Page 21 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

B reakfast is done.

The dishes are stacked neatly in the sink, the scent of syrup and cinnamon still lingering in the air like a memory.

She laughs at something I say— soft and unguarded —and I swear it echoes through me louder than any gunshot I’ve ever heard.

She’s light. Untouched. Beautiful.

And mine.

Finally.

I move before she can shift away, crowding her where she stands beside the counter.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s time for dessert,” I growl.

She looks up at me, and those dark eyes catch the light like fire-kissed obsidian.

“You don’t eat dessert with breakfast,” she says, teasing me, trying to stay light.

I shake my head once, deliberate. I lift her—effortlessly.

Placing her on the cool marble counter and she squeaks.

So fucking cute.

Her eyes open wide.

And I’m already so hard for her, it hurts.

“I do, Princess,” I murmur.

My voice drops. My hands bracket her hips.

“Now open your legs.”

Her breath catches.

Her eyelids flutter. Her pupils blown.

I see the heat flicker behind her lashes, the way her fingers twitch where they rest on the edge of the counter, as if deciding whether to push me away or pull me closer.

“Is that how this works?” she asks, voice softer now, laced with something that makes my blood surge.

“No,” I say, bending close to her ear, letting my breath dance against her skin.

“This is how we work.”

And then I lift her dress.

She gasps as her thighs part, sliding around my waist, instinctual and perfect.

I tap her ankle, and she releases me, which I need her to do so I can get to what I want.

Her dress rides high, baring more of her skin than I deserve to see in daylight, but I’m not looking away. Ever.

My hands slide down her thighs, to the backs of her knees, spreading her just enough that I can step between her legs and feel the warmth of her against me for one blissful second.

Her breath trembles.

“You’ve been looking at me all morning like you want to be devoured,” I growl, eyes locked on hers.

“Nico,” she whimpers.

I kiss her cheek, her neck, the creamy tops of her big tits.

“Let go, Leanna. Let me be the monster you crave.”

Her lips part.

She doesn’t deny it.

She can’t.

Because we both know I’m already under her skin.

Already in her bloodstream.

Already the villain and the salvation she never saw coming.

And now?

I’m going to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

“Let go,” I command as I move back a little, bending at the waist so I’m at eye level with her pretty pink, and thoroughly soaked panties.

I hook my finger through the elastic, pushing them to the side, and I fall, face first, into her hot little pussy.

And I eat.

She’s so fucking hot.

Sweeter than candy.

I lick into her, swallowing down her cream.

Gorging myself on her pleasure.

“Nico!” she screams my name, her fingers clutching at my short hair, but finding no purchase.

I squeeze her thighs, groaning as I flick my tongue against her tight little clit.

She’s so good. So fucking hot for it. For me.

My hands cup her ass, legs draped over my arms, and I drag her closer to the edge of the counter.

I lap at her from her sweet little asshole to her needy little clit.

Drowning in her essence and loving every fucking second of it.

But she’s too far.

I want her closer.

I want more.

Of her. From her.

So, I wrench her off the counter, and she cries out, her small hands grabbing my neck.

“Nico!”

She sounds panicked.

But I got her.

I won’t let her fall.

Not now. Not ever.

I groan as I lick into her cunt, using my beard, my nose, my whole face to fuck her, and it doesn’t take her long to fall under my spell.

Leanna is—she’s sex personified.

So soft and warm. So fucking hot.

Her entire body starts to shake, and then she finally does it.

She lets herself go.

And my dark soul wants to howl into the wind at the victory of it.

I slide her down my body, licking and nibbling her as I go.

She’s sated, boneless, but eager as I spin her around, slapping her hands on the counter.

I grab her hips, pull them back towards me, and I unzip my jeans.

“Tell me you’re mine, Leanna,” I growl as I fist my aching cock and glide the fat crown against her orgasm-slick folds.

“Please,” she begs, and fuck me, I am undone.

“Tell me,” I demand, barely holding on.

“I’m yours, Nico. Yours.”

“Good girl,” I praise her. “And because you’re so good. I’m gonna fuck this pretty pink pussy like I own it. Because I do.”

I drive into her with a force that borders on reverence, my hands gripping her hips like she’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

Her soft ass molds perfectly to me, and the heat of her needy little cunt surrounds me—wet, pulsing, and impossibly tight.

She’s so goddamn greedy for me.

For this.

And I give it to her—every inch, every thrust, every filthy promise I’ve ever made in the dark corners of my mind when she didn’t even know I existed.

I slam into her again, groaning as her pussy clamps down around my cock like it knows me— claims me right back.

The only sound is skin on skin and our ragged breathing, tangled in a rhythm that feels ancient.

Like we’ve done this a million times before.

Like we were carved from the same sin and stitched together in the same fire.

My voice breaks the silence, low and raw.

“Mine.”

She doesn’t fight it.

Doesn’t deny me.

Because she knows .

And when I moan— open, guttural, full of the kind of truth that lives in bone and blood —it’s not just from pleasure.

It’s from purpose .

From the holy, unholy knowing that Leanna Volkov is mine now.

Not borrowed. Not imagined.

Mine.

And she accepts it.

That knowledge hits harder than any climax, more powerful than any victory I’ve ever tasted.

Because nothing— nothing —has ever felt better than this.