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My hips start rocking involuntarily against his face, riding his tongue as pleasure crashes over me in waves. He smacks my ass again, harder this time, urging me to move more.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growls against my dripping folds, the words vibrating right against my most sensitive spot. “Grind on my face, baby. Use me.”

My thighs tremble on either side of his head as I rock faster, chasing the building orgasm that’s threatening to tear me apart.

Andrei

I wait until Rosie’s breathing evens out completely. She’s soundly asleep now, looking peaceful. I slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake her.

I dress quickly in the dark, black shirt, dark jeans, boots, then lean down and press a soft kiss to her cheek. She doesn’t stir.

Before leaving, I walk down the hall to Anya’s bedroom and crack the door open. She’s curled up in her little bed. I watch her for a moment, then close the door gently.

Downstairs, I find the two men on night duty. “Eyes open at all times,” I tell them. “No one gets near this house while I’m gone. Not even a shadow. Understood?”

They nod sharply. “Yes, boss.”

I get into my car and drive through the quiet streets toward Rosie’s father’s house. Even though I promised her I wouldn’t kill her family, the rage still simmers under my skin.

I can’t understand it. Those people tortured her for years, waterboarded her, humiliated her, broke her down until she was nothing but a shadow in her own home. Yet she still cares enough to want them alive. That’s my wife. She has that kind of heart.

Good thing I don’t.

The Millers’ house is dark and quiet when I pull up. They’ve all gone to bed. The lock on the back door is cheap and easy to pick. You’d think a man with a family would invest in better security.

I step inside silently, gun already drawn. I survey the place as I move through it. The living room is cluttered with expensive furniture that looks hideous, photos on the walls showing a perfect family, but there’s none with Rosie in it.

Up the stairs, the hallway creaks once under my weight. The first two bedrooms are empty. I reach the master bedroom and push the door open. Rosie’s father and his wife, Sarah, are sprawled out in their king-sized bed, sleeping like the dead. No awareness.

I walk straight to the man’s side, press the cold barrel of my gun against his temple, and tap his forehead with it twice.

He jolts awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. His wife doesn’t even stir until I kick the side of the bed hard enough to shake the frame.

Both of them finally realize someone is in their room.

The man’s mouth opens to scream.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I say quietly. I press the gun harder into his skull. “One scream and I put a bullet in your head and then in hers. I’ll be gone before anyone even makes it into the house.”

He freezes, eyes wide with terror. Sarah’s face drains of color as she clutches the sheets to her chest, finally understanding the situation. She clamps her mouth shut, trembling, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

I drag a chair from the corner of the room, spin it around, and sit down facing them both. The gun hangs loosely between us.

“Now,” I say softly, “we’re going to have a little talk.”

“You know why I’m here?”

They both shake their heads frantically.

“I’m here because you hurt my wife.”

Their faces drain of what little color they had left. The daughters must have run home crying about the boutique. Good. Let the fear settle in.

Mr. Miller swallows hard. “I don’t know what Rosie told you about us, but she’s the one who left. She cut ties with her family—”

“Could you blame her?” I cut him off. “You treated her like shit and expected her to stay?”

I raise the gun and point it directly at his chest. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Sitting back, watching your own daughter treated like a slave in her own home, and doing nothing.”