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She moans, chest rising and falling as she gulps air. I don’t give her time to recover. No sooner does she reach climax do I return to the task at hand, licking and tasting and savoring every inch of her. This time, I drag my fingers up and down her pussy, collecting her sweet arousal before pushing in. Sandra yelps, toes curling as I crook my fingers in a beckoning motion, searching for the spot I know will have her screaming my name.
Sandra comes on my fingers, her walls clenching around my digits. She’s truly a sight to behold, her hair a tangled mess and her cheeks a bright red to match. I take myself in hand, stroking a few times to ease the mounting tension in my body. I feel like I’m seconds away from snapping, but I manage to rise and take in the gorgeous curves of her form with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Still feel like being on top, princess? Or are you too tired?”
She laughs again, breathier this time. “Who said anything about being tired?”
I retrieve a condom from the bedside table, slipping it on before joining her on the bed. She mounts me roughly, her nails digging into my shoulders and her thighs straddling my lap. Sandra sinks onto my cock, the slick walls of her pussy gripping me tight.
When she starts to move, I realize that maybe—just maybe—there are perks to being on the bottom for a change. The view from where I’m sitting is impeccable, every inch of her gorgeous body on display. My mouth waters as I watch her tits bounce, the easy flow of her hair over her shoulder reminding me of liquid fire. I adore the dip of her waist and the fullness of her hips. I’ve never been the type of man to appreciate art, but I suddenly understand why an artist might fixate on a muse.
Now that I have her in my sights, I can’t bring myself to look away. She’s too brilliant, too bright, too bold. I find myself reaching for her, guided by some unseeable force to go where she goes—even if it burns me.
And that is a dangerous thought, indeed.
Sandra comes again, this time bringing me along with her. Sparks fly across my vision, electricity arcing through my veins. Every inkling of stress suddenly melts away, exhaustion seeping into my very bones. My hands have a mind of their own, reaching out to hold her before my brain can think against it—
But Sandra is already hopping up and getting out of bed, hastily and silently plucking her clothes off the floor to get dressed.
“What’s the hurry?” I ask, my voice low and husky. “Stay a while and we can go for round two.”
She shakes her head, doesn’t even look at me. I don’t know why my chest tightens at her cold response. It’s not like I was expecting her to be all over me, batting her eyelashes and spoiling me with kisses, but this is… harsh.
“My men are waiting for me outside,” she says simply. “If they don’t hear from me soon, they’ll probably break the door down.”
“They don’t know I’m here, do they?”
Sandra glances at me. “If they did, you’d be dead.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, leaning against the mess of pillows as I watch her dress. “Same time tomorrow?” I ask lightly.
I meant it as a joke, but Sandra surprises me yet again when she says, “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything else until she’s pulled on her shirt and has one foot out the door. She pauses, turns to face me. “Thank you for sticking up for me at the meeting.”
I nod earnestly. “You’re welcome—”
“But never do it again.” The corner of her lip tugs up into a lopsided grin. “I can’t have anyone thinking you’re honorable.”
I chuckle. “Duly noted, princess.”
Sandra smirks and disappears into the night.
Chapter 17
Andrei
It’s close to three in the morning by the time I arrive at my apartment. It’s small, but comfortable. I have no need for a flashy penthouse suite, nor a view most would kill for. In my line of work, all that matters is survival. By that logic, the key to survival is avoiding unnecessary attention.
When I step into my apartment, I catch a faint whiff of fresh air. One of the living room windows is propped open an inch. Strange, considering I always keep them locked. It’s the first and only clue I need to know something isn’t quite right.
Someone has broken into my home.
I reach for the gun in my shoulder holster, tucked safely between my arm and my ribs. Before I have a chance to pull it out, the softclickof a hammer rings loudly in my ear. I freeze when I feel the hard point of a gun jammed against the base of my skull. Could it be an Antonov sent here to kill me? Another player in Moscow looking to shake things up?
“Sit down over there,” Detective Ivanovich growls.
“For an officer of the law, you sure like breaking a lot of them,” I mumble bitterly, though I do as he asks and make my way slowly to the kitchen. I take a seat, drawing a deep, slow breath. There’s no need to panic.
Yet.
