Chapter 15 - Boris

Fiona moves painstakingly slowly, sliding my shorts down my legs, revealing my cock, which is so hard it's practically painful. She quickly rids herself of her shorts, throwing them to the side of the bed, where they fall into a heap with mine.

"I'm on the pill," she says, as she wraps her hand around my cock. Stars erupt in my eyes, and I have to grip the sheets to steady myself. The pain in my side is starting to subside, and I realize the painkiller must be starting to kick in.

"Okay," I say, head dropping back against the pillow as she moves her hand along my cock, sending waves of pleasure through my body, "there's a condom in my bedside table if you want it."

"Nah," she says just before licking my tip, and when I glance down, I see her tongue run over the precum. It's one of the hottest things I've ever witnessed in my life, and I have to breathe intentionally to keep from coming right there.

Fiona launches into one of the best blow jobs I've ever had in my life, her hand moving in time with her mouth, taking me so deeply in her mouth I swear the tip of my cock touches the back of her throat.

"Fiona," I say, reaching down as much as I can with my injury. "Fuck, if you keep going, I'm going to—"

"What are you saying?" she asks, popping her mouth off my cock and looking up at me. "Are you saying you don't want to come in my mouth, Milov?"

"I'm saying I want to come in your pussy," I growl, burying a hand in her hair and tugging her up so her ass is firmly in my lap again. When I feel my cock rub against her entrance, I grab her hips, helping her position herself, unable to wait a single second longer before I get inside her.

When I slide inside her, I have to close my eyes. She is so tight and wet around me, and once I'm buried to the hilt, I feel her squeeze her walls around me once, twice, before she starts to grind.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Fiona, what the hell—"

"What?" she asks, giving me a shit-eating grin before she squeezes the walls of her pussy around me again. "That? Oh, they're just muscles like anything else."

She continues like that, squeezing and grinding and rocking, burying me inside her, then pulling back and teasing me until I can't breathe. When I feel like I can't take it anymore, she leans down and licks up my chest, biting one of my nipples before finding my mouth.

This woman is insane , I think, right before unraveling and coming inside her.

***

Fiona is cuddled into me when I wake up, somehow avoiding my wounded side, even in her sleep. Slowly, I get out of bed and walk across the room. My side feels better, reduced to a dull throbbing rather than a sharp pain.

I'm thirsty, so I open the door and take the stairs one at a time down to the kitchen. Fiona—and everyone else—would have my head if they knew I was attempting this in the middle of the night without telling anyone first, but I'm thirsty. And I'll have to return to normal life at some point.

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the kitchen, guzzling down a glass of water, when someone appears at the front door. At first, I go on high alert, reaching for the gun under the kitchen island until I realize it's just Roman.

"Oh good," he says, "you're up. I come bearing news."

Roman has been gallantly handling all my business since I went down from the stab wound. After this, I sense he'll have a newfound appreciation for the role and what it requires of me.

"You didn't say bad or good," I mutter, moving to the refrigerator to refill my water. "That troubles me."

"I'm not sure if it's bad or good—it's just information," Roman says before taking a deep breath and sitting down at the kitchen island. "Also—I saw that you were gonna pull a gun on me."

I grin at him.

"You can never be too careful. Now, spill. You're killing me with the anticipation here."

"You know how we put extra surveillance on the Allards," Roman says, "well, tonight, we got something out of that. Turns out, they're watching us closely, too. We've seen people not only at Noch but also frequenting Fiona's regular spots—the coffee shop she used to go to, her library, and places she's been with Olive. Of course, there are also plenty of guys stationed around their apartment building. Seems they're waiting for Fiona to come back."

I move to the counter, grab an apple, and take a bite. I'm suddenly ravenous, and I think it has to do with the fact that my body is still healing. Or, it could be related to what happened with Fiona earlier. My stomach tightens when I think of it, and I have to work hard to focus on my brother and what he's saying.

"Makes sense," I say, chewing my apple and choosing my words carefully. "If Fiona can escape, they'll get some valuable intel. I wonder if Allard knows about Fiona's background—that she's very capable of escaping if she wants to."

"Doubt it," Roman says, tapping his fingers on the counter. "From everything we've seen, it appears as though the Allards believe Fiona is just a regular—someone Olive took in as a sort of pet project."

"Have you gathered anything about Olive's involvement in the Corsica?" I ask, fingers tightening on the apple. I think of Fiona's face earlier, how it had looked like she was breaking apart when she thought about Olive betraying her or knowingly being involved in something as terrible as human trafficking.

And it's not just the human trafficking—there are plenty of other Allard crimes that I haven't told Fiona about in the hopes of not upsetting her too much.

If Olive knows anything about those, she's not the innocent girl she plays.

"Nothing," Roman says, then he laughs, his face scrunching a bit, "but do you truly think there's any way Olive isn't involved in the family business? I mean—think about Anya. Even as much as we try to shelter her from everything, she knows about everything that goes on. She'd have our ass if we even thought about doing half the shit Allard gets up to."

I let out a sigh, then dropped my head into my hands.

"I know, man," I say, eventually, when silence has filled the kitchen for a long moment. "But Fiona seems to think Olive isn't like that. It's hard to think Fiona failed to read someone—her best friend—like that."

"Well, she failed to read James Allard like that," Roman points out, "and besides, when did you start trusting a stranger's judgment so much?"

"She's not a stranger," I mumble.

"Dude," Roman says, rolling his eyes. "You barely know this girl. You met her what—two weeks ago?"

"I don't know how to explain it to you, and I don't have to."

"You're right, you don't have to, but that doesn't stop you from looking like you're off your rocker, brother."

"When I look at Fiona—it's like looking at myself," I say, staring at the counter, hating that I'm sharing all this mushy shit. "You weren't there the night that I kidnapped her—it's like she allowed me to take her. She wanted to play this game with me, which makes me think she's interested in joining this world."

"I mean, yeah, that seems pretty obvious, based on the way she's been acting," Roman pauses for a moment. "Not to question your judgment, brother, but you really don't think it's possible that Fiona is planted? I mean—if she allowed herself to be kidnapped, doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"

"Yes," I admit, "but it makes sense, given her background."

"How do you know her background?"

"She told me—" I start before realizing what that sounds like. I clear my throat.

"I just don't want you to let something like love cloud your judgment."

"Who said love?" I grumble, running a hand over my chin. "Look into her for me. Anything you can find."

"Right away," Roman says, grinning at me. "Even if she's clean, I can't wait to dig up embarrassing moments from her past that I can hold over her head."

I know Fiona won't like the idea of me looking into her background, but I also know that she'll understand. I remember what she said about the motorcycles in the shed and the chef's fear of mice. I picture her creeping through the house, gathering as much information as she can. Fiona would understand my need to have more information about her before moving forward.

Moving forward with what?

I was prepared to marry Olive Allard—just to infuriate her father, change her last name, and make a mess for them to clean up. I had never intended to actually keep her as my wife. I didn't think we would be compatible. But now, here I am, with a woman living in my house that I feel the desperate need to stay with.

Olive was a play, a strategy. But Fiona is like a suitcase of money that's fallen in my lap.

"I'm just thinking, brother," Roman says, and I can already tell from his tone that I'm not going to like what he says next. "That if Fiona is so valuable to the Allards, perhaps we should use her as bait. They might come running if they believe she's free from us. And it seems like you've gained her trust."

He raises a knowing eyebrow, and I stare back at him, shaking my head.

"No—we're not putting Fiona in harm's way. Not anymore."

Not after the other night, when she was almost stabbed. I know that if she had taken that blow instead of me, it would have been a lot more than two weeks of healing and some physical therapy. She might not be with us anymore.

"I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying. It's not an option. We'll just have to find another way.

Roman puts his hands up like I'm holding him at gunpoint.

"All right," he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and turning to go. "I just thought you should know. By the way, if you're well enough to come to the kitchen in the middle of the night, does that mean you're well enough to take your responsibilities back? Because, quite frankly, I'm pretty tired of dealing with them."

"Oh, so all that talk about my job being so easy feels pretty stupid now, huh?" I say, referring to when Roman first complained that I was given the role from Kervyn. At that time, our father had recently passed, and I was taking on his work as well as the new responsibilities Kervyn had given me. There was a lot on my plate, and my brothers didn't seem to understand the extent of that.

"I'm just saying," Roman says, grinning, "that there's a race this weekend, and I would much rather go to that than be bogged down with calls from cousin Kervyn and his annoying brothers."

"You'd better not talk about them like that," I say, pointing at him. "Or they may appear in this kitchen."

"What, like—" A gust of wind blows in the window, shutting a closet door in the hallway, and Roman jumps. I laugh at him far past when he's stalked out the front door.