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He let out a groan, rocking his hips even faster. “Take it. Take it like a good girl.”
Holy saints, who knew it could feel like this.I moaned at the intensity of the moment.
Drakos threw back his head and roared, a guttural noise without words but full of meaning. His balls tightened, ready to explode. I knew what was coming, and as the thick ribbons of salty seed spilled down my throat, I swallowed it down.
“I thought for sure you’d spit,” he growled, with a note of approval flashing in his eyes.
I pulled back on him slowly, drawing out the moment. He hissed, his hand tugging on my hair for a beat longer before he stepped away to put his dick back in his boxers and pull his pants up.
“I don’t give up easily,” I responded, rising to my feet and wiping the gravel from my knees.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Drakos reached down to take his duffle bag. “You should go wash your knees. There should be a first aid kit in your room if you need it.”
Luckily, I wasn’t looking at him, because those words incensed me. That was hot as hell. We’d been intimate; it should have brought us closer. Instead, I might as well have been a stranger the way he was responding. Bastard. Time to leave first.
“Goodnight. And thanks again for coming to my rescue.” I gave him my shoulder and retreated back into the house.
I was burning inside with anger. But what had I expected? One blow job and he’d suddenly trust me enough to take me to his bed? No, clearly this was going to take more of an effort. However, tonight was a small victory on many levels, and I would take it as one.
Drakos didn’t follow me. As I paused at the door, I noticed he was moving through the gardens to the other side of the house. I knew he was sleeping on the top floor on the north end away from the ocean. But where exactly his room was, I hadn’t figured out yet, and I didn’t care to after what just happened.
Chapter 20 – Constantine
That was fucking stupid. I wasn’t even in the house before my blood ran south again, my dick stiffening with need. My wife was good. Too damn good. Jaw clenched tight, I slammed into my spartan room. There was nothing in here besides a small bed and a nightstand. The walls were plain, and the closet held my suits on a rough wood pole. It was in stark contrast to the rest of the seaside villa, but the door triple locked, and the bed was free of assassins posing as wives.
I threw my duffle bag onto the ground. The hit tonight had been damn professional; it was on another level. The warlord thought he was invincible. He’d survived many prior attempts on his life, until I’d been offered the job. I’d ghosted in and out of his residence; an impossible feat for others, but not for me. And now there was one less evil sonofabitch on this earth.
All the other evidence from tonight’s job had been burned at the Grecian border. The clothing I’d worn, which had become saturated with my target’s DNA, was now a pile of ash. You’d think my mood would be light after finishing my job, but other events had darkened it. The rage I felt fueling me was due to the unexpected stop I’d made right before coming home. Almost without conscious thought, I’d sped into town on the eastern roads, which led me right through the ghetto district where Iryna and I had lived a long time ago. The tormenting memories residing within me had arisen to the surface, and I’d found myself stopping and cutting the engine on my bike.
After our turbulent meeting, Iryna and I had forged an unbreakable bond. She’d escaped a hell that no human should endure at the hands of sick human beings, and I was running from a veritable demon. We had hidden in many Grecian cities, scrounging for food in hovels along the coast of the Aegean before we made it here, the final stop in our journey. It was here, in this city, where my late Uncle Isaac—Adrian’s father—had found us. He’d rescued us and brought us back to civilization. Without question, he had taken Iryna as a daughter, and I reclaimed my birthright as heir to the Drakos house. To the world, I was the reclusive son of a dead shipping mogul, but the underworld hailed me as a long-lost smuggler prince.
And yet, I hadn’t initially wanted the mantle I’d been awarded. It reminded me of my father, and no amount of money or status could answer my single prayer—that he rots in hell for what he’d done to my mother. And what he’d almost done to me.
Having fallen for a beautiful art student in Rome, my father married my young mother soon after her graduation. I’d been born less than a year later. She’d been entranced with his tales of shipping on the high seas but soon found the glamor of a smuggler concealed horrific secrets. When she realized the things my father was capable of doing, she challenged him with an ultimatum. Of course, my presence didn’t help the situation. I’d inherited my mother’s creative flare, which was a weakness in the underworld. Finally, after years of spewing hate, my father’s cruel response was to show her the door, with the advice that she start running lest he catch up to her. With money and documents secured from my uncle, who didn’t dare openly cross his brother, we ran.
A native Grecian, my mother had taken me to Athens. All memories of the time before then, when I lived with both parents and when my father didn’t hate my mother, were gone. The man who’d sired me was a sociopath. He chased my mother away. She’d hid from his wrath in Athens, and it was there she died. I’d been alone, without any family, until I found Iryna. She had been kidnapped and trafficked across Eastern Europe, only to escape and hide in the ghettos of Greece. As children, we’d suffered a hell that should never be visited upon the young—poverty, abuse, and neglect. But we survived, and a bond stronger than blood was forged between us.
