by Naima Simone
“You aren’t disgusted by me?” Relief flooded him, and it wasn’t until then he’d acknowledged how much her respect meant to him.
“Disgusted? Of course not. How could I be? I understand your reasons then, and you’ve changed your life now,” she murmured, kneeling beside him and tightening her hold on his face so it felt like an embrace. The sheet fell from her, baring her breasts and stomach to him, and while desire simmered inside him, it wasn’t the dominant emotion. He bracketed her hips with his hands, gratefulness rushing through him, humbling him. “Was it your mother who told you the past doesn’t define you?”
“Yes.”
“She was right. And she obviously knew you were more than a thief. She saw past your actions to you—the real you. She saw what I do. A man with a core of integrity and honor. A loyal man, protector, a warrior. Ragnar.”
“We really need to have a long discussion about the difference between Russians and Vikings, lisichka.” He smiled, surprised he was able to. Especially when her words simultaneously lifted a weight off his chest and strangled him. Threading his fingers through her hair, he gripped the thick strands. “If you can see that, then know it’s okay to still love your father, Corrine. There’s no shame in remembering and adoring the man who protected you. Whatever else he is, he was a good father to you. You can hate his actions and still love him. From someone who lost the love of his family because of his choices, don’t take that away from him, because in the coming weeks he’s going to lose everything else. Let him have that. And fuck those who don’t agree with it.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, but a single tear rolled down her cheek before falling between them. With a small whimper, she straddled his lap, jerking his head back, and covering his mouth with hers. He opened under her, accepting the thrust of her tongue and meeting it with one of his own. Desperation tainted the kiss, and he understood it. Escape. He could make her forget, if even for a little while, the emotions and loyalties tearing her apart. Burrowing his fingers in her hair, he gripped the strands and took control of the clash of tongues, lips, and teeth. He held her still as he fucked her mouth with forceful strokes and stinging bites. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. Finally, with a sigh, the tension stringing her so tight loosened, and she submitted to him, tilting her head, letting him take and give.
Rearing up, he tumbled her back onto the bed and crouched over her on his hands and knees, never breaking the erotic contact of their mouths. He swallowed each whimper and moan as his due, offering her his own in return. The woman had him hard as fuck and throbbing over a kiss.
He tore away from her, dragging his tongue down the slender column of her neck, over her collarbone, and to her breasts. With a growl, he sucked a nipple deep, trapping the peak between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He pulled on her, teasing the other tip until she twisted and cried out beneath him. Her fingers clutched his head, holding him to her while her hips bucked and rolled, stroking her wet sex over his cock. She was all liquid heat and soft flesh. Her body called to him, taunted him, stirred a need in him that could only be satisfied once he was buried balls-deep inside her.
Switching to the neglected breast, he ground his hips against her, getting himself drenched so the ride was slick and easy. Her heels dug into his ass as she pressed more of her breast into his mouth and rode him with a frantic, jerky rhythm that signaled her headlong rush to orgasm.
“Not yet,” he growled against her skin, levering his hips away from her. Her disappointed cry echoed in his ears. “The first time you come is going to be on my mouth. I’ve been waiting all night to taste you.”
His mouth watered for it. Sliding down her body, he clamped her writhing hips between his hands and dived for her, burying his tongue in her slit. He groaned, that first burst of sweet and tangy flavor exploding on his taste buds. Lowering his head, he lapped at the moisture glistening on her folds, losing himself in the pleasure of eating her pussy.
He moved to her clit, pursing his lips around it and sucking it at the moment he drove three fingers into her sex. Her scream rained down on him, and her twisting increased. She arched into his mouth, her slick, muscled walls clamping down on his fingers. He thrust inside her, coating his fingers in her liquid heat then sliding one down the path of skin that led to her ass.
“Sasha,” she rasped, stiffening, her fingers clenching and releasing on his head.
“Shh,” he soothed. “You’ve gone this far with me, lisichka, come a little further. Trust me.” While he spoke, he gently rimmed her hole, increasing the pressure with each pass, letting her become familiar with his touch. “You with me, baby?”
“Y-yes,” she breathed.
“Good girl.” In reward, he licked her clit even as he returned to her core and dipped his fingers inside, corkscrewing his wrist to drench himself in her. Then he shifted back to her ass, pressing a fingertip to the tiny entrance and groaning at the small fluttering of her muscles. “Relax for me. Push against my finger.” He waited until her body loosened and then slipped inside.
She whimpered, clenching around him. He stilled, lapping at her clit, sucking it, distracting her.
“Breathe and relax for me,” he instructed again. The glass-smooth channel clutched his finger, and his erection jumped like it’d penetrated her ass. “You feel so good. Let me in some more, baby. I can make you come so hard,” he promised.
Gradually, she loosened, and her breathing deepened.
“Okay?” he asked, glancing up her belly and breasts. Her eyes were wide and glazed in her flushed face, red strands sticking to her damp cheekbones.
“Yes,” she said. “I can feel you.” She broke off on a groan as he slid another inch inside her tunnel. “Oh God, I can feel you there.”
“Where, lisichka?” He crouched between her wide-spread thighs and thrust two fingers of his other hand deep inside her at the same time he buried the entire length of his finger in her back hole. “Talk to me. Where can you feel me?”
“In my pussy,” she whispered. Gasped. “In my ass. Everywhere.” A keening wail burst from her lips, and her walls contracted around him, spasming hard as she flew over the edge into orgasm.
“Fuck,” he growled, and sucking her, he finger-fucked her from both ends, riding her through the release that shook her body and pulled scream after scream from her throat. Goddamn, she was beautiful. Uninhibited as she took his hard strokes, her knees pulled to her chest, her behind lifted into each thrust.
As soon as she stopped milking his finger, he stretched over to the bedside table, jerked open the drawer, and quickly ripped open a condom. In seconds, he’d sheathed himself and was buried inside her.
He grunted as he tunneled through her taut core, the passage tight from its recent orgasm. Clenching his teeth, he fell over her, his hands slamming to the mattress on either side of her head. He captured her mouth, letting her taste herself on his tongue, and fucked her with a fervor that boarded on animalistic. It was primal, the need to plunge inside her over and over, as instinctive as breathing. He needed her, needed her wet, slick embrace over his cock, needed her to take him to oblivion.
His hips slammed into hers over and over, and her nails scored his ass as she took every stroke, every thrust. Electric currents raced down his spine, sizzling in his lower back, in the soles of his fucking feet. His balls drew tight, and he hurt with the need to come. Hovering right on that edge, but damn it, not wanting to dive over. Not wanting this erotic torture to end. But fuck, he wanted…needed…
“Let go.” Like earlier, her whispered command reached him through the roar of lust, infiltrating the din in his head. Giving him permission to lose that last, unraveling thread of control. “Let me catch you.”
Oh God. He exploded, her words—her assurance—shoving him over the crumbling ledge. He plummeted headfirst into ecstasy, into the fire, into the black. And her arms closed around him, holding him close.
She had him.
Chapter Seven
“Your girl coming in tonight?”
Sasha arched an eyebrow as he lifted the tumbler of Vodka and took a deep sip, welcoming the burn. Killian watched him, a knowing gleam in his eyes. A faint bruise darkened his friend’s jaw, and a quick glance down revealed scraped and swollen knuckles. Fresh from a fight.
“She’s not ‘my girl,’” Sasha retorted. “It’s not like that.” He arched his eyebrow higher. “As you should know.” They both took part in what The Loft had to offer, as Killian’s spanking demonstration in the playroom the night before attested to.
“Oh, so she’s just a fuck toy,” Killian drawled. A white-hot flash of anger blew through Sasha, and considering the smirk curling his friend’s mouth, Killian knew it. “Uh-uh. That’s what I thought.”
“Who kicked the goddamn bucket and made you Dr. Drew?” Sasha snarled. He wanted to be angry, but fuck it. What was the point?
Turning away, he sipped his drink again. Killian was just posing the question that had been plaguing him since the night before. What were they? Or better yet: what could they possibly be?
Yes, he’d shared more with her than he’d ever confided in anyone other than Rion and Killian. Yes, he wanted her more than he’d ever craved another woman. Even now his skin itched to touch hers. Hell, as many times as he’d been inside her last night, he should probably be in a postcoital coma. But, no, just the thought of her had his flesh stirring.
Yet, the issues, the obstacles that had been there at the onset of this thing between them still existed. Sex—mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex—hadn’t changed those facts.
Her father was still the head of a crime family, and a relationship with her would draw him, his friends, and their business into a world they’d barely managed to escape the first time.
And then there was what she did to him.
Let go. I have you, baby.
Her words taunted him. Tempted him. Because in that moment, more than his next breath, he’d wanted her to be there to catch him. He’d wanted her to be his safety net. But after the haze of orgasm faded, after he’d ushered her into a waiting car last night, he’d been left with fear. The trust between him, Rion, and Killian had been earned. They’d gone through hell and come out together on the other side.
Still…the people who should’ve loved him unconditionally, should’ve been there for him even when he fell, even when he disappointed them, had abandoned him. It wasn’t until after he lay in that bed upstairs with Corrine curled against him that he acknowledged how much their desertion had hurt him. Cut him so deep, it’d remained hidden until he’d ripped the scab off with their conversation.
He was scared to trust her. Afraid she’d run once she realized he wasn’t worthy of her. Just like his parents had.
“Sasha Merchant?”
The sound of his name jerked him out of his morose, panicked thoughts. Thank God. He focused on the two men standing in front of him. Tall. Wearing suits that appeared tailored to their lean frames. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Dark hair, one wearing it slicked back, the other in one of those annoying-ass fauxhawk styles. But it was the green eyes that gave them away. He’d pegged them for relatives, but the eyes told him who else they were related to.
Corrine’s family.
A quiet fell over him, and he tensed, although he didn’t alter his sprawl against the bar. Beside him, the same tension invaded Killian. Only because Sasha knew the man so well did he catch the almost imperceptible change in his body. The subtle shift that telegraphed a readiness to move with lightning speed and take down any opponent.
“Yes, and you are?” Sasha asked, sipping from his glass but clenching the tumbler so tightly, the triangular pattern bit into his fingers.
“My name is Gianni Salvaggi, and this is my brother Marco. We believe you know our sister,” the taller of the two said, then paused. “Corrine.”
Sasha remained silent, didn’t confirm or deny.
“Are we right?” the other man, Marco, questioned, impatience edging his voice. Clearly the younger and more hotheaded brother.
“What can I do for you?” Sasha asked, keeping his tone bland, flat, revealing nothing. Not the rising anger or the panic gnawing at his gut. You’ve been waiting for this, a small voice whispered against his skull. You knew this could happen. Yeah, and he’d ignored the possibility, and as his father had said to him before kicking Sasha out of his home: Chto posyeyesh’, to i pozhnyosh’. What you plant, you will harvest.
In other words, his actions were coming around to bite him in the ass.
“Maybe we should talk in private,” Gianni suggested, glancing at Killian.
“And maybe we shouldn’t,” Sasha countered. “Killian is part owner here, and I’m assuming that whatever has brought you here is about business.”
“Our sister is our business,” Marco said with the same hard edge.
“Quiet,” Gianni hissed at his brother. Definitely the older—smarter—one. He turned to Killian. “Killian Vincent?” He extended a hand. “You looked familiar to me. I’ve seen you fight several times. You’re good.”
Killian shook the hand but didn’t reply to the compliment, instead fixing a steady, steely gaze on their visitors.
“What can we do for you?” Sasha repeated his question, though the yawning pit in his chest warned him of their purpose.
“You haven’t said, but we know Corrine has been coming here the past couple of nights, and her friend Tara told us she met you the first night they came,” Gianni replied, slipping his hands inside his pants pockets. “Since Corrine’s our baby sister, we decided to come by and meet the man she’s been seeing.” He turned, surveying the club, the packed bar, and the crowded dance floor. “I can’t believe you’re this packed on a Sunday night.” When he returned his attention to Sasha, a shrewd gleam had entered his gaze. “Seeing what you have here, we’re interested in investing in good businesses. I think we could all make money here.”
“No,” Sasha stated, voice flat, final. “We have three partners in this club. That’s all we need—or want.”
“You sure you don’t want to consider our offer?” Marco bristled. “You’d be smart to take some time and think it over carefully.”
“Is that a threat?” Killian growled, unfolding from his lean against the bar.
“No threats,” Gianni assured them, but the glint in his eyes belied the conciliatory note in his voice. “Just an offer. Like I said, I think a partnership could be beneficial to all of us.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” Sasha snapped, dropping all pretense of civility as well as his drink on the bar top. “We’re legit, mob-free, and we intend to stay that way. And before you think about issuing any non-threats”—he sneered, curling his lip—“understand this. You don’t want to fuck with us. You don’t want this war you’re on the edge of starting. Do your homework next time before you roll up on somebody thinking to punk them. Jamie Hughes. Darry Ward. The O’Bannon gang.” He let the names of the feared Irish mob’s boss and head enforcer sink in. Yeah, he was bluffing by tossing out the names of their former associates; they’d cut ties with the O’Bannons, but Corrine’s brothers didn’t know that. And he caught the paling of Gianni’s face and the slight widening of Marco’s eyes, though they both tried to cover it. “Yeah. I think the Salvaggi family has enough shit on their plate without adding going to war with the Irish mob to it.”
Tension thrummed between them, but Sasha and Killian had won this round. All of them knew it.
“What about our sister, asshole?” Marco demanded. “You fucking her?”
In one step, Sasha cleared the space between him and the younger Salvaggi. “You really want to watch how you talk about her with me,” he murmured. “Last time I checked, she was twenty-four, and whatever is between her and me is just that—between us. And none of your fucking business. Capisce?”
“Let’s go, Marco.” Gianni stepped back and grabbed his brother’s shoulder. The t
wo men backpedaled several steps before disappearing into the crowd.
“I’m on them. I’ll make sure they find the exit. With a full understanding not to bring their asses back in here,” Killian promised and strode forward, stalking Corrine’s brothers.
What had Sasha done?
Placed his friends, their club, their chance at redemption, directly in the greedy line of fire of another mob family. Exactly what he’d feared would happen.
“Fuck.” Sasha scrubbed a hand over his head, closed his eyes. “Just…fuck,” he whispered.
…
Corrine slowed the again borrowed Escalade and pulled up in front of the back entrance of Lick. Anticipation and excitement snapped through her like a live current. She glanced up at the imposing warehouse, studying the upper level with its black-out windows. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. But on the inside… A hum of burgeoning desire set up inside her, readying her for tonight. What would it hold? What new sexual boundary would she cross tonight? Not that it mattered. As long as she was with Sasha, it didn’t matter.
Sasha.
Memories from the previous night rolled through her head, and she treasured each image. Wished she could pluck them out of her head and trace her fingers over them like a photograph. Last night had been special. Life-changing. At least for her.
Along with pleasure, sexual freedom, and confidence, and power in her femininity, Sasha had given her something even more precious—a semblance of peace about her father and her conflicted feelings for him. And he’d also gifted her with a glimpse into him, an honor she doubted many people received. A softer emotion—one she so wasn’t ready to analyze or label—slid through her veins, warming her and mingling with the simmering arousal, amplifying it.
Three nights ago, Sasha had made her burn hotter than anyone before him. Now he consumed her thoughts as well as her body. He caused her heart to pound as well as her sex to ache. The lover had introduced her to an ecstasy that defied description. And the man…the man had her wishing for more than secret meetings, masks, and closed doors.
