Page 102 of Prince of Control

He starts to pump harder, making me lock my elbows to keep from getting pushed into the wall. “You’re such a good girl. I’m going to reward the fuck out of you tonight, baby.”

He slows his strokes and wraps his forearm around my waist, bringing his hips in tight against mine to thrust up. I rise up on my toes with each thrust, then gravity brings me back down firmly on his cock.

I moan because it feels incredible.

“You like that, beautiful? You like riding my dick until you come?”

“Yes,” I moan.

He bounces me faster, taking me on a celestial ride. I’m lightheaded with pleasure, unable to hold myself up, but it doesn’t matter because Baron has me. He has control of my body, and he won’t let me slip. Won’t let me fall.

I believe that now, with my whole heart. I misunderstood and misjudged him before, but I’ll never doubt him again. He’s as solid as they come. More than a rock–a mountain.

“Baron,” I moan. “Yes.”

“You’re so gorgeous. You’re incredible.” He continues to praise me as he fucks me into oblivion. “I’m going to come,” he warns. “You’d better come all over my dick. Are you going to come with me?”

His dirty talk already has me orgasming. My internal muscles start to contract. He shoves in a few more times and then stays in while I squeeze and milk his dick with my orgasm.

“Good girl,” he pants against my ear. “You’re such a good fucking girl.”

Another orgasm ripples through me, pulsing around his cock.

“I’m so in love with you,” he murmurs, nipping the shell of my ear.

I blink back tears because this moment feels so perfect.

It’s not how I imagined things would go when I put on the outfit–but it was honest and raw and utterly perfect.

“I love you, too,” I say.

He pulls out and picks me up, carrying me to the bed. “Don’t think I won’t keep you up all night in this hot little outfit,” he warns, tossing me in the center of the mattress.

I laugh and reach for him, pulling him down on top of me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Epilogue

Lara

“This is it.” Baron’s voice clogs with emotion.

The silvery moonlight makes the water shimmer. We stand on the boardwalk of Lake Michigan, a half-block from the Kremlin. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve. The icy wind off the lake hits our faces, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m Russian—I’m warm in my woolen jacket. Warm from Baron's bed.

Baron clutches blood-red roses in his hand, strangling the stems with white knuckles.

We made love and were talking in bed when I asked him to show me where it happened. He froze up, like the idea made him go dead inside, so I suggested we do it right now. Tonight. We went to the corner drugstore to buy the roses, and now we’re here.

I hope the more he talks about Valentina’s death, the less of an impact it will have on him.

I wrap my arms around him from the side and squeeze.

“I honor Valentina for giving her life to protect yours,” I say. My voice wavers, even though I didn’t know the woman. I can sense how much she loved the children and how much they loved her.

“I honor Valentina for giving her life to protect ours,” Baron repeats, the words barely making it out of his throat.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I’m going to keep saying this as many times as it takes until he believes me. “None of it was your fault. You were just a kid. Only terrible people gun down an innocent woman caring for innocent children.”

I hate the haunted look in Barron’s eyes. I want to hug it away. Kiss it away. Make him forget. But this moment isn’t about forgetting. It’s about remembering. Honoring. Memorializing.