Page 36 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

ILYA

My words are half joke, half serious, all need.

Fucking Alina again is an urge writing itself into my bones. I want to mark her in all the ways as mine.

But the beating compulsion to take her rough and hard pushes at me. Her mouth is so fucking soft, sweet, and so damned sacred that I should probably turn away. Or go down on her and lick her to orgasm.

It’s no chore to do that.

Thing is, she’s made for love, for the kind of passion that undulates, not levels buildings. Not changes the universe like an exploding star. She is made to change the universe, but she’s a slow expansion, something that takes time and lasts forever.

She should be worshiped.

Not taken hard, fast, and dirty in a kitchen.

So I kiss her, explore her mouth, dance with her tongue, and taste her lip, drawing it into my mouth to play with. I love the wet heat of her mouth, how responsive she is, the way she gives and asks for more .

And when we came together last time, it was alchemy. More than the sum of its parts.

I’ve never kissed someone before and been so transported, so changed. When I finally sank into her and we joined…

Transcendental.

That’s the fucking word.

She’s a trip all her own, and I’m addicted. I’ve had great sex. I’ve never had a greater connection, though. I know Alina, and yet she’s something new, full of delight and mystery for me to uncover.

And that takes time.

“I’m glad you have a dress on,” I say, slipping my fingers along the wet slit of her cunt.

The shivers that take her are music.

Slowly, I push two fingers into her, curling them into that tight hotness, all that delicate, wet flesh that clings and stretches, that’s like nothing else on earth.

I stroke her G-spot and start to kiss my way down, letting my thumb tease the hard little nub of her clit.

Alina gasps and moans, thrusting her hips against me to give me the access I crave.

I kiss my way down to her belly. She straightens and pulls back, the movement delightfully catching my fingers in an even tighter vise.

She grabs my hair, pulling my head back up. “No.”

“No?” I frown.

Alina pushes me back, passion bright and alluring on her face, her lips swollen, her pupils dilated, her carotid artery pounding. “No.”

I step back, easing my fingers out.

There’s no way to hide the jut of my erection in my trousers. It aches, the blood there throbbing for me to get relief .

She slips off the counter to the marble tiles of the kitchen floor.

“What—” I stop as she steps closer and kisses my cock through my pants.

It twitches. Precum leaks out, and that one touch of her lips on the material covering my cock is almost enough to make me erupt.

She has a devastating effect on a man.

“It’s my turn.” Alina undoes my belt, my trouser button, and the zipper.

She pulls my pants down with my boxer briefs, and my hard cock springs free. The temperate air whispering against my sensitive skin does nothing to offer relief.

I want to speak, but my throat’s full of molasses, and I can’t. She wraps her hands around me, and I almost stagger back as she runs her tongue along my length, balls to tip, and sucks the end.

A groan breaks free, and I tense, trying to stop myself from coming, wanting to push her away, needing to plunge down her throat.

But I do neither. I let her explore with the delicate touches of her tongue, the tug and slide of her hand.

Then she wraps her lips around my head, sucking me in, her lips stretching around me. She starts to move up and down, her teeth a whisper against me.

I’m on fire. I grip the edge of the counter as she sucks me deeper until I hit the back of her throat. She gags, and the sudden, unconscious swallowing clenches her mouth around me.

“Fuuuck.”

The word that makes its way free seems to embolden her. That wet, hot furnace that’s at once a vacuum and stretchy, and so fucking full of glorious saliva as her tongue laps against me, is almost too much. I crave it. And she keeps taking me deeper until something snaps.

I grab her head, coiling my hands in her hair, and stare down. Her eyes are on me, and saliva drips down her chin. Tears track down her face. I slam into her, down her throat, and she releases her hold, her hands coming to my ass. She grips it, pulling me into her.

Holy hell. Alina likes this. I don’t look away as I thrust into her hard, using her like I use a cunt, a savagery breaking free and taking over.

This isn’t going to take long.

My cock throbs. The ache is pleasure and pain, and my balls are high and tight. I’m feverish. An ice-hot bolt races down my spine and into my cock, and I grab her hard, holding her as my release unleashes.

As I cum, I can’t stop the roar I make that fills the room. I just hold her there, emptying into her, her frantic swallowing milking me, heightening the exquisite pleasure.

When her hands fall to her sides, I pull out, catching her as she starts to collapse, heaving in air.

“Oh, malyshka , I’m sorry?—”

“No,” she says, gasping. “Don’t. I wanted that. I needed it.”

Her words make me hard again, incredibly hard. It’s like I’ve got a lifetime of orgasms for her in me, and now she’s unlocked the gate. The hard-ons won’t stop coming.

“Alina…”

“Fuck me, please. Hard.”

I pick her up and kiss her, my tongue invading her mouth like I need to make my claim.

Then I break the kiss and shove her up onto the island, a plate crashing and shattering onto the floor. I don’t care. I rip her underwear aside, delighting in how wet she is, how ready.

I want her ass, but now isn’t the time .

Instead, I need to assert dominance, give it to her hard and make her know who she belongs to. Me.

She’s fucking mine.

I will kill for this woman.

I push her face down on the island, so her legs and ass hang off the edge. I prefer to see her face, but right now, I need this. I think she needs it, too.

She moans, lifting her hips, and I put one hand at the base of her neck, the other around my cock.

I line up and then slam into her, balls deep, that luscious, tight cunt stretching just for me.

It pulsates, throbbing, clenching, and she’s muttering, crying out.

I put my hand on the edge of the counter and start to fuck her relentlessly.

I don’t treat her the way I want, which is with reverence. This is nasty, dirty, hard, deep, fast. It’s a claiming. A branding. And I’ll do it again and again until she tells me she’s mine.

I take my pleasure, a long, hard fuck, hitting her as deep as I can with each thrust, making sure the angle is right for her clit.

It must be right at the edge, and with each brutal thrust, I push closer to that edge.

She grips the other end of the island, her face turned to the side, her pleasure a beautiful thing to see.

She tightens again, massaging me, her cunt not wanting to release me every time I pull out, but she welcomes me with each push in.

Fuck. Fuck .

I thought I could just spend a long-ass time doing this, but she feels so good. When her second orgasm hits, she spasms so hard on my cock that she sets me off, and I cum again.

I push in deep, holding myself there, my cock twitching, the buzz of release spreading as I spurt into her. The beating spasms of her on me keep going, slowly lessening in strength until it’s a weak thing, a gentle massage.

Leaning down, I kiss her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, and then I ease out and help her up. She immediately starts to crumble.

I sit her on the island as I pull up my pants, and then I pick her up and carry her out, down the hall, and up the stairs to my room.

Albert sits on my bed, waiting. He makes a sound like he’s embarrassed for us and then curls up.

I kiss her slowly, reveling in the taste of Alina, in the mix of us.

“We didn’t have dessert,” she says as I pull her clothes off and put the covers over her.

“Oh, you’re wrong. We very much did.” I strip and get into bed with her. “And I think I’ll be having seconds and thirds. Maybe fourths.”

Albert whines.

The next morning, Alina stirs but doesn’t really wake as I slip out of bed.

No wonder. We were up half the night fucking. Or making love. Call it what you will.

I kiss her cheek, and she mutters something, turning over, before Albert raises his head next to her. I ruffle his fur, and he snuggles in next to her, merely lifting an ear as I get ready.

When I pull on my jacket, I stop, looking down and smiling.

Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s naked. A few little marks are on her throat from me, and I know I’ve got a few from her, too.

She’s at once fiery and sweet, and all those things come together in a hot package I know I’ll never get enough off. Especially with the sheet tangled around her and Albert the guard dog curled up on the bed.

I’d love nothing more than to climb back into the bed and spend the day in her arms, pleasing her, worshiping her, this time slowly. But I can’t.

I need to fix the fucking mess I created.

With my men still pissed at me, some of them in the hospital, I need to do this myself. So I focus on Santo. I need to link him to Simonov as covert allies, not enemies, to prove beyond a doubt he was responsible.

But as I pull out the stops and engage all my resources and contacts I’ve made over the years working for Demyan, I have difficulties.

Of course, it’d be easier to do this with a team, with my men. To gather intel, to attack the problem from multiple points. But I don’t blame anyone for hating me. And I can’t ask anyone, even if they were on my side, to help.

It’s not just because of lives lost. It’s because I did this. Me.

And a man dying is bad, but so many don’t think beyond that. It’s one thing if it’s deserved, and even then, I’ve long used execution as a very last resort. But it’s another thing if they die through my negligence, my stupidity. My naivete.

Wives have lost their husbands. Children have lost their fathers, and no amount of promises can bring them back or change the fact I was a fool in trusting Santo.