AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It takes me a few moments to recover from the high, and then I take him deeper into my throat as he keeps lapping up my juices. His breathing is labored. I can tell he’s close. I leisurely ease my mouth off his hard length and turn around to face him. Locking my eyes with Pasha’s, I position myself over his straining cock and slowly lower myself, marveling at the feel of him filling me up. Pasha’s hand shoots up, grabbing me behind my neck, and stays there as I rock my hips while he stares into my eyes, unblinking. Strained breaths leave his lips, and the muscles on his chest are taut under my palms, but it’s the look on his face that holds my attention. His jaw is clenched, his lips flattened. It seems like he wants to say something, but he’s holding back.
“What’s wrong, Pashenka?” I ask as I lift my ass, then drop back down, gasping as his cock drives deep into me.
His hold on my neck tightens, but he doesn’t utter a word. Just slams into me from below so hard that my mind goes blank. The next moment, I find myself on my back with Pasha’s body over mine. He continues to grip my neck while thrusting so fast that my body shakes and I can barely get enough air into my lungs. I love when he lets go of his steely self-control and fucks me with all his power. There’s nothing better than having him screw me until we come at the same time. It makes me feel strong, fearless, and happier than I’ve ever been. I grab his arms and shout out his name as another orgasm erupts.
Chapter 19
Slow, emotional notes drift in from the living room. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. A little while ago she played “Für Elise.” I don’t know the name of this particular melody, though, and I rarely ask because I prefer when Asya tells me on her own. Her music is very personal to her, so the fact she shares something she feels this intimate about, without me asking for it, strikes a deep chord in my soul. Early on, I got used to not asking for things in my life, and it became a habit. Why ask for things when the answer will almost always be no? Yes, there’s a possibility for a different outcome, but I guess I prefer not asking over dealing with disappointment.
My first few years in foster care, I kept asking the same three questions.Did my mother call? Did anyone call looking for me? Will my mother come back?The answer was always no. Then, the questions changed.Do I have any other family? Will another family pick me like some of the other kids?Like that troublemaker, the boy who kept fighting with the other boys at one of the homes I lived at. I don’t remember his name. Was it Kane? Or maybe Kai? Two of the other foster kids ended up in the emergency room when they teased him about his long hair. The crazy fucker bit off a chunk of one’s ear and stabbed a fork into the other’s neck. That boy disappeared after that, and we all thought he ended up in juvie or a mental institution. But a few months later I overheard the social workers saying he was adopted. So, I resumed pestering the foster parents and the social workers day after day, asking if someone would adopt me, too. I asked and asked until my foster dad got fed up with it and yelled into my face to stop asking idiotic questions. I followed his advice.
Is it my fear of rejection that makes it so hard for me to ask Asya to stay with me? Last night, I almost did. I wanted to ask her so much that I barely managed to stop the words from exploding out of my mouth. She might have said yes. I know she likes spending time with me. I think she even likes me, but remaining with me would mean not returning to her family. Does she like me enough to choose me over them?
The melody in the living room changes. I know this one. It’s the piano version of theGame of Thronesintro. Asya loves that one. I roll out of bed, intending on dragging her back to bed, just as my phone rings on the nightstand. Roman’s name lights up the screen.
“Pakhan?” I ask when I answer the call.
“I need to talk with you, Pavel.”
“All right.” I nod and sit on the bed.
“In person,” he adds in an ominous voice. “I’ll expect you at the mansion in an hour.”
The line disconnects.
* * *
I step inside the pakhan’s office and find him seated behind his desk. Mikhail and Sergei are there, too, lounging in the recliners by the bookshelf.
“Pakhan.” I close the door behind me and head toward his desk. “Is something wrong at the clubs?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “Tell me, Pavel, is there anything I need to know? Something you forgot to mention, maybe?”
“About what?”
He tilts his head to the side, regarding me. “Does the name DeVille sound familiar to you?”
A chill runs down my spine.
Roman smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “I see it does.” He leans forward and hits the desk with his palm. “What the fuck were you thinking, hiding Arturo DeVille’s sister at your place?”
It takes me a few moments to recover. How the fuck did he find out?
“She doesn’t want anyone to know. Her brother included,” I say through my teeth. “When she’s ready, she’ll call him.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she wants!” Roman snarls. “Her brother has been searching for her for months, thinking she’s dead! Can you at least imagine what it’s been like for him? His baby sister, gone, not knowing if she’s dead or alive?”
I fist my hands and grind my teeth. “Asya doesn’t want to call him, Roman.”
“Do you know she has a sister, Pavel?” Roman continues. “A sister who spent two weeks in the hospital after she swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills because she believed it was her fault that Asya went missing?”
“Shit.” I close my eyes. “Is she okay? Her sister?”
“She’s okay.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask and look at him.
“When Asya went missing, Ajello sent a message to all Cosa Nostra Families, demanding they report it if anyone sees her. He sent her photo.” The pakhan sighs. “Damian Rossi saw you two at Ural last night. Arturo was at my door at six this morning.”
