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Chapter Thirty
Pavel
It makes me throb to watch my wife—myqueen—take control of her pleasure. I’m not thinking about anything else when she comes on top of me. She seizes so hard that the whites of her eyes appear. I clutch her hips to keep her steady and wait patiently until the shaking subsides.
When she slumps against me, I smirk.
Now it’smyturn.
She’s limp when I tilt her back and toss her legs over my left shoulder. Bowing over her deepens my plunge, a shocked gasp spilling from her mouth as I drill her. It’s not enough to see her come undone once. I have to break her apart, overwhelm her, rattle the very foundation of her world.
Already, another wave consumes her as she seizes around my cock. I’m burying her deeper into the couch with every thrust, hellbent on getting her drunk on rolling orgasms. It’s like she’s hypnotized me, and I can’t stop until she begs for the end.
I don’t let myself explode until orgasm number three crests and makes her buck wildly. She’s gasping for air when I finally unload every drop inside her, my legs giving out the moment I’m finished. I slide from the couch and land on my back, taking her with me. The moment I embrace her, I feel my cum mixed with her fluid drip all over my leg. Small remnants of her eruption linger in tiny shudders that quake her body.
“Pavel?” she whimpers as if she’s just waking up from a coma. She lifts her head with a sharp inhalation and whispers, “Fuck, God,shit.”
My brain is fuzzy, but I manage to joke, “You already fucked God.”
“You cocky motherfucker.”
A smile splits my lips. What can I say? “I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to brag, you know.”
“I know.” I pat the back of her thigh. “Evidence is right here.”
She groans out of frustration and then hums lazily while plopping her cheek on my chest. “I can’t move.”
“So, don’t move.”
“And do what instead? Cuddle?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
Silence. Yeah, it’s weird for us.
But we’ve done weirder.
After a moment, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and nestles into my neck. I stroke her hair, lengthening the strands over her spine.
“You really want to go to Cornell?” I ask while dragging my fingers through her hair. She breathes, shivers, unwinds against me. She feels like heaven, if there is such a thing. “Become a doctor or a surgeon?”
She nods. “I want to live like a normal person. You know, just live, rather than…” Her nails dig briefly into my shoulders. “Rather than constantly looking over my shoulder.”
“It’s exhausting.”
“You get it?”
I sigh. “Yeah, I get it. But I was made for this, molded by my father.”
“Didn’t you ever want to do anything else?”
“Why would I? The Bratva is all I have. It’s all I’lleverhave.”
I feel her frown.
And then she’s on her elbows, staring at me like I’m one of those starving children commercials. “That’s it?”
