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"Answer me," he repeats, easing off a bit.
I shake my head. I want to hold back. I really do, but Maxim is like a freaking magician, those clever fingers of his delving inside of me, only to come back out, circling and rubbing my clit, and driving me half out of my mind before filling me up again. I’m writhing against his fingers, my head thrown back, chasing an orgasm I can no longer deny.
Then nothing. He pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty.
No, no, no. That will not do.
“Yes, Maxim. Yes, I’m yours. Now please, make me come!”
He grunts and brings his fingers back where I need them most. “Come on my fingers, lastochka.” He sucks at my neck, the pain a counterbalance to the pleasure blooming between my legs. “Such a good girl. You’re made for me.”
As the orgasm hits, a loud cry bursts from me, the sheer intensity of it taking over. My hips jerk, riding the wave of pleasure, while his lips leave a path of searing kisses down my throat.
“And guess what?” he whispers. “I’m made for you too.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when he slaps my ass with his open palm.
“Never deny me again.” He turns around and drops the pelmeni in the boiling water like he didn’t just break me into a million pieces.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MAXIM
I’m so full.”Kira moans as she drags the last dumpling on her plate through the remnants of sour cream and pops it between her luscious lips, her eyes fluttering shut in satisfaction.
“They are excellent,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away when her tongue darts out the side of her mouth, chasing a dollop of sour cream.
Good God, that mouth. I haven’t yet had the pleasure of seeing her lips wrapped around my cock, but damn, I’m ready.
Her eyes flutter open, shining with contentment, and something in me softens.
“I know it’s good. It’s my aunt’s recipe. Literally the only thing that woman was able to cook.”
At Kira’s suggestion, we settled on the floor near the coffee table to eat. With the meal over, I shift back onto the couch, drawing her with me so she nestles against my front. She sighs happily against my body, and a slow realization hits—I like having her close.
“I can’t imagine Masha cooking,” I admit, testing the waters of discussing her aunt in life, not in death.
Kira is quiet for a while, drawing circles on my wrist, before she finally responds, “How well did you know her?
“Not all that well. She was an acquaintance.” I shrug. “You know how it is in Moscow—we ran in some of the same circles. We’d bump into each other at parties and such. I remember her swanning around the room in bright dresses and cornering any minister whose policies she disagreed with. She was fearless. That’s why when we first met, I said you remind me of her.”
“I remember that,” Kira says, her head nestling into my chest. “It was when we were walking in your vineyard a few days after you abducted Alyona and me.”
“Are you still bitter about that?” I tease.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I still object to your methods, but if things hadn’t played out like they did, I wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t be helping me track down my aunt's killer.”
“True," I concede with a nod. "Now, tell me what you remember about your aunt."
“I don’t know where to start. My father dumped me in her arms as a newborn, and instead of telling him to go to hell—as I’m sure she wanted to because Masha disliked my father as much as anyone else—she realized if she did, then I would have no fighting chance of a decent future. My father would have left me at the next orphanage without a second thought. He never really wanted me—he wanted to ruin the Kozlovs.” She sighs deeply, and I feel it in my chest. “The funny thing is, I’m not sure Masha wanted children. She was made for glamorous parties, runway shows, weekends in Paris, and sailing through the Greek Isles.” Her voice carries a hint of a smile. “Still, she raised me with all the love any mother would offer.”
"Did your aunt ever reveal the truth about your lineage? About who your mother and brothers really were?" I ask, brushing her hair with my lips.
“No. She either didn’t know it herself, or she chose not to tell me because she knew I would confront my father and he wouldn’t take kindly to that.” She shakes her head “I only discovered the Kozlovs were my brothers when I had a gun pointed at them, demanding they help me bring down my father. You should've seen the shock on their faces. They'd been looking for me all this time."
I kiss her on the head. “I’m glad you found them when you did. You deserve a family that loves you.” Kira deserves more than a family that loves her—she deserves a man that worships her, that puts her above all else. If I still had a heart left in my chest, that could be me. Because I see how amazing she is—smart, capable, a fighter. But I’m too broken to give myself to any woman again.
She looks up at me as if she can hear my thoughts. “So do you.”
