Page 22 of Jewel of the Assassin

My voice dips, deliberate and slow. “It was that night. After the vows. When you were desperate to get out of the dress. You tore at the seams—I had to stop you from ripping the lace. I helped you take the pins from your hair one by one, until your curls fell down your chest. And you looked at me like you were going to devour me.”

I let my hand drift lower, caressing her thigh, brushing slowly inward.

“You were even more beautiful when I had you against the shower wall. Your back to the tile. My name on your lips. Nowhere to run.”

She’s breathing harder now. Her head tips against my shoulder, giving me her throat. I press a kiss there—soft, claiming.

“What about?—”

“Enough questions.”

I cut her off before she can derail the moment and slide my hand between her thighs.

Her whole body reacts. Back arching, breath gasping, skin glowing in the filtered sunlight.

And when I stroke her, I feel the start of her surrender.

9

“So, what do we do? Together, I mean…”

VALENTINA

He’s not touching me yet, but my legs still tremble.

Roman Makarova is strong. Much stronger and older than me. But it doesn’t mean I won’t give him hell.

Just…not right now.

Anytime I arch my back or roll my hips to get those tormenting fingers higher than my pubic bone, he just slides them back down my thigh. A few more unsuccessful attempts, and I moan in frustration.

He chuckles darkly and kisses the curve of my neck. “Ty prekrasna.”

Did he just call me ‘beautiful’ in Russian?

“Bystree!” The word spills out of me when I don’t even know what it means. I rake my memory, and nothing comes.

“Plohishka,”he growls. “Bad girl.”

He’s harder than a rock beneath me, his cock jutting andnudging my inner thigh. But his control is dumbfounding. This time, when his fingers slide along my pubic bone, I soften my body, melting back into him, and those fingers roam up. I hiss when they coast along my nether lips. I can’t focus on anything else.

After he licked me to oblivion earlier, how can I possibly want more? Especially when he fucked my throat until my voice was hoarse and my throat was swollen?

Then, he cups me in his huge palm. A whimper leaves my throat.

“Look at me,” Roman commands.“Posmotri na menya.”

My eyes collide with his. They lock around me like emerald prisons, forcing me to give him my pleasure. My eyes blur from unshed tears because he’s caressing me again, softly, slowly.

Until he injects two thick fingers inside me.

I buck, but Roman catches me, gripping my waist. One palm finds my breast.

“So fucking wet, Maya Valya,” he breathes, holding my gaze, burying another finger in me, stretching me until it’s painful. “Beyond the water, you are soaked for me. Your body knows your king. Your body knows the only one powerful enough to bring you the pleasure you seek. Your mind may never remember. But your soul knows who it belongs to.”

He curls a thumb around my taut nipple. Molten pleasure courses through my blood, and my pulse sings as he plunges in and out. Somehow, I know I’ve never been with anyone more powerful or self-assured than Roman Makarova.

Everything in me responds. Not just because he commands me. But because heworshipsme.