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I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling. I can’t look at her. If I look at her, it will be over too fast. I’ve never seen a woman who is as effortlessly sexy. Eve doesn’t even seem to try. Whether she is in jeans and a t-shirt or lacy pajamas, I want to rip her out of her clothes and have my way with her.
When my breathing begins to get heavy, Eve pulls away and presses her palms into my chest. She pushes me back onto the bed, grabs a condom from the bedside drawer, and then crawls over me, straddling my hips with her knees on either side. Achingly slow, she rolls it down my length with shaky fingers and then positions me at her opening. Then, she slides onto me. Every inch is heaven. When she rocks her hips, I bite back a moan.
I don’t do submissive. I don’t let a woman take control in the bedroom. Yet, that is exactly what I’m doing with Eve. I grip the curve of her hips in my hands, but she does all the work.
I study her face—the crease between her eyebrows and the small ‘o’ of her pouty lips—as she finds a rhythm. Her eyes flutter closed and her head tips back, and I barely hold it together as she falls apart on top of me. Her legs quiver and her flat stomach clenches, soft moans slipping from her lips. Finally, she falls forward onto my chest, breathing heavily.
After letting her recover for a minute, I roll her off of me and stand at the edge of the bed. Her legs are silk in my hands, and I throw each of her legs over one of my shoulders. She covers herself with her hands, but I want to see all of her. So, I grab her hands in each of mine and push into her.
Seeing her laid out in front of me, reacting to my thrusts, is more than I can handle, and within a few minutes, I’m breathless and on the edge. Even though she just found her own relief, the telltale crease has reappeared between her eyes, and Eve is whispering for me to not stop, to never stop.
Just as her body clenches, I topple over the edge, and we fall together.
* * *
After cleaning up, Eve slides her arms into my button down, burrows under my blankets, and falls asleep in my bed. The sight is so extraordinarily ordinary that I can’t help but watch her. The way her breaths come deep and even. The way her eyelashes flutter as she dreams. She is so beautiful, and I can’t believe she is in my bed.
A month ago, I never would have believed it if someone had told me this would happen. I wouldn’t have believed it if they told me I’d let a woman sleep all night in bed. Let alone,my wife. Eve Furino—nay, Volkov—surprised me. She snuck up on me in a way I didn’t expect, and I’m still not sure how to handle her. My father is worried she is changing me, making me vulnerable. And perhaps, she is, but I’m not sure it is a bad thing. It certainly doesn’t feel like a bad thing, regardless of how strange it feels.
When my phone vibrates on the nightstand, I grab it quickly before it can wake her. Then, I slide out of bed, grab a pair of pants and a t-shirt from my dresser, and slip out of the room. The mansion is quiet, but as I walk down the long hallways, moving towards the opposite wing, I can hear life within the walls. When I open the basement door, I hear the sound of pleading, begging.
Gabriel meets me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is he ready?” I ask.
Gabriel nods and gestures to a room on the right.
The basement isn’t a dungeon exactly, but that is what the soldiers call it. There are a series of private meeting rooms on one side with a small kitchen and bathroom for the soldiers, but the other side is meant for enemies. Concrete, lifeless rooms with no windows. Reece Moynihan is in the middle of one of these rooms, his hands handcuffed behind his back, his nose bleeding.
“Your guys treated me like shit,” he spits, a light spray of blood accompanying his words.
I look to the soldiers on either side of him. One of them has a black eye and the other is cradling his arm in a funny way.
“It looks like you returned the favor,” I say, dismissing the two guards with a wave. They scurry to the edges of the room, though don’t lower their weapons. “Did you put up a fight?”
“I was ambushed in my home. I’m in my fucking pajamas,” he says, picking up one foot to showcase his navy-blue flannel pants and matching slippers. “Of course, I put up a fight.”
“Then, whatever pain you are in is your own fault.” I slide my KA-BAR out of my waistband, and Reece’s eyes widen. “Not to mention, I know you had a hand in the attack that ruined my wedding and killed some of my men.”
“I wasn’t there!” he shouts, shaking his head. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Don’t lie to me, Reece. It’s embarrassing for both of us.” I twist the KA-BAR in the air, slicing the blade slowly through the air in front of him. His eyes follow the movement with terrified vigilance. “You are the Irish mob’s top enforcer. Do you truly mean to suggest you knew nothing about the attack? Because, if that is true, it means you are shit at your job. It means you do not know what is happening under your own nose. Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
He stutters around an answer, unsure whether he should tell the truth or sacrifice his pride. A smart man would claim to be a worm, a nobody. He would say anything to save his life. But Reece Moynihan is not a smart man.
I lunge forward before he can formulate an answer, the blade pressing dangerously against the delicate skin of his neck. He yelps and then tries to shy away from the blade, scooting back as far as he can in his chair. I don’t want to hear his lies anyway.
“What do you know about the day of the wedding?”
His eyes are wide, his throat bobbing dangerously close to the sharp edge of my blade as he talks. “I know,” he says, gulping in fear, “that you couldn’t get a bride without forcing a woman to marry you.”
A smile spreads across his face for a fraction of a second before I slide the blade across his neck. Blood immediately spills from the cut, but it isn’t deep enough to damage his esophagus or inhibit his breathing. Just enough to let him know what awaits him if he isn’t useful to me.
“I was kidding,” he says, pushing uselessly off the floor like he can slide his chair away from me. It is bolted into the ground.
“And I’m not laughing,” I say, standing tall and pacing in front of him. “Tell me what you know.”
“Three guys shot at your guests.” He shrugs. “That’s it. That’s all I know.”
