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“Come for me,krasivaya,” Ilya growls as his fingers start to bruise my flesh.
“Fuck!” I scream as I fall apart around him.
Hot cum bursts deep inside me as we orgasm simultaneously, his cock swelling and hardening with each spurt as my pussy clamps down around him, eagerly milking his seed as I pulse and throb in ecstasy. I shudder as my body turns to jelly, my elbows buckling until I collapse against his chest. Ilya’s arms enfold me, holding me tight against his body as he continues to rock up and into me, forcing wave after wave of euphoria into the tips of my fingers and toes.
We haven’t said a word to resolve our fight, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like that’s what we’re doing anymore. I suck in deep lungfuls of air, and I can hear Ilya’s heart hammering inside his ribcage. My ear rests over the powerful organ declaring its vitality and as it pumps life through his veins. As my breathing starts to steady, I lift my cheek from his chest and peer up at Ilya.
The intensity in his gaze levels me, rocking me to my very core. And then he starts to swell inside me once again. Tingling anticipation spreads through me as Ilya’s finger’s brush my sides, sliding along my skin and raising goosebumps on my flesh. One arm wraps around my waist, holding me to him as his other arm braces against the bed, and he rolls us until he’s on top.
Our first round bleeds seamlessly into a second one as Ilya starts to fuck me, hardly missing a beat. I want this. I want him inside me forever. I can’t seem to get enough of him. No matter how hard or how fast we fuck, the intensity of our passion only seems to grow. I’m lost in the feeling of his body surrounding me, all restraints gone as we melt into each other.
I know I’m too close. I’m falling despite all the excuses and denials I’ve clung to so desperately. I don’t believe in love, but this feeling is damn near earth shattering. It’s elating and devastating all at once because I know, no matter how good this feels right now, it won’t last. Ilya will be gone in a few short months, and I dread what will come after.
28
ILYA
Looking over the map of robberies that have occurred over the last year, I try to find a pattern to it–anything that might hint at where these bastards are coming from, where they might be holed up. I feel like I’m seeing double at this point, my eyes blurring every time I stare down at the detailed layout. Sighing heavily, I drop the map onto my new office desk and scrub my face with my hands. I probably haven’t slept more than five hours in the past three nights, and my exhaustion isn’t helping anything. But despite my determination to find who’s attacking us, I haven’t made any ground. And what’s worse, every time I try to get some sleep, any time my mind wanders from the situation at hand, I find Whitney consuming my thoughts.
I can’t stop thinking about the passionate sex we had the last time I called her to the house. Without the strict barriers I usually employ, it was shockingly intense and hot. She’s never gotten mad to the point of fighting me physically, but that’s almost what it felt like. She took charge in a way I’ve never let a woman do before, and fuck did it turn me on. My thoughts had been so consumed by my lost men and these fucking cowards who refuse to announce their intentions to take my territory honestly and with a hint of honor. I hadn’t been able to come up with a scene for Whitney. Hell, even with the sexy way she stripped down to her undergarments and kept on her knee-high boots when she went down on me, I hadn’t been able to shake the image of Artem’s head in that fucking box.
Her getting mad at me was so unexpected, I’m still not sure if I should have read the signs earlier. But that’s what it took to snap me out of my dark, spiraling thoughts. She was the catalyst I needed, someone to react to physically after a show of aggression. I came dangerously close to getting violent. And then, the moment I felt her body pinned to mine, all that anger shifted into something far more desperate. I was ready to punish her, but when she looked up into my eyes, all I could see was her pain. The same haunting loss as I felt lingered there, and I reacted without thinking, kissing her to take away the deep hollow ache.
I’m confused by the full night of passionate sex we had, struggling with the deep emotion it brought to life in me. I haven’t dared call her or gone to see her since that night, not without getting my feelings back under control. And it doesn’t help that my mind keeps drawing up images of her straddling me, making a warmth blossom inside my chest. I feel as though I’ve lost control of myself, my life. Every barrier and defense I set in place to be a goodpakhanis being tested. But today Bianka is coming home for dinner, which will hopefully get his mind off the other woman in my life who has increasingly started to baffle me. And with my kid sister home, at least one of my concerns will be relieved.
If only my relationship with Whitney could be handled so easily. I just don’t know what to do with her. I know our contract will be coming to an end in the spring–I only ever offered her something that would cover her tuition at Rosehill, and I’m sure she’ll want to move on once she graduates. Fuck, I never would have dreamed I’d be interested in her beyond that. But contemplating that our contract is coming to a close aggravates me.
I sigh heavily. I’m a wreck. It’s probably for the best that I let Whitney’s contract expire, considering I can’t figure out who the fuck is coming after my Bratva. Right now, I need to minimize the amount of collateral damage that is sure to come with this impending war. In fact, that’s what I need to talk to Bianka about. Since I haven’t been able to find this new enemy before their proper declaration of war, I’m now facing a fight that will only get bloodier. So I need Bianka home, safe, where I can protect her.
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimes a muted tone through my office door, announcing its six o’clock. She should be here any minute. Folding up the map before me, I throw it into a desk drawer and rise. My cleaning staff did an impressive job of taking care of the mess I made. Not a single shard of glass or shredded paper still litters the floor, and my maitre d’ redecorated the room, this time with a more spartan look. I vaguely wonder if the style choice might not be to avoid quite so much destruction should I lose my temper in here again.
Erik’s steady voice reaches me from the front door as he greets Bianka, alerting me to her arrival, and I head down the hall to the foyer to greet her.
“Brother!” she gushes when she sees me, striding past Erik to reach me. She hasn’t even had time to take off her fur-lined winter coat as her arms snake around my waist, and she gives me a rare hug, squeezing hard enough to halt my breathing.
Shocked by her eagerness, I respond more slowly before returning the embrace. And my eyes meet my bodyguard’s as I hold my little sister. Momentary amusement plays across Erik’s lips before he busies himself with closing the front door. And when he comes to relieve Bianka of her coat, his expression is carefully under control once more.
“Is everything okay?” Bianka asks, her green eyes peering up at me intensely. “Why did you send Yefim up to try and babysit me this week?”
My eyes flash at the reminder. “You shouldn’t have sent him back to me.”
“I was getting weird looks in class. The school is full of important people, and no one else has bodyguards. It’s weird. Besides, I’m fine. Rosehill has plenty of safety measures and security. You’re the one with the risky business.”
I scowl at my little sister, and she offers me a smile as she links our arms.
“Come on. You can tell me what’s going on over dinner.”
I rarely take the time to eat in the grand dining room now that Bianka and her mother have moved out. The table that seats twelve fills the space nicely, but it’s empty places are a constant reminder of the family that is gone. No father or mother, all my siblings grown and complete strangers somewhere out there in the world. Even Bianka has moved on to her own life. Still, right now, that’s too risky.
The wine is already open and waiting in a decanter for us to pour, and I do so as we settle into our chairs, me at the head of the table with Bianka to my left. The kitchen staff enters within minutes of us sitting down, carrying plates of baked chicken with glazed vegetables and rice, all seasoned to perfection.
“How is school?” I ask as soon as they turn to depart.
“Fine,” she says, waving my question away impatiently. “But you don’t get to start with small talk when you went all drill sergeant on me over the phone the other night. What is going on, Ilya? Are you okay? Why are you worried about where I go?”
Scowling, I pick up my silverware and cut into my food as I explain. “Things are becoming dangerous with a rival of ours. They are unwilling to reveal themselves and handle the conflict with honor.”
“Isn’t there some kind of saying about ‘All’s fair in drugs and war’?” Bianka teases, and she forks a bite of chicken into her mouth.
