Page 36

I’m speaking to Abram as I enter home after yet another long day of hunting down the Sokolovs who escaped during our rescue mission to bring back Lilibeth.

We killed Viktor, sure, but that’s nearly not enough.

Tikhon and his brothers must have known what their cousin Viktor was up to, and I can’t wait to exact my revenge.

“I want them all to pay,” I tell Abram. “So they can’t touch another member of our family. But we’ve been hunting high and low, and no one can seem to find those cockroaches.”

“Ivan’s involved now,” Abram says.

“Since when?” I ask with hope in my voice. Ivan Zolotov has more power than anyone in this city, and considering how the Orlovs are now family through marriage, of course he’d avenge Lilibeth. Why didn’t we think of him before?

“Spoke to him just this morning. He’s furious someone laid a hand on Lilibeth.”

“This is good news. Let them run,” I say. “Let them understand there's nowhere to hide, not now when Ivan’s involved. Tikhon and the rest don’t know what’s coming their way.”

“Exactly. Shit’s about to get exciting. And the brothers?” Abram asks. “Any word from them?”

“Landing tomorrow,” I tell him. “All three of them.”

“Christ.” Abram chuckles. “I almost feel sorry for what's coming the Sokolov’s way. Almost.”

“The Orlov brothers aren't known for their forgiveness.”

“Neither are you.”

We end the call with a goodbye, and I walk through the house looking for Lilibeth. After she came home, I doubled the security around the house. Lilibeth called it excessive, while I called it necessary.

I ask one of the guards where she might be, and they tell me she is in the kitchen. Excited to see her, I jog over.

Music drifts from the kitchen, and I know Lilibeth’s beside it. None of the staff would dare play Abba this loud. When I enter, I’m immediately hit by the smell of butter and garlic.

This is why I love coming home. Lilibeth has turned this house into something warm, something cozy, something exciting to look forward to at the end of the day.

The kitchen is absolute chaos, and in the center of it all is Lilibeth, holding a clipboard, her blonde hair piled messily on top of her head.

“No, no—the lamb needs to marinate overnight. Samuil is particular about his meat.” She taps the clipboard with a pen. “And Benedikt is allergic to shellfish, so make sure there's no cross-contamination with the—”

She's wearing a sundress, light yellow with tiny white flowers. It hugs her curves in all the right places, flaring out just above her knees. But it's the heels that catch my attention—four inches of gleaming red that make her legs look endless.

My mouth goes dry, and my body tightens.

I lean against the doorframe, content to watch her for a moment. She's in her element here, her dimples flashing as she smiles at something one of the cooks says.

“The bread should be fresh, not—” She spots me and her words cut off, her blue-green eyes lighting up. “You're home early.”

“Couldn't stay away.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

One of the maids glances between us and smirks.

“We were just finalizing the menu for tomorrow,” Lilibeth explains, but her cheeks flush with color. She knows exactly what I'm thinking. She always does.

“Is that so?” I cross the kitchen in four strides, ignoring the way the staff suddenly find reasons to look elsewhere. “Sounds important.”

“It is.” She taps the clipboard again, a teasing glint in her eyes. “My brothers haven't been stateside in years, and you know how particular they are about—”

I don't let her finish. In one smooth motion, I pluck the clipboard from her hands and pass it to the nearest staff member. Then I bend, hook my arm behind her knees, and lift her over my shoulder like a sack of flour.

Her shriek of surprise echoes through the kitchen, followed by the muffled laughter of the staff.

“Agafon Letvin! Put me down this instant!” She pounds lightly on my back, but I can hear the laughter in her voice.

“I will,” I promise, already heading for the stairs. “Eventually.”

“I was in the middle of something!”

“So was I. Something called 'watching my woman boss everyone around like she owns the place.'“ I adjust my grip, my hand deliberately sliding over the curve of her ass. “I find I quite enjoy the view of my bossy little mistress.”

I climb the stairs as quickly as I can, desperate to get her alone.

“The staff will talk,” she says, but her breathlessness betrays her excitement.

“Let them. It's my house.”

“Our house,” she corrects.

I pause at the top of the stairs, something warm unfurling in my chest at her words. Six months of being married, and I'm still not used to that. To us. To the way she carved herself a place in my life as easily as breathing.

“Our house,” I agree, pushing open the bedroom door with my foot.

I set her down beside our bed, watching as she smooths her dress, her cheeks flushed with color.

“You're impossible,” she says, but her smile tells a different story.

“And you're incredible.” I step closer, invading her space, knowing it’s sending shivers down her spine. “Standing there, giving orders, looking like that.”

Her eyes darken. “Like what?”

“Like something I want to devour.” I trace a finger along her jawline, down her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. “Those heels, myshka . That dress. You know what they do to me.”

She leans into my touch, her eyelids fluttering. “So tell me.”

“Better yet—” I grip her hips, pulling her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me. “Let me show you.”

Her breath catches. “The menu—”

“Can wait.” I lower my head, my lips brushing against her ear. “I can't.”

She shivers, her hands coming up to rest against my chest. “Well, when you put it that way...”

I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing whatever else she was going to say. Her lips part instantly, inviting me deeper, and I groan into her mouth.

My hands find the zipper of her dress, dragging it down with deliberate slowness. She retaliates by tugging at my tie, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on my shirt.

“Eager,” I murmur against her lips.

“For you? Always.” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, her hands tracing the contours of my chest, my abdomen. When her fingers brush against the waistband of my pants, I catch her wrist.

“Not yet.”

I step back just enough to watch as her dress pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lacy white underwear and those sinful red heels. The sight knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Fuck, Lilibeth.”

Her lips curve into a smile that's half innocence, half temptation. “That's the idea, isn't it?”

I laugh. “Sassy.”

“You like?”

“I love.” I step out of my pants, leaving only my boxer briefs. “I love you.”

Her eyes soften, the way they always do when I say those words.

“Show me,” she challenges, stepping backward until her legs hit the bed.

I follow, reaching for her, but she evades my grasp with a mischievous smile. “Ah, ah. You said you loved seeing me be bossy.”

“I did.”

“Then let me.” She places a hand on my chest, applying just enough pressure to make me sit on the edge of the bed. “You said you liked these heels?”

I nod, my throat suddenly dry.

She reaches behind her back, unhooking her bra with a flick of her wrist. The lace falls away, revealing breasts that fill my hands perfectly. Her panties follow, sliding down those curves, past those legs, until she steps out of them, leaving only the heels.

“Christ.” The word escapes on a breath.

She stands before me, all soft curves and creamy skin, the red heels adding an edge of sin to her angelic appearance. She's the most beautiful contradiction I've ever seen.

With a growl, I pull her onto the bed, flipping our positions so she's beneath me, her blonde hair fanning out across the pillows.

I trail kisses down her neck, between her breasts, savoring the way she arches into my touch. She gasps when I take one nipple into my mouth, circling it with my tongue before gentle suction makes her moan.

I kiss her down to the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, the softness of her inner thigh.

When I reach the apex of her thighs, I glance up, meeting her heated gaze, and when I see her eager, I slide my tongue against her.

She cries out, her hands immediately tangling in my hair.

I take my time, alternating between broad strokes and small flicks, getting right that rhythm which makes her thighs tremble.

“Agafon—” she whimpers

I circle her clit with my tongue while slowly pushing one finger, then two, inside her. She's already wet, already ready, but I want her desperate.

Her hips buck against my mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction. I hold her down with my free arm across her abdomen, maintaining control even as I pleasure her.

“Please—” she gasps, her heels digging into the mattress. “I need—”

I curl my fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her see stars, and increase the pressure of my tongue. Her walls clench around my fingers as her release washes over her, and my name is all I hear.

Before she can fully recover, I move up her body, positioning myself at her entrance. The head of my cock slides against her slickness, making us both groan.

“Now?” I ask.

“Now,” she confirms, wrapping her legs around my waist, the heels digging slightly into my back. “Please, now.”

I push in slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. There is none. She simply smiles as I break into her.

“You feel like heaven,” I murmur, pausing once I'm fully seated to let her adjust.

She reaches up, her hand cupping my cheek in a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. “Move, Agafon. I want to feel you.”

I withdraw almost completely before driving back in, setting a pace that has us both gasping. Her heels press harder into my back, urging me deeper, faster.

“More,” she demands, and right about now, I want more, too.

I pull out entirely, ignoring her whimper of protest. “Turn around. Hold onto the headboard.”

Her eyes widen, but she complies eagerly, shifting onto her knees and grasping the wrought iron railing of our bed. The sight of her like this—back arched, ass presented to me, still wearing those damn heels—nearly undoes me.

I run my hands down the curve of her spine, over the swell of her ass. “Beautiful.”

I align myself with her entrance again, pushing in with one smooth thrust that has us both moaning. This angle lets me go deeper, hit places that make her writhe and gasp my name.

“Yes—there—” she pants, pushing back against me, meeting each thrust with equal energy.

I snake one hand around to where we're joined, finding her clit with practiced ease. And just like that, I feel her inner walls flutter around me.

“Come for me, myshka ,” I encourage her by increasing the pace of my thrusts. “Let me feel you.”

Her release washes over her like a tidal wave, her body tensing before convulsing around me, milking my cock with each spasm. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her tightening around me, the sound of my name torn from her lips—it's too much.

My own orgasm blindsides me, pleasure radiating from the base of my spine outward. I grip her hips hard enough to leave marks as I empty myself inside her, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over me until I'm left gasping, my body draped over hers.

For a long moment, we stay like that, connected, breathing hard, heartbeats gradually slowing. Then I carefully withdraw, helping her collapse onto the bed before lying beside her, pulling her into my arms.

She tucks her head beneath my chin, her breath warm against my chest. “Well, I'd say that was worth leaving the kitchen for.”

I chuckle. “High praise from my bossy little mistress.”

“Mmm.” She stretches against me, catlike and satisfied. “I think I deserve a reward for being such a good bossy little mistress.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

She wiggles her foot, drawing my attention to the heels she's still wearing. “Can I please take these off now? They're killing me.”

I burst into laughter, rolling onto my back and taking her with me. “After all that, and you're still wearing them?”

“You said—” she starts, indignant.

“I said I wanted to see you in just the heels,” I remind her, reaching down to unbuckle the straps. “I didn't say you had to keep them on the entire time.”

She swats at my chest, but can't hide her grin as I remove first one shoe, then the other, massaging her feet once they're free.

“Better?” I ask, pressing my thumb into her arch.

“Much.” She sighs contentedly, melting against me. “Though I still have to finalize that menu.”

“Later,” I promise, rushing up to be by her side and tightening my arms around her. “Right now, I just want to hold you.”

*****

THE END