I laved him with my tongue, making breathy noises of approval like it was the only passion I had in life. And it was starting to feel like it. Heat bloomed in my stomach, moving lower, in a wave that made me squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache. His hand tightened on his phone, the tension in him building to a crescendo I was dying to see fall.
“Da,” he said to whoever he was speaking to, sounding annoyed. “Ya slyshal vas.”
I ran my tongue across his crown and then finally slid him deep into my mouth, bringing my half-lidded, lust-filled gaze up to his.
“Fuck.” He threw his phone to the side and then grasped my face between two rough hands, caressing my cheek with a thumb like I was something special, something precious.
It momentarily stilled me. A raw wave of warmth flickered in my chest. It wasn’t until later I realized that was the moment the first wisps of devotion settled in and my downfall began.
“Voz’mi menya glubzhe,” he rasped.
He held my face and slowly slid in deeper. My eyes watered, and I couldn’t breathe whenever he reached my throat, but I remained still and let him fuck my mouth. Because I wanted him to use me however he wanted. Because I wanted to be everything he needed.
“Where can I come, malyshka?” he asked. “Your mouth?”
I blinked up at him in acquiesce.
His groan rumbled from low in his throat, turning into a hoarse sound when he finished in my mouth. I swallowed and licked my lips, my skin growing hot under the heat of his stare. I now understood why women dropped to their knees without expecting anything in return, because, as humbling as the act might seem, nothing felt more empowering than bringing a man like this to the edge of control.
“Takaya krasivaya,” he breathed, running a thumb across my bottom lip.
I wanted to ask him what it meant but stopped myself before the question could escape. I didn’t want to know. I was sure tonight would be the end of us, as soon as I became just another third, and I knew those two words would only strengthen the attachment I seemed to be building for him.
He pulled his briefs over his softening erection and buttoned his pants. A small squeal escaped me when he suddenly lifted me by the backs of the thighs and dropped me on the island. An unexpected rush of nerves hit me. I’d been naked in his apartment once before—it hadn’t left me feeling good in the end.
“You didn’t finish your phone call,” I breathed, as he dragged my panties down my legs.
“Lie back and spread your legs.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me first?” I blinked at him.
My heart burned when he actually did it. He grasped the back of my neck and pressed his mouth to mine, our tongues sliding against each other. A deep, empty ache pulsed between my thighs, and I knew of only one thing that would ease it. I moaned, dug my fingers into his hair, and kissed him deeper.
“So greedy,” he murmured against my lips.
His hand slid between my legs. When he pushed two fingers inside me, I groaned and dropped my head back.
He moved his lips to my neck and let out a rough sound. “You’re soaked.” He nipped my throat like he was angry with me for it. Slipping his fingers out of me, he spread my arousal around. Then, he grasped the backs of my thighs, jerked them up to his shoulders, and pressed his face between my legs.
I dropped back to the counter and closed my eyes as pleasure tore through me, filling my blood with an inferno. I shuddered and writhed as he licked and sucked a path around my clit, until I was so desperate, I’d sell my firstborn to get what I wanted. I banged my head lightly on the countertop, moaning, letting out frustrated, needy breaths.
He pulled back. “Tell me why you used at that dinner party.”
Now, I knew the bastard’s endgame.
“God, I hate you,” I gasped.
He didn’t respond because he was back to torturing me.
“My papà called me,” I blurted. “I have to go home to Chicago for my cousin’s wedding.”
I was a weak, weak woman.
“When?”
“Saturday.” I’d avoided thinking about it for as long as I could, but it was here now. I knew if I didn’t show my papà would come to drag me there, just as he’d said he would.
All it took for the orgasm to rock me hard was for his mouth to move over my clit and suck. Light shot behind my eyes, heat tightening in my core and releasing. I moaned, burying my fingers in his hair as I rode the rest of the waves.
He pulled back, eyes dark, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The action was so primal and hot a fresh wave of lust flared inside me. I suddenly wanted him inside me so badly I couldn’t think about anything else. I slid off the counter, ran my hand across his already hard erection, and kissed his chest through his shirt.
A small shudder ran through him. He fisted a hand in my hair and pulled my gaze up to his.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight. I don’t have time.”
My expression fell.
For the simple fact of being denied him. But there was something deeper involved as well. If I didn’t get this over with him now, I’d never be over him enough to move on, to find another man who interested me.
I’d forgotten an important fact while sifting through my feelings. Christian was so perceptive he might as well be a mind reader. And I was sure he’d read my thoughts on my face.
His eyes narrowed on me before he reached for his suit jacket resting on the back of an island chair. “You been listening to gossip?”
I chewed my lip. “Sometimes, gossip just falls into your lap . . .”
He slipped his jacket on, in a casual yet kind of scary way. “Do you believe it?”
My pulse wavered like a plucked string. I didn’t say a word, because I didn’t need to for him to know that I did.
He adjusted his cuffs, eyes focused on his task, but something dark was coiling in him like rope.
My stomach turned cold. I went to take a step back but didn’t make it. A gasp of fear escaped me when his hand shot out and grabbed me by the throat. I’d been conditioned to expect the worst from men from a young age, and my heart thundered in my chest as I waited for what he would do.
I expected pain.
So much so, shock and warmth rocked me at my center when he pulled me closer by the throat and kissed me. A sweet pull on my lips and then a soft bite of teeth.
He pressed his lips to my ear, running his thumb across the fluttering pulse in my throat. “I’ll say when this is over, Gianna.”
He released me, and I turned to watch him head toward the door.
“I’m coming with you Saturday.”
I couldn’t even protest because I was still wide-eyed and shaken from the moment before.
“We’ll leave at nine,” he told me.
And then he shut the door behind him.
MY EYES NARROWED. “WHAT ARE you wearing?”
Gianna looked down at her modest gray cocktail dress and short white heels while unsuccessfully trying to fix a tendril of hair that had escaped her French bun. Then, she looked me in the eye and said, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to mold myself into a woman you could love.”
I didn’t know why the sarcasm in her voice annoyed the hell out of me.
“No.”
She raised a brow. “No?”
“That’s what I said, Gianna. Go put on something else.”
She glared at me as she tried to push that unruly piece of hair back once more. That was when I noticed the small tremor in her hand. She was nervous. I hadn’t liked this outfit from the beginning, but now I fucking hated it.
I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from my jacket sleeve. “My time is precious, and you’re wasting it. You have five minutes to go change.”
She scoffed. “And what would you like to see me in, Your Highness?”
My bed, spread-eagled and naked.
“What you would normally wear to a wedding your father wasn’t attending.”
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She stared me down for a moment, and, when she realized she wasn’t going to win, she turned around in a huff. But I didn’t miss a hint of a smile on that pretty mouth of hers before she disappeared into her apartment.
She came back out ten minutes later in a sequined red gown that sparkled under the lights like a disco ball. A slit in the dress revealed her smooth tanned leg and six-inch heels. The sight sent a rush of heat to my groin.
She cocked a brow that dared me to say something.
The woman had no idea.
She thought I liked her.
I’d gone out of my way and followed her around for goddamn years just to look at her. I’d insulted her just to hear her smoky voice and witty response. And now, after my move to Seattle, it was hard to believe she was here in front of me. That I could reach out and touch her. That she would let me. It didn’t matter if she dressed like a 1970s drug lord’s wife or a die-hard Ariana Grande fan—nothing could make me forget her. What was worse was now, I had the memory of her looking up at me from her knees. That image had burned itself so deep beneath my skin I’d never get it out.
As much as I wanted to keep her, I knew I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t give her everything she’d ask of me.
I was going to take her to this wedding, finish my business with Sergei, and then return to Seattle. Nonetheless, every time I thought about leaving, my collar felt too tight, the air too thick to breathe. I didn’t know if I could physically do it.
“Did you bedazzle it yourself?” I asked, watching the elevator doors as we descended to the lobby.
She sighed and reached out to shove me or do something else ridiculous, but I grabbed her hand before she could make contact.
She blinked innocent eyes at me. “I was just going to fix your tie clip. It’s crooked.”
“No, it’s not,” I said confidently, without even looking.
She tried to pull her hand away, but I held onto it just because I could. Just because she was so fucking soft. I ran my thumb across her palm. She shivered and wrenched it away.
She did her makeup in the mirror on the way to the airstrip, while I pretended my blood didn’t thrum in approval at having her in my space, even doing such mundane, non-dick-related things like applying mascara.
A frown pulled on her lips when she took in the private jet. “Please, tell me this plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.”
“This plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.”
“Liar.”
As we boarded the jet, she muttered something about getting a rash.
The blonde flight attendant smiled and greeted Gianna, but it felt like an unnaturally long time for her to meet my gaze and nervously ask if she could hang up my jacket. She disappeared with my jacket in tow, while Gianna rolled her eyes.
“You don’t even notice the way women act in front of you, do you?”
“I notice everything you do, malyshka.”
She stilled and held my heavy stare for a moment before looking away. “Who’s paying for this private plane ride? My tax dollars?”
I took a seat on the white-leather couch, watching her move around and touch everything in sight. “You have to make an income to pay taxes.”
“I do. I’m an . . . entrepreneur.”
“You’re a gambler,” I corrected dryly.
“Same thing, really.”
“Why does your father want your attendance at this wedding?”
She picked up an FBI paperweight to examine it. “For nefarious reasons, I’m sure.”
“Elaborate.”
She swallowed. “I’m a single woman now.”
“Are you?” I didn’t know why that question came out like a threat.
She flicked a hesitant gaze to me. “Yes. He probably wants to remedy it.”
I knew at that moment she’d never marry another goddamn man but me. And she wouldn’t marry me. “And if he does?”
“I told you, I won’t ever marry again.”
She would leave. The life, the city, me.
The irrational thought that I wouldn’t be able to find her sent an icy rush of panic through me. And I could find fucking anyone.
I’d never let her leave.
I didn’t care if I had to handcuff the little fugitive to my headboard.
The vow seared itself through my body, settling itself deep, and calmed the rush of blood in my veins.
She sat on the chair opposite me and flipped open a fashion magazine. “How are you going to explain why you’re with me?”
You’re mine. And I go where you go.
“No one will question me.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
Aleksandra: Father wants to have dinner soon.
Frustration ran through me. Sergei would only talk to me through his daughter. I was surprised he hadn’t paraded her naked in front of me and offered to let me fuck her yet, as motivated as he seemed about this alliance. He wanted to dip his hands in the American underworld while still maintaining his traditional Russian values, and, apparently, a tie with me was the way to do it.
The Russian government had upped regulations on border security, and Sergei just happened to have most of that security in his pocket. I didn’t give a shit about Russian politics anymore, but unfortunately, the only relative I had left did.
After being released from the overcrowded cells of Butyrka at nineteen, I’d come to the States, while Ronan chose to stay in Moscow as a measly enforcer in the Bratva. Fifteen years later, he owned his own empire. But he still had a more hands-on approach to getting what he wanted, while delegation—and a bit of manipulation—was a better fit to win over Sergei Popov.
I texted Aleksandra back to tell her I was free on Friday and then slid my phone in my pocket. When I drew my attention back to Gianna, it was to see her chewing her lip, her olive complexion a shade paler.
She was scared of her papà.
It sent a rush of anger through me.
The only one she should be nervous of was me.
“Voy kak volk, malyshka.” Howl like a wolf.
Her soft eyes flicked to me. They burned a small hole in my chest.
“Voy kak volk,” she whispered.
She’d said it right.
And I suddenly knew I was going to keep her.
I hadn’t set foot in a church in years. And not even because I thought I’d be smote down where I stood, but because they were either too hot, too dusty, or too pretentious. The magnanimous atmosphere practically swallowed you whole when you entered, yet not a single church had ever fed me a scrap of food when I was thirteen, starving, and humbling myself enough to beg.
Gianna’s family nearly knocked her over with hugs and a ridiculous number of kisses as soon as we stepped into the church. She was flushed, wearing a genuine smile I never got from her. One of her aunts glanced at me, fanned herself vigorously with her wedding program, and then looked at Gianna and mouthed, “Madonna.”
Gianna sighed and glanced at me. “This is . . . ah—”
I remained silent and let her struggle just because I wanted to see what she would say, but, unfortunately, she was interrupted by a cavalier voice behind us.
“Allister.”
Gianna tensed.
I slid a hand to her waist and turned toward her father.
“Saul,” I said, the name familiar on my lips.
I didn’t look at her, but the betrayed gaze I could feel on my face sent an odd tightness to my chest.
“I didn’t expect your presence today.” Saul’s eyes drifted to my hand on Gianna’s waist. “And with my daughter, no less.”
“You’d think a man your age would have learned to expect the unexpected by now.”
Gianna sucked in an uneasy breath.
It was a cheap insult, but I’d learned over the years that cheap got the quickest results.
Saul’s expression didn’t falter as he held my gaze. But, as his eyes finally drifted to his daughter, his
next words came clipped with the slightest clench of his teeth. “I’d like to talk with you at home before the reception, Gianna.”
“I’d love to, but . . . I swear, our schedule has been filling so fast I can hardly keep up with it.” She blinked at me. “Do you think we’ll have time, Christian?”
I wanted to smile. To kiss her for being such a good little wolf. Instead, I only said, “I think we can fit it in.”
Uncertainty crossed her expression.
I liked Gianna’s father about as much as I’d liked Antonio. Accepting a hit on their heads would have been a vacation for me. But if Gianna didn’t deal with him now, he’d keep coming back until he got whatever he wanted.
“I’m glad to see you can spare a few minutes for your papà.” A subtle threat flickered in Saul’s eyes. “Until then, cara mia.” The tightly-reined venom in his voice drifted past us as he headed up the aisle to take a seat at his pew.
Gianna was internally shaken but was hiding it well. Her anger? Not so much.
“Gianna—”
She left me standing there.
As much as it pissed me off that she’d jumped so fast to think the worst of me, I let her have her anger, because it was what she needed right now.
The Catholic ceremony was long and a little melodramatic. Gianna hadn’t said a word to me since she’d taken a seat on the pew beside me. Not a single joke or insult. I didn’t like it.
She stared out the window and stayed silent on the way to her papà’s house. When this was over, I was going to force her to talk to me for two hours straight before she got her orgasm.
One of her cousins, who Gianna had called “Guccio,” and who couldn’t be more than a teenager, answered the door and led us to her father’s office.
Guccio avoided my gaze. “He wants to, uh, talk to you alone, Gianna.”
“Fine,” she sighed.
I grabbed her wrist when she took a step toward the door. “You don’t have to go in there alone.”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll try to make it quick so you two will have plenty of time to talk business afterward.” Her eyes flashed with resentment.
The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2) Page 22
