Page 74 of Violent Pawn

“I’m not most men.”

She leans back, searching my face. “No,” she decides after a moment, “you’re not.”

Cupping her face, I kiss her. I reassure her this doesn’t change shit. If anything, it dragged me deeper into her sphere, because not only does she fight for herself and her family, but she protects those she employs too. There’s nothing sexier than a woman who cares.

She grows heavy in my hold, kissing me back. Both of us fighting for dominance. Bloodstained hands meld with my hair, the pain of the room propelling us closer together, searching within one another for relief so rarely found in our lives.

I spin us around, pressing her up against the wall, wondering at what point her need for control will take over. I clench her hips as she climbs my body, winding her legs around my waist and finds, with a crook of her brow, what exactly watching her has done to me.

“You have no idea what you look like wielding a weapon, Petrov. It’s entirely your fault.”

“Then it should be up to me to fix it too, no?”

She lowers to her knees before her words register despite the blood—old and new—staining the floor. Quick fingers work at my zipper, freeing my cock, and stealing with it all sense, sanity, and the blood that should be in my head.

“You don’t need—” She glides her soft hand up and down my cock before lifting higher onto her knees and wraps her lips around me. My head falls backwards on the stone wall. “Fuck.”

Her tongue laps the head and down my shaft as she cups my base, stroking in time with her mouth. I want—no, need—to lift my head, look down, and see this for myself, but every time I attempt, my knees threaten to collapse at the next swipe of her tongue or suck of her cheeks.

I fist her hair, having to trust she’ll fight me if she’s uncomfortable. After today, I have no doubt she’d slice my balls off if I harmed her. So I grip tightly, guiding her the way I need, though she does a really damn good job on her own.

“Anast—cara mia…fuck.” Forcing my head up, my lids low, I gaze down on what’ll be my newest obsession. A high that liquor will never get me to. A lull that obliterates old guilt because Zeno and his family shit doesn’t matter anymore if it meant protecting this woman’s life and getting us here.

I’d burn the world before losing this moment.

I shift her hair away from her face as her eyes flash up, a cheeky grin from her mouth stretched around me just about destroying me.

“I can’t even think…” A wave of pleasure comes, my orgasm on the precipice if she keeps going. “You’re never getting rid of me. Not when knowing what your pretty mouth looks like wrapped around my cock. Suck me dry. Take it all.”

As she twists her hand around my base and tightens her lips, the tingle in my spine isn’t to be ignored. Cum shoots from my cock and floods her mouth. She keeps sucking, drinking as I come—which makes my orgasm ongoing, my hand clenched to keep her in place as white and black decorate my lids.

I pull her off me, grip her face, and lower as I tilt hers up, meeting her halfway to take her mouth with my own. She tastes like me, and fuck all her dislike and trauma about possession. This woman is mine—mine, mine, mine—and I’ll find a way to prove it to her. She tastes like me. She’s on my mouth, in my arms, and splattered with blood from defending those who she cares about. She’s the best woman I know.

And all fucking mine.

She pulls back with a giggle. I press my thumb to her bottom lip until she parts and lets me see the leftover cum still on her tongue.

Mine.

“Fuck, Ana…”

“Anastasia.”

“We’re still not friends?” I cast a look to my cock still out. “After everything?”

She winks before getting to her feet. “I think we’re beyond friends at this point. Which means Ana isn’t your nickname. Pick a new one.”

Laughing, I zip myself up and find my hands wandering back to her, compelled to keep her close. “When are you finished with work? I want to take you out.”

“Not for a while. I’ll be stopping by two more clubs after this. Not all of us constantly slack off to vacation in other countries.” She grips my collar, tugging me forward in another show of strength. “Tell me, stranger. Where are you from?”

“Funny, Petrov. Would it be okay if I came with you?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Better question is why you’d want to.”

“To spend time with you.”

Her gaze shifts as she retreats into her head. After a moment of battling inner demons, she grabs my hand and leads me from the room. So I take it as a yes—and a win after the murder in Kazakhstan earlier.