again and my eyes watered and I moaned around them anyway shamelessly. "Look at you. Quiet at last, and choking on it. This what it takes? Cock in your ass and my fingers down your throat to keep that mouth busy?"
I nodded around his hand because I couldn't speak and didn't want to. He pulled the fingers out slick and shining, a string of spit following, and shoved them right back in deeper. I took them, drooling, my cock jerking untouched between my legs at the sheer used filth of it.
"Filthy thing," he breathed. "You'd take anything I gave you, wouldn't you? Take it and beg for more."
He fucked me harder while I choked on his fingers, and the talking did me in worse than the rest. He'd found it months ago and never let it go—that I'd take his cock all day and stay mouthy, but call me his filthy thing in that low flat Ohio voice while he used my mouth and I came apart like a wire pulled tight.
He drove in deep and ground against my prostate and pressed his fingers down on my tongue all at once, and that was it. I came untouched, shaking, gagging, soaking the ruined sheets, the sound I made muffled and broken around his hand. My whole body clamped down on him and he swore, the flat calm gone out of him at last, and fucked me through it in three brutal strokes before he buried himself and spilled.
