Page 80 of Deadly Alliance
"Cassio, please," she begs, tossing her head side to side on the pillows.
"Please what?" I taunt, quickening the pace of my fingers, watching the pleasure completely unravel her composed facade."Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want. Tell me exactly what you need me to do."
"I want you inside me," she whimpers, her internal muscles clamping down tightly around my fingers. "I want my husband."
The possessive thrill that rockets through my veins at those words is intoxicating. I withdraw my fingers, positioning myself between her thighs. I am painfully hard, aching with the need to bury myself inside her and forget the rest of the fucking world.
But I can't put my weight on my right side, and trying to hold myself up for a prolonged time is going to tear my stitches wide open.
"Sit up," I murmur, rolling onto my back against the pillows.
Noemi understands instantly. She scrambles up, throwing a leg over my hips to straddle me. She lines herself up against my thick length, her hands resting flat on my stomach, careful to avoid the bandages wrapping my ribs.
She sinks down slowly, taking every inch of me into her tight, scalding heat.
A guttural groan rips from my chest. My head falls back against the headboard, my eyes sliding shut as the agonizingly good friction overwhelms my senses. "Fuck, Noemi. Shit."
She sets the pace, rising up and sliding back down with a steady, punishing rhythm. I reach up with my left hand, gripping her hip to help guide her motions, my thumb pressing firmly into her skin.
She leans forward, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a heavy curtain. "Look at me," she demands.
I open my eyes. She is looking down at me, her face flushed, her lips parted. She grinds her hips down hard against mine, eliciting a sharp curse from my lips. Even when she is the one riding me, dictating the pace, she is entirely submissive to the bond between us, entirely focused on pulling every ounce of pleasure from my body.
"I'm going to be right here waiting for you tomorrow," she tells me, each word punctuated by a deep, seated thrust. "You hear me? You kill whoever you have to kill, and you come back to this bed."
"Yes," I grit out, my control fraying at the edges. The visual of her riding me, demanding my survival, is the hottest thing I have ever witnessed. "I'll bury them all, baby. I promise."
"Good," she moans, picking up the speed.
The slick, wet sound of our bodies slapping together fills the quiet room. Her breasts sway with every movement, the peaks hardened and flushed. I reach up, capturing one in my mouth, laving the sensitive nipple with my tongue before sucking hard.
Noemi cries out, her back arching, her rhythm becoming frantic. Her internal walls spasm around my cock, milking me, driving me straight toward the edge.
"That's it," I praise her, my voice strained and harsh. "Take it all. Come for me, Noemi."
"Cassio," she screams my name, her body going rigid as her climax hits her like a freight train. She squeezes her eyes shut, her fingernails biting into my shoulders.
Her intense, clenching release destroys the last shred of my restraint. I thrust my hips up hard against her, burying myself as deep as physically possible, and let go. The orgasm tears through me, a violent, consuming flood of heat and exhaustion that leaves me completely drained.
She collapses forward onto my uninjured left side, burying her face in the crook of my neck, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. I wrap my arm around her back, holding her tightly against me.
We lie there for a long time.
Tomorrow, the streets will run red. Tomorrow, I will walk into a slaughterhouse and face the Bratva Pakhan.
But tonight, holding the woman who gave me a reason to fight, I know exactly what I am fighting for. And Volkov doesn't stand a fucking chance.
31
Noemi
The sheets are cold on his side of the bed.
I wake up grasping at empty air, the scent of bergamot and sweat lingering on the pillows. Cassio is gone. The heavy steel shutters are still closed, but the digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:00 AM.
He left while I was sleeping, sparing us a drawn-out goodbye.
I sit up, pulling his discarded black dress shirt over my bare shoulders. My muscles ache, a delicious, lingering soreness from the hours we spent tangled together, but my mind is razor-sharp. Today is the day the streets run red. Today, my husband walks into a meat grinder.
