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Her eyes search mine; she looks soft and overwhelmed—but she doesn’t pull away.
I hook an arm under her legs and lift her easily. She gasps again, but doesn’t fight it. I carry her down the hall, her arms looped loosely around my neck, her face pressed against my throat.
The walls I’ve built are cracking just from her being in my arms.
15
Chapter 14
Xiomara
The clock strikes past midnight, its muted chime swallowed by the opulent silence of our penthouse. Zasha’s lips are still pressed against mine, his taste lingering—a dangerous mix of expensive whiskey and raw, untamed hunger. His hands, calloused and strong, grip my waist as he lifts me effortlessly, my heels dangling inches above the marble floor. I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his short, dark hair, the strands coarse against my fingertips. His eyes, sharp and brown like aged whiskey, lock onto mine, unblinking, as if daring me to look away.
“If only you know how many times I want to fuck you in a day,” he murmurs, his deep voice vibrating against my lips. There’s no warmth in it, only cold facts.
He strides toward the bedroom, his movements purposeful, every step a reminder of the power he wields. The Bratva enforcer. The man who’d married me in a union neither of us wanted. A fake marriage, a strategic alliance between his Bratva and my Cartel. But tonight, there’s nothing fake about the way his body presses against mine, nothing calculated in the way his lips devour mine.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, the soft click echoing in the sudden stillness. The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Zasha sets me down on the edge of the bed, his hands roaming over my body like a conqueror mapping his territory. My gown, once elegant and pristine, is now a hindrance, and he wastes no time in shedding it, his fingers deft and impatient.
I’m left in nothing but my lace lingerie, the fabric barely covering what matters. Zasha’s gaze rakes over me, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he’s about to claim. His lips curl into a faint, dangerous smile, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Zasha Petrov doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead. He takes. And tonight, I’m his to take.
“On your knees,” he orders, his voice low and commanding.
My heart stutters, but I obey, sinking to the plush carpet without hesitation. Zasha stands before me, his broad shoulders filling my vision, his muscular frame a testament to years of brutal training. He unbuckles his belt with deliberate slowness, the sound of metal against leather cutting through the silence. His pants follow, sliding down his legs to pool at his feet, leaving him clad only in his boxers.
I reach out, my fingers trembling as I trace the outline of his erection through the thin fabric. Zasha hisses, his hand gripping my wrist, guiding my touch. “Enough teasing,” he growls, yanking his boxers down with a swift motion.
His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the head flushed and gleaming in the dim light. I swallow hard, my mouth watering at the sight. Zasha grabs the back of my head, his grip firm but not cruel, and guides me forward. “Suck,” he commands, his voice rough with need.
I open my mouth, my lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, tasting the salty-sweet pre-cum that beads at the head. Zasha groans, his fingers tightening in my hair as I take him deeper, my tongue swirling around the sensitive underside. He thrusts gently at first, testing my limits, but I hum in approval, the vibration sending shivers through him.
“Fuck, Mara,” he curses, his hips snapping forward, his cock sliding down my throat. I gag softly, my eyes watering, but I don’t pull away. I want this. I want him.
He fucks my mouth relentlessly, his breaths coming in sharp gasps, his body tensing as he nears the edge. But just as I feel his cock twitch, ready to spill, he pulls back, his grip on my hair tightening. “Not yet,” he rasps, his voice hoarse with restraint.
Before I can protest, he tosses me on the bed and goes on his knees in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs as he spreads them wide. My breath catches as his mouth descends, his lipsbrushing against the lace of my panties. With a swift motion, he tears them away, the fabric ripping with a soft tear.
“Zasha—” I start, but my words are cut off by a sharp gasp as his tongue presses against my core, hot and wet and insistent. He laps at me like a man starving, his tongue flicking over my clit, his fingers delving into my wetness. I arch into his touch, my hands tangling in his hair, my nails scraping his scalp.
“So fucking wet,” he murmurs against my skin, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through me. He sucks my clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling, his fingers sliding inside me, stretching me open. I’m a quivering mess, my body trembling on the edge, my cries echoing in the quiet room.
“Come for me, Mara,” he demands, his voice a dark whisper. “Let me taste you.”
At his words, I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm, my walls clenching around his fingers. Zasha drinks me down, his mouth relentless, his tongue lapping at my oversensitive flesh until I’m a shuddering wreck.
But he’s not done.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s above me, his body looming, his cock pressing against my entrance. “Look at me,” he orders, his voice a low growl.
I meet his gaze, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, almost black, his expression unreadable. He thrustsinto me in one swift motion, his cock filling me completely, stretching me to the brink. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body still sensitive from my climax.
“You’re so tight,” he groans, his hips swaying back and forth, his rhythm relentless. He fucks me with a ferocity that borders on brutal, his hands gripping my hips, his body pounding into mine. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.
“Zasha—please—” I plead, my voice breaking as my second orgasm builds, coiling tight in my core.
“Not yet,” he snarls, his control slipping. He slows his pace, his thrusts shallow and teasing, dragging out my pleasure until I’m begging for release.
“Please—let me come—”