Page 99 of Pretty Little Assassin

We are on our sides, face to face. I shift myself away from his injury, which he notices.

The tape pulls slightly at one corner. Some red blooms under the bandage. Not a lot. He sees me eyeing it.

“That was your call, barbarian.” He grins. “Worth it.”

That grin that used to infuriate me now makes me grab him again.

“Again?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Can you?”

A smile from Viktor is rare. His laugh is rarer still, deep enough that I can feel it moving through his body beneath mine.

“Oh, yes. I can go as many times as you’re able to.”

He lets me settle over him again, lying on his back while I take his still-swollen cock so deeply that I can feel him pressing against places I never knew I had.

For a few seconds, Viktor puts his arms behind his head and lets me move. I grind against him, controlling the rhythm and pleasing us both.

It doesn’t last.

He catches my hips and takes control again.

This is, apparently, us.

Fighting, biting, and wrestling for power while knowing neither of us will ever surrender it completely. We’re no longer rivals.

We’re equals.

Mates.

The sun dips below the city, changing the light inside the warehouse. Shadows stretch across the floor, now covered in slick, sweat, and discarded clothing.

Eventually, Mr. Pickles decides he’s had enough of our brutal intimacy for one day.

“Your cat remains the most aggravating feline in this city.”

Viktor bats Mr. Pickles away from us.

“You love him,” I tease.

Before we get up from the floor, exhausted from hours of fighting for control, Viktor kisses me and holds his face against mine.

“True,” he says quietly. “And I love you, Valentina.”

For once, no smart answer waits behind my teeth, and I can’t contain the smile as it spreads across my face, up my cheeks, and into my eyes.

“I love you too, Viktor fucking Petrov.”

Mr. Pickles announces himself with an impatient howl from beside his empty bowl.

Viktor looks at him. “Your cat–”

“Our cat.”

His expression suggests he would rather face another house full of Primacy operatives, but he gets carefully to his feet anyway and fills the bowl with food.

I spent most of my life refusing to belong to anyone. Viktor doesn’t own me, and I don’t own him. We chose each other as equals, knowing exactly how dangerous the other could be.