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“You’re mine now, Sienna. There is no going back!” he growls and buries his face between my legs, sucking on my clit so hard that I scream his name at the top of my lungs.
I let go of the headboard and thread my fingers in Drago’s hair while he continues to devour me. I can’t take a second more of his onslaught, but at the same time, I will fucking die if he stops. I’m lost, ready to explode when his fingers slide out of me. He takes one slow, long lick up my slit, and then his mouth vanishes. My eyes fly open.
The illumination in the room is scarce, just moonlight coming through the small window, falling on Drago’s form. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he stares at me. I love watching my husband when he puts on his clothes because he does it slowly and methodically, every movement calculated. But I enjoy seeing him remove them much, much more.
Drago drops his shirt onto the floor and proceeds to unzip his jeans. My eyes feast on his wide shoulders and sculpted chest, my soaked pussy throbbing with need. The moment I see his huge cock, my mind goes blank. A strange growling sound fills the silence, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s coming from me. I leap off the bed, right at my husband.
His large hands grab me under my thighs, gripping tight, and the next second, my back is slammed against the wall by the window. Drago’s face hovers before mine, his eyes boring into my own. His breathing is slow. Deep. I wrap my arms around his neck and tangle my fingers in his hair. And then I pull it. Drago’s nostrils flare and his breaths quicken.
“Do you tell your don the details of how I fuck you, as well?”
I smile. “Maybe.”
Drago grinds his teeth. Even in low light, I can see the muscles in his jaw twitch. I slide one hand toward his neck and the other to trail the line of his chin with the tip of my finger until I reach the corner of his mouth. I wish he would kiss me right now. It’s different from sex. Having sex with Drago Popov is an experience that tops everything I’ve ever encountered. It’s raw, angry, and unapologetic. But being kissed by my husband is like having my mind relentlessly seduced and set to smolder by the heat of his lips on mine. And it scares the living shit out of me.
“Sometimes, I wish I could kill you, Sienna.”
He crashes his mouth to mine as he thrusts his cock inside me. And both my pussy and my brain combust.
Chapter 16
Arturo DeVille’s house is situated in an upscale neighborhood. Close enough to everything important, but well away from all the craziness of a Saturday night. Or at least as much as living in New York allows. I stop my bike in front of the iron gate and push up my shield visor. Staring directly into the camera, I press the call button. A few moments later, the gate slides to the side.
I park my bike and head toward the front door where Sienna’s brother is standing, glaring at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks through his teeth.
“Are we going to discuss business on your porch?”
Arturo sizes me up, then turns and heads inside. I follow him across the spacious living room. Despite its size, the room feels unexpectedly cozy, like home. There’s a big bookshelf, a comfortable leather sofa, and a piano in a corner. Photographs line the walls, most of them featuring Sienna and her sister.
Arturo steps around the breakfast bar that divides the space and enters the kitchen, heading toward the stove.
“What do you want?” he asks as he adds a bit of seasoning to whatever he has on the grill.
I move to the breakfast bar and take a seat on a barstool furthest to the right, positioning myself so I have his face in my direct line of sight. The underboss has a deep voice I can hear without a problem, but I don’t take chances where business is involved.
“One of our warehouses caught fire,” I say. “I need more product.”
“How much?”
“Half a ton, minimum.”
“Six weeks,” he says as he flips the steaks.
“That doesn’t work for me. I need it here in ten days.”
Arturo uses his fork to stab a chunk of cheese off an antipasto platter and puts it into his mouth, observing me as he chews. Power games—Italians sure seem to love them.
“I can get you the drugs next weekend,” he says with a smirk, “but I have to add a 30 percent rush fee to the regular price.”
“That’s rather steep. Are all your family members getting that rate, or am I special?”
Arturo throws the fork in the sink and crosses the kitchen with a furious look on his face. “You are not my fucking family.”
“I married your sister. It counts as ‘family’ where I came from.” I tilt my head to the side, holding his gaze. “But then again, where I’m from, no one would have been able to make me give up my sister to a virtual stranger. Tell me, Arturo, do you also let your don tell you when you’re allowed to take a piss, or can you make that decision for yourself?”
I don’t see the knife until it’s halfway to my face. I block his hand, diverting the direct hit to my eye, but end up with a long slash down my cheek. Seizing Arturo’s wrist in one hand, I grip the hair at the back of his head with the other and slam his face down onto the wooden bartop between us. He roars and forces the knife toward my head again. I let go of his hair, grab his knife-wielding hand, and twist. I don’t hear the snapping sound but, based on Arturo’s howl, I broke his wrist.
