Page 39 of Savage Lies

“Dmitri!”

His laugh is dark satisfaction. He shifts, grinding harder, and pleasure builds in my belly, wave after wave crashing through me until I shatter around him.

“That’s it,” he grits, holding me tight. “Come for me, kotyonok.”

I scream his name again as I fall apart, and he follows, groaning as he spills inside me, pinning me against the desk like he’ll never let go.

When the last tremor fades, he kisses the corner of my mouth, as gentle as a threat.

“Next time you want my secrets,” he murmurs, “remember what they cost.”

He pulls back, zipping his trousers as though nothing happened. My legs are still trembling, and the desk is a wreck with scattered papers.

I should push him away. I should want distance. Instead, I’m trembling with need and desperate in a way I don’t want to admit.

“You’ve always known me, kotyonok,” Dmitri says. His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Even if you don’t remember, your body does.”

Damn him.

As much as I want to deny it, he’s right.

11

Katya

He straightens, smoothing his jacket like he hadn’t just taken me apart on his desk.

I’m still trembling, but Dmitri looks collected, his ruthless mask already back in place.

“So, you think you’re ready for answers?” He moves to the cabinet without looking at me, pouring three fingers of vodka and downing half like it’s nothing. “Fine. I’ll give you the truth.”

“The truth?” My voice is hoarse.

“Yes, my business involves more than shipping legitimate cargo. I move valuable items for people who prefer to avoid government oversight. Sometimes, that means hiring men who solve problems through violence rather than negotiation.”

I run my thumb over my tattoo, surprised by how unsurprised I am by this admission. “What kind of problems?”

“The kind that surface when people get greedy. When they forget who they’re dealing with.” He finishes his vodka and sets the glass down hard. “When they threaten the people I care about.”

“Like me? You expect me to believe that?”

“Especiallyyou.”

The words should make me feel safe. Instead, they make my skin crawl.

“As I’ve said before, you’re my wife. That makes you a target.” He moves closer, and I fight the urge to step back. “What I haven’t told you is how immediate that threat is. The Borisenkos want our territory. They see you as leverage.”

“The Borisenkos?”

“A rival organization. They were behind the bombing at the gallery where you were injured.”

My stomach drops. “That wasn’t an accident? I thought you said a car drove into the building.”

“No, kotyonok. It was an assassination attempt.”

The pet name makes my chest tighten. Beneath the affection, it feels like manipulation. Like he’s using my emotional response to distract me from asking better questions.

“They tried to kill me?”