Page 34 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

I release the ties binding her wrists to the bedposts, roll onto my side, and pull her against my body where she fits as if I was made to hold her. And I don’t even care when her pussy clenches so hard that she squeezes me out.

She’s in my bed, and we’re on first name terms.

That’s enough for now.

9

TAMARA

My pussy is sore and swollen when I untangle myself from Finn’s arms in the night and find my skirt on the living room floor. My panties are shredded, but I couldn’t wear them even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I like wearing his kisses on my body, his handprint on my ass, his cum inside me. They make me feel … real.

Alive.

More me than I’ve ever felt before.

But I can’t stay here.

I don’t belong here in the arms of the Irish enforcer. This isn’t my home. Leonid’s mansion isn’t my home either, not without Ivana, but it’s familiar, and familiar is the best I can hope for until I find my sister.

I wander back into the bedroom and watch Finn sleeping from the doorway. He looks like a little boy despite the dark stubble on his jawline, sleeping with one hand under his cheek, and his other arm curled across the pillow that was mine until I got up. His snores are small rumbles like innocent thunder fading into the distance. Watching him sleep, it’s surreal to think that, until a short while ago, we were fucking in the kitchen, in the shower, on my knees on the bedroom floor with my face buried in the comforter that we’d somehow managed to drag off the bed.

So much passion followed by such peace.

I could crawl back underneath his arm, curl up into the spot against his chest where I can listen to his heartbeat, and close my eyes. I know it’s what he would want, to wake up with me in his arms. He will fuck me again with his tongue and his fingers and his cock, and I will bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming his name out loud when the pleasure is more than I can contain.

But my sister is out there, and I don’t deserve so much pleasure when she might be being tortured by an enemy of the Ivanovs right now.

Finn will understand.

And if he doesn’t… then he isn’t the person he claims to be. The person I’m starting to think that he might be.

I let myself out of the apartment and close the door softly behind me so as not to wake him. The city is peaceful at night, the lights softer like hospital lights trying not to disturb sleeping patients. The sound of my footsteps on the sidewalk is softer too as if I’m subconsciously tiptoeing and holding my breath like this is a game of hide and seek, and I don’t want to be found.

Leonid’s home is in slumber when I let myself in.

I go straight to my room, shower the smell of Finn and sex from my body without dwelling on whether I will miss it or not, towel myself dry, and then pull on clean clothes.

My jacket smells of him, and I hug it close to my neck as I slide my weapons into my pockets and inside my boots. I’m momentarily swayed by the image in my head of my feet on his shoulders while he eats my pussy, and the orgasm that hasn’t completely faded since I met him, resurfaces with a vengeance.

“Not now,” I warn my body. “Later.”

There will be a later. I don’t know when, but I will see him again, and the thought is strangely comforting, more comforting than the black and white photograph of my mother has ever been.

The sun is barely turning the sky pink when I walk away from the house and take a taxi back to the Lake Calumet terminal where I saw the woman with white-blonde hair fleeing the dock workers who were chasing her. If I can find her, she will talk to me; I feel it in the way my stomach clenches when I think about her.

The dock is already awake, and I scold myself for leaving the hard hat and hi-vis in Finn’s car. It’s unimportant though; the workers are careless with their PPE, almost as if they don’t care who comes and goes as long as their salary hits their bank account at the end of every month.

The ship the Russians with the serpent tattoos were waiting for last night is gone. I see no men dressed in black. There are plenty of tattoos, the regular kind: hearts with arrows through them and two sets of initials, naked women, skulls, demons, tribal sleeves.

“Not a single fucking serpent in sight.”

Several workers eye me up as I walk past. One calls out, “Hey, love, you’re going the wrong way,” like he knows where I want to be, and I raise my hand in a salute and keep walking.

She isn’t here.

I don’t waste time waiting for her to show. I take a taxi to the Senator Dan Dougherty Harbor, and there’s no sign of her or the serpents here either.

I systematically make my way from harbor to harbor, eyes alert to anyone with white-blonde hair peeking out from underneath a hard hat. My legs are trembling and my belly is rumbling with hunger when I realize that the only dock I haven’t visited is the Iroquois Landing, the one where I met Finn two days ago.