Page 112 of The Games of Madmen

“We’re going to have to work on your begging,” I scold, moving my cock up to her ass. “Should I take your naughty little ass instead?”

“No, please fuck me, Ro.”

“Where?” I demand.

“My pussy, fuck my pussy.”

“Hmmm, okay.” I ram balls deep into her soaked pussy, falling over her body, and bracing my hands on either side of her head. Her walls squeeze my cock, and her scream sends an electric current pulsing into me. Her eyes slam shut, and when they reopen, there’s no color left. Desire has stripped it away, and what’s left is basic, carnal need.

“Where’s Z?” she pants, and I narrow my eyes at her.

“Is he fucking you, or am I?” I ask, and her brow puckers.

“You.” She’s breathless, the pink flush creeping up her cheeks highlights the cum there. She’s all fucking mine right now. I own her.

“That’s right, me. So scream my name like a good fucking girl.” I pull all the way out and then slam back in, tilting my hips and fucking her deep and hard. And when she screams my name, she does it like it means something.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alyona

I’ve never been intimate with just one of my madmen before now, and I can’t help but feel that they were sharing more of themselves with me. They seem to trust me on a deeper level, giving themselves to me in a way they usually only share with each other.

My heart is so damn full I think it might burst. Looking down at the small red lines around my wrists, I grin. Rodion uncuffed me and applied salve to the red marks left by the restraints only after he gave me multiple orgasms to the point of blacking out.

I will order a fluffy pink pair of handcuffs for next time. A smile pushes up the corners of my mouth, and I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate the ache already building there again. They make me feel sexually free. When I’m exposed and bare, it’s the prettiest I’ve ever felt, and it’s because of the way they look at me, fuck me, love me, own me.

Rodion left me to get an extra hour of sleep, and now that I’ve showered and gotten dressed, I feel more like myself. The cut on my thigh isn’t deep and the bruises will fade in a few days.

There’s a lightness in my steps today. We’re not fully out of the woods of drama yet, but the main threat is gone. Voices come from the kitchen, and I make my way there to squeeze my baby girl. Z meets me at the threshold, handing me a mug of coffee.

“Good morning, beautiful. Roza’s just having her breakfast.” He drops a kiss to my forehead, and I sigh from the contact. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the nanny.”

“To the what?” I choke on the coffee, coughing loudly, until Z pats my back. “Wrong hole.”

“No such thing,” he teases, and I smack him playfully until I remember what caused the coughing fit in the first place.

“Did you say nanny?”

Taking my coffee mug, he places it on the counter. “Yes, Mrs. Potts comes highly recommended and she’s already bonding well with Roza. You’ll like her. She’s a very nice woman.”

Do I want a nanny?

“Isn't that something we should have done together?” I ask, voice slightly shrill.

Pushing a finger through the belt loop in my jeans, he tugs me toward him. “Usually absolutely, but in this instance, you took off for three days without warning, so I made the decision and like most of my decisions, it was a good one.”

Can’t really argue with that even if my mouth opens to do just that. He pinches my lips closed and kisses the tip of my nose. “Just give her a chance, love.”

He rolls his eyes when he sees my lips move.

“Why do we need a nanny? There are three parents,” I argue because that’s what I do.

His shoulders sag on a sigh. “Because we have businesses to run. We hoped you’d want to get involved with the club.”

“You want me to work there?” I ask, surprise coloring my voice.

His thumb lazily strokes over the sliver of flesh above my jeans. “We want you to do whatever you want there. Just be a part of it. Help us make it great. Build on our legacy with us, the three of us.” His eyes search mine.