Page 97 of Pretty Little Assassin

Home.

I could become accustomed to hearing her call it that.

31

VALENTINA

My adrenaline is still spiked from killing my stepdad. Still spiked from hearing Viktor’s words.

When we get home, I don’t want to waste time showering. I don’t want to erase the traces of violence. I want to embrace them.

Madam has VEIL firmly in hand again. Forty-three names were on the list my stepfather pulled. She put every asset she had on the road inside ten minutes, and between all of them they reached forty. Our car got to two addresses and brought one woman out alive.

Three we did not reach in time.

Those three deaths are debts the Primacy will pay for.

Donnie, Zero, and Alley Cat are handling what comes next, and Mr. Pickles has been given a bowl of cat food to keep him from tearing the place down.

There is only one thing I want now.

To claim my Viktory.

Madam’s doctor gave him eleven stitches and ordered him to stay in bed for a week.

Viktor obeys until the door shuts behind us at his warehouse.

I reach for his cock, wrapping my hand around him with enough force to make his jaw drop open.

“Fuck,” Viktor growls. “So much for bed rest.”

“You’ll be lying down.”

“Noted.”

Viktor grips me by the waist. I use one hand to block his arms before he lifts me onto his hips, and I reach for him with the other. I can feel him pulsing beneath me. Huge and ready. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly as I want him right now.

“No exertion, Wraith. Stay still.”

We don’t make it to the bed. Hell, we don’t even make it to the bedroom.

The floor beneath my back is cold once Viktor tears the clothes from my body, but his heat warms me instantly. Slick coats the insides of my thighs, and everything about me feels like it’s on fire.

Good fire. The kind that needs to be released, not snuffed out.

“Careful, маленькая убийца. You’re releasing a beast.”

I slide his shirt over his head and tug at his pants until he kicks them aside. His cock is so swollen and hard that I can see exactly what bestial quality he means.

The gauze on his left side is taped down in a neat white rectangle. Eleven stitches beneath it. I plant my palm flat on the floor beside his injury instead of putting any weight on it.

“You told me you’d cut my dick off if I bit you,” he reminds me, feral desire burning in his eyes. “I’m almost willing to risk it now.”

His desire makes me burn.

“Lie back. Hands at your sides. Don’t move.”

He obeys. No hesitation.