Page 24

He drags that broad tongue up through my folds again, slower this time, learning me. The flat of it presses, rubs, presses harder right where I need it, then his mouth seals over me and he sucks, gentle and then not gentle at all. My thighs tremble around him. He growls into me and does it again, licking and sucking in a rhythm that makes my back bow, one hand splaying low over my belly to hold me down for him.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Give it to me, Omega. So sweet. So wet for me already, and I have barely started on you. When I am inside this pretty pussy, you are going to drown me."

He slides his tongue lower, teasing at my entrance, tasting the slick gathering there, then back up to circle and flick until my hips are chasing his mouth despite his hands. He holds me open; he keeps me there, his purr vibrating straight through me while he eats me like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.

My orgasm is already building, dragging every nerve to my belly, my cat yowling, my thighs shaking around his ears—

"Ivan. Ivan Brusilov."

The bedroom door opens.

Ivan roars, actually roars, a full tiger sound that shakes the windows, and rips the blanket up over me in the same motion, and I lie there with my entire body vibrating at the edge of climax, staring at the ceiling, praying for death, while Anya Brusilov stands in her son's doorway, her brow arched, her arms folded across her chest.

"Your father wants you downstairs," she says calmly. "The men from the Mount Ko area are here about the Mordecai situation." A pause. "Breakfast in ten minutes. Come and eat, Cienna. You'll need your strength if you're going to be taking on this one," a pointed look at her son.

The door closes.

I am going to die. I am going to die here, in this bed, in Russia, and my tombstone will read she was almost there.

Ivan's head drops onto my stomach. His growl is long and suffering, vibrating through my whole body. "I am going to buy my mother a house," he says grimly, "Very, very far away."

He lifts up, raising the cover, and takes in my body, licking his lips.

"I can still taste you, Omega," he says in a low voice.

He looks at me until my nipples peak, and I give him more of my slick just from his look.

"Don't move," he says. "I'm not finished with you."

"Ivan," I protest. "Your mother said, Come to breakfast."

"Your alpha said don't move. I want you just like this, wet and waiting for me."

I shake my head, laughing.

"Get out," Aleksej snarls from his hospital bed.

"Good morning to you too," I say, checking his chart and observing the family resemblance. Not just the face, so similar to Ivan's, but the sheer Bratva of him, the automatic assumption that I'll follow his orders.

I roll my eyes. because that's Ivan too.

His arm is splinted and wrapped, and his amber eyes have his tiger riding way too close to the surface. "I don't need a doctor—"

"Not even the doctor who fixed your arm?" I say, snapping my gloves on. "So you either keep your fangs in your mouth and your growls to yourself, or you can explain to your mother why you threw her son's surgeon out of the room."

His eyes narrow. His nostrils flare. He scents me, finding Ivan all over my skin, and his eyes widen as his chin dips in a subtle nod.

"You're his mate," he says.

"I'm your doctor too. Arm. Now."

He holds out the arm like a sullen teenager, and I check the graft site, and what I see under the bandage makes me smile despite his temper. The prosthetic is holding. I want to jump, do a little dance; instead, I hand his arm back to him and peel off my gloves.

"Will I shift?" he asks, looking up at me from under long, dark lashes.

"That's the plan," I say. "But not today, so don't even think about trying."

I'm walking out of Aleksej's room when Anya steps into the infirmary and stops dead. Her head tilts like a cat's. She inhales. I roll my eyes because I've never been sniffed so much in my life, but then her eyes go wide.