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Curling over her, I take the rigid peak between my teeth and bite until she jumps from the sting, impaling herself on my cock even more.
“Just like that, princess. Fuck me back.”
She glares at me even as she bucks her hips against mine. The viselike grip she has on me is maddening, and I’m struggling to keep myself from coming far too soon in her sweet pussy.
Sweeping my thumb through her folds, with the stain of her virgin blood on my skin, I brush over her clit. Over and over, every glide robbing her of much-needed air and stealing all reason until she’s thrashing under me, slapping her palms on the altar, and that virgin cunt locks on my cock so fucking tight I see stars behind my eyelids.
My balls draw up tight, and I’m powerless to stop myself from coming. Leaning over her, my forehead pressed to her thundering heart, I fill her, spilling every fucking ounce of myself into her until we’re boneless and gasping with Jesus looming on a massive cross right over our heads.
CHAPTER NINE
NIKOLETTA
I’ve died. I must have. Because Konstantin has collapsed on me and I’m running my fingers through his hair.
I’m broken and sore, but God, I’ve never been more alive than I am right here, right now. I want to laugh, dance, sing, run the entire length of Manhattan.
He shifts above me, slowly pulling out of me, and I hiss with the sting.
Okay, maybe I can hold off on the running.
“Come here,” he rasps as he draws me up with him and settles me against his chest. “I was rough with you.”
“Yes,” I say with a breathless laugh. “Thank you.”
His deep laugh rumbles through his chest against my cheek. God, I could spend every day listening to him, fighting with him, making love to him.
“The next time, I...” His words die on his lips, but his grip tightens on me. “This is dangerous.”
I grasp his collar and stare up at the turmoil in those dark eyes. “Tell me anything about my life that hasn’t—”
The first pop splits the air and we freeze, our gazes locked, until two more shots follow. The doors fly open as we scramble to right our clothes, but there is no hope for it. There’s no way to hide what we’ve done.
“Well, well, I have to say Malikov, you surprise me.”
Vlad’s voice turns my blood to ice in my veins. It resurrects the suffocating darkness despite the light. He doesn’t need to lock me in rooms or tiny spaces anymore. He just needs to speak, that polished voice with a maniacal lilt has pure power over me.
I’m reduced to that stupid, scared little girl, helplessly flailing.
With one fluid motion, Konstantin shoves me behind him as he faces my brother walking down the center aisle of the church. At first glance, he looks like the ideal man—every woman’s dream. Muscular and blond, clean-cut in an impeccably tailored suit, but inside he’s an endless well of poisonous pain and greed.
“You actually fucked her. My father always said the day would come, but you know, I didn’t quite believe him.”
Konstantin says nothing. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on my brother while he curls his palms around the guns holstered at his back.
Vlad comes to stop right before the stairs leading up to the altar. Shoulder propped against the pillar, he crosses his ankle over the other and slips his hands in his pockets.
“He’s not alone,” I whisper. Because Vlad would never be so cavalier if he were at a disadvantage. I’d be willing to bet he has an army outside and Nikolaj will be marching right into the slaughter.
“What? Nothing to say?” Vlad shakes his head, that smug grin on his pompous mouth eliciting a snarl in me. “If you don’t want to talk about it with me, maybe you’ll have something to say to him,” he says, hitching his thumb over his shoulder.
Our gazes swing to the front of the church where my father stands. The smirk on his mouth is a never-ending reminder that while he may not be quite as sinister as Vlad, they are very much the same. Where Vlad relishes the opportunity to inflict pain and torture, my father covets the show.
Maksim Romanoff would never be so casual as to lean against a pillar. No, he stands tall as he makes his way up the aisle. Careful steps—not too fast, not too slow—before coming to a smooth stop at the bottom of the stairs. His gaze lands on Konstantin’s hands and the guns he has ready there before sweeping to me.
“Nikoletta, I hoped when you managed to slip away from the watch we had on you in Paris, you were smarter than this. Such a pity. Your mother’s daughter through and through.”
And suddenly letting Konstantin hide me behind him fills me with shame.
