Chapter 27

Victor

I COLLAPSEonto the sofa beside my wife, my chest heaving, my softening cock slick with the evidence of our hot fuck. She’s spread out like a satisfied kitten, her skin flushed and glistening, pussy still quivering from the force of her orgasms.

I smear my cum on the soft curve of her belly, pearly against her creamy flesh. Another spurt clings to the corner of her sexy mouth—the same mouth that was wrapped so fucking perfectly around my cock mere minutes ago, working me to a mind-blowing climax down her eager throat.

I take a moment just to drink her in, this gorgeous creature who owns me so completely. Even debauched and well-used, she takes my breath away. Makes me want to sink into her warmth again and again until we’re both raw and spent.

But she’s clearly exhausted, her breathing already evening out into the cadence of sleep. My insatiable little wife is dead to the world, utterly wrung out from our passions. A smug sense of masculine pride surges through me at the sight.

Gently, so as not to wake her, I gather her limp form into my arms and carry her to our bedroom. She barely stirs as I tuck her beneath the sheets, just burrows her face into the pillow with a content little sigh.

On impulse, I brush my lips against her forehead, the tender gesture a stark contrast to the filthy things I was doing to her body only moments before. A soft smile curves her kiss-swollen lips, and something in my chest clenches almost painfully.

Suka! What the fuck was that? Since when do I do sweet?

I’m a ruthless motherfucker, a man who takes what he wants without apology. I don’t do soft. I don’t do gentle. Not unless it’s a means to an end—a calculated move to lower a woman’s guard so I can fuck her the way I really want to.

But with this kiska… Christ, the things this woman makes me feel. The ways she turns me inside out without even trying. It’s dangerous, this hold she has on me. The power she wields without even knowing it.

Scowling at my own foolish sentimentality, I stalk to the bathroom, suddenly desperate to clear my head. I need to get my shit together before this perfect, maddening creature in my bed awakens and tempts me to do something truly stupid. Like bare my fucking soul to her.

And may God fucking help me… I’m beginning to like it.

I crank the shower as hot as it’ll go and get in, hoping the scalding water will burn away whatever the fuck these feelings are. But even with the spray beating down on me like a pissed-off jury, I know it’s no use.

Laura’s already made herself at home in my head.

If I’m being honest, in my goddamn heart, too.

And fuck me sideways, but I’m starting to like it.

To crave it, even.

Blyad. I’m so screwed.

Water sluices down my body as I step out of the shower, steam curling around me.

My eyes immediately land on Laura, sprawled across our bed like a fucking feast laid out just for me.

In the dim light, I can make out the curves of her body, barely concealed by that thin dress. It’s ridden up her thighs, exposing miles of her long legs. The neckline has slipped, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of one perfect tit, the rosy nipple pebbled and begging for my mouth.

Christ, the things I want to do to her delectable body. Flip her over, hike that scrap of fabric up around her hips, and plunge into her sweet cunt until she’s mewling and thrashing underneath me. Slip my fingers between her thighs and work her swollen clit until she’s dripping all over the sheets, desperate for my cock.

I imagine wrapping that silky hair around my fist and fucking her pretty face until mascara streaks her cheeks and tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

Pizda.

My dick twitches at the filthy images, a pearl of precum beading at the tip. Fuck, I could probably blow my load just from jerking it to the sight of her, flushed and rumpled from our fuckfest.

I’m halfway to the bed, ready to do just that when my phone starts buzzing like a motherfucker on the nightstand. I snatch it up with a snarl, ready to verbally castrate whoever’s on the other end.

“Boss, we got the ledger. And…”

“Misha, you cumstain, I’m kinda fucking busy here,” I snap, keeping my voice low.

Suka. Blood surges to my cock, hard and ready in an instant. The urge to crawl between her legs and sink into her warm sweetness nearly buckles my knees.

The fucker just laughs. “Damn, boss, she’s got your balls in a grip, huh? Bet that pussy is tight as a glove.”

I bare my teeth even though he can’t see. “Keep talking, and I’ll mail you my dirty condoms so you can see for yourself.”

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, pretty sure they’d disintegrate from the toxic waste in your radioactive jizz.”

Christ. And people call me crass.

“You’ve got thirty seconds before I reach through this phone and strangle you with your own intestines. Talk,”I whisper fiercely.

“Dig the wax out of your ears, boss. I said Igor found Vasiliev’s ledger. The dumb fuck wrote everything down, every dirty deal, every bribe. It’s a fucking gold mine. Get your ass to the wine cellar, we’re gonna toast the end of that scumbag’s reign.”

Fuck. If this is legit, we’ll own that weaselly prick. He’ll be our puppet, dancing on our strings.

“Fifteen minutes. Don’t you fucking dare open the ‘46 without me.”

“Hold up, boss, I wasn’t done,” Misha gripes. “Guess who else Igor got in the meat locker, caught with his hand in the cookie jar? Fucking Dave. Idiot was tearing through Laura’s apartment like he owned the place. Probably looking for the ledger.”

I whistle low. “Well, well. This just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”

A slow grin spreads over my face. Dave. The spineless little shit who’s been sneaking around Laura. Thinking he was clever.

Oh, I’m going to enjoy the talk with him when I’m back.

“Find out why he took the ledger,” I tell Misha. “And tell Igor to break something. Non-vital.”

Misha’s dark chuckle crackles down the line. “With pleasure, boss.”

I’m already searching for clothes, my cock wilting as my mind shifts gears. “Give me ten minutes.”

I end the call and turn to look at my sleeping wife, so soft and trusting. My chest does that clenching thing again.

Fuck. Get a fucking grip.

I should wake her. Fill her in. But she looks so peaceful, I can’t bring myself to disturb her. Instead, I just bend down and brush a kiss against her forehead, breathing in the scent of our coupling on her skin.

Then I straighten, irritated with myself. I’m getting soft. Weak. The kind of vulnerability I can’t afford in my line of work.

Turning away, I get dressed in silence, already shifting gears. The time for tenderness is over. Now, I have a snake to de-fang.

Giving her one last long look, I slip out the door, murder on my mind and ice in my veins.