Page 46 of Lord of Passion

"I can feel your pulse," she moans. "You're so deep I canfeelit throb."

I don't know if she's going to recover her sanity tomorrow, but I'm taking this moment now. For both of us. Kissing her, my cheek against hers and I whisper, "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? Just waiting for me to shove my fat dick inside you so you could arch your back and moan so pretty when you come. Let me break you wide open." I thrust harder, relishing how her pussy grips me. "There isnothinglike the feel of you."

There is a dark curl of pleasure flowing through my veins, I growl, biting her earlobe as she scratches my back and runs her fingers over my chest. She pinches one of my nipples and I laugh, reaching up and doing the same to her.

We stare at each other, each of us with a firm grip on the other's nipple and fucking furiously. "It's a standoff, hmm? Neither one of us can look away or let go." In the mirror's reflection, I watch myself slam into her, how her body jolts, how she laughs, breathless and half-insane. "You need to come right now, wife. I want you to come hard, I want to feel you grip me and come out of me like you did that night in the elevator because nothing haseverfelt that way."

I pull her clit between my fingers, tugging her nipple at the same time and she breaks with a hoarse little cry, pushing her heelsagainst my ass hard, so much that my thrusts become shorter and harder, most of me buried inside her.

She's never been more beautiful. Her green eyes, her wet mouth open, her skin lightly sheened with sweat.

"Sofucking beautiful," I growl, "So fucking pretty, so soft…"

Until she twists my nipple again roughly and pulls me close for a kiss. "Your turn now," she whispers, "and if you fuck me hard enough, I'll come again with you."

I pull back until just the tip is inside her, and bury inside her with a brutal thrust. "Challenge accepted." It only takes three more strokes in her slick, gorgeous pussy before I come. Teeth gritted, every muscle tense, and I roar my finish into her kiss.

The bathroom comes back into focus, my grip on her thighs, her back against the mirror. Pulling my hands away slowly, I kiss her. "You're going to have bruises tomorrow," I say, lightly stroking the red marks.

My bride lets out that little, wild laugh again.

"Good."

Chapter Twenty-One

In which there are Cheetos.

Caroline…

Nikandr insists on tidying me up, never mind his blood loss and the newly stitched bullet hole. My adrenaline rush from the chase is gone. By the time he's finished, I can barely keep my eyes open. We both climb into bed, and as I fall asleep, I can feel him curl up behind me. He tucks his knees under mine and rests a heavy forearm over my waist and across my breasts, pulling me closer to him.

It's strange, I think sleepily, to realize how much larger this man is than me. I may be tall, but he's enormous. It's his body thick with muscle, and wrapped around me that makes me feel oddly safe.

I wake up the next morning to a polite tapping on the door. Nikandr is gone, so I pull on the robe I find in the closet and stagger towards the door, rubbing my eyes. There, holding my purse on one finger with my luggage at her feet, is Vasilisa.

"I seem to be settling into a rut of delivering your clothes to you," she says. "I am looking forward to going home where I'm not the only other woman in the group and someone else will be required to help you dress."

"You're too good to me,” I say dryly, taking my purse and hauling my luggage into the room.

"I know," she agrees, giving me a gracious smile. "There is breakfast downstairs. I would like you to hurry. The jet is being fueled now."

"What, we're leaving?" I ask.

"The Sovietnik has business at home, and he feels that two attacks in less than a week should really be the limit."

"This seems fair," I agree. "It won't take me long."

I go downstairs, following the sound of low voices until I find the kitchen. Three guards and Alexsey are there, Nikandr is pacing in the tiny backyard, one hand on his hip, the other is holding his phone. Whatever he's hearing is not making him happy.

"Sister!" Alexsey spreads his arms wide. "How do you feel this morning?"

"I'm not your sister," I say. "And give me some coffee, please."

He laughs, refusing to take offense, pouring a cup of coffee for me. "Admittedly you aren't, but you have noticed, I'm sure, that we Russians have a somewhat expansive view of who is family. If you have fought and killed alongside us, that definitely elevates you. Not to mention the actual family connection, but calling you 'cousin sister-in-law' is a bit too Appalachian."

"Yeah, I can see that," I agree, drooping as little as I blow in my coffee, waiting for it to cool.

"I heard the stories from last night," Alexsey says. "You've reached a level of near-mythological heroism and I'm sure the stories of your boldness will make the rounds of the Bratva bytomorrow. Wheredidyou learn to shoot like that? How did I not know you were so good with a gun?"