Page 93 of Jewel of the Assassin

“Hmm…” He plays it cool and smooth as only my husband could. “Up to your scheming again, moya zhena?”

My smile grows because he’s walking toward me, vowing a storm of hunger.

I shrug with a sparkly laugh. “What can I say? I’m simplyreminding you who belongs on your altar.” I draw my finger along the crown brand. Forever scarred by him.

“Ahh…” He folds his hands behind his back, musing with like-minded humor…but his is darker. “You believe I come to worship when blasphemy demandspunishment, Valya,” he warns, eyes devouring every part of me.

I lower my lashes. “If you believe this is scheming, moy korol, then you should see what I have planned for confession.”

“Is that so?”

He’s less than ten feet from me now.

My finger descends lower, until I’m drawing a line to my cleavage. “I confess, moy vladyka,” I add the submissive sweetness of calling him ‘My Lord”. Five feet from me now. “I am just…fulfilling my vows. To tempt, torment, and worship you in equal measure.”

He smiles wryly. Three feet. Close enough for me to feel his body heat, for me to see the massive bulge in his pants despite how he keeps his hands folded behind his back. “Those do not sound like wedding vows, moya zhena.”

I lower my chin, but my eyes don’t leave his. “I have no memory of them, so I improvised, Moya Korona.”

He pauses, and one corner of his mouth tugs into a proud and pleased smirk. He calls me hisjewel. I just called him mycrown.

One foot away.

Emerald eyes deep and heady, Roman lowers his hands to his belt. So slow. Too slow. My breath heaves and cleaves.

“If I am your crown, Valentina Makarova, then I am also your God tonight. And I am here…“ He sweeps off his belt, grins, and cracks it, “…to absolve you.”

Oh. Hell, yes!

I flick my eyes down. Roman takes himself out. “Let us see how penitent you are, my little sinner.”

My mouth waters, and I can’t contain myself. He’s hard as bone, throbbing, the crown slick with pre-cum. I practically lunge for him. And at the same time that I kneel on the altar before him,fold my lips around his cock, and take him deep into my throat, Roman snaps the belt, bringing it down in a stinging crack to my bare ass.

Two hours later,Roman is still balls deep inside me, but neither of us has clothes on anymore.

He’s whipped me red and raw. Every part of me is crusty with his cum, his saliva from where he sucked and bit me, and our own combined sweat. My skin is burning, but nothing can compare to the thick, hot iron cock hammering me, brutalizing me with every savage thrust.

“You have burned, Valentina,” he growls in my ear, keeping my upper half pressed against the cold stone altar as he pounds into me from behind. “You’vewept.” He punctuates the word with another deep thrust. I moan, overlapping his words. “And repented.” Two more thrusts.

My cunt screams. My blood catches fire. So fucking close!—and then, the bastard stops. I sob, nails scraping the altar, a writhing, hot mess. He’s seated in me, my pussy pulsing around him in little, sucking kisses.

“Now tell me…” He leans over, yanking my hair back and attacking my mouth with a searing, savage kiss. “Are you ready to rise? Or do you need to feel the flames of hell more?” He slams his hand down on my red-hot backside.

“Rise!” I cry out, hands lashing out to grip his chiseled ass. “Please, rise, Moya Korona! Take me h-higher,” I beg.

Releasing my hair, my husband lowers his hand to my clit and works it back and forth. His other hand lowers to cup my breast, rolling the engorged nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He lowers his lips to my ear, “Come with me, Moya Samotsvet.”

Five rapid, back-to-back thrusts as he grinds his hand against my swollen, inflamed clit. And the second he bites the side of my neck, I come. He groans deeply, the sound muffled as hot ropesof his seed shoot into me. My cunt clamps down tighter and stronger than ever, and I scream my bliss and reclamation to the heavens as the world’s most notorious killer brings me back to life.

And then, the doors of the chapel burst open.

Panic rips through me, and I whip my head to the side where a figure advances down the main aisle, wearing a long, black velvet coat with an echo of all the power, beauty, and command Roman holds. No. As soon as I see the same piercing green eyes, the same golden hair, I understand. Iknow. She’s not the echo.

She’s the origin.

And Roman? He doesn’t stop fucking me. Oh, God, I’m going to hell for certain.

She pauses halfway down the aisle, her eyes sweeping over the two of us, assessing, judging. She stiffens, hissing through her nose. Even her pearls seem to look down on us.