She narrows her eyes. “Oh, that’s rich. What have I done to merit distrust?”
“You spent eleven months with the enemy.”
“Is she an enemy, then?”
“Anyone who is not Solovev is an enemy.”
She considers that for a moment. “She’s also your mother-in-law.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
“What happened to blood being thicker than water?”
“She isn’t blood.”
“Right,” she says with a clipped nod. “And as you so astutely reminded me earlier, neither am I.”
I can tell she wants to cover herself, but she’s resisting the urge. She’s backed herself into a corner with this one, and now that the waiters have been exiled from the cabin, the purpose of her mission is moot.
“Would you like to go put some clothes on now?” I ask.
Her eyes spark. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she challenges.
“Not at all,” I reply. “I’m just thinking of you.”
“Ha! That’s a first.”
“Who else would I be thinking of?”
“Your blonde whore, probably,” she mutters. Her cheeks redden instantly like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
I raise my eyebrows. “Does Brit really bother you that much?”
“Has it ever crossed your mind that she might be a double agent?” she demands.
It’s a perfectly legitimate question. But only to an outsider. Only to someone who doesn’t know the history.
“No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m sure of Brit. I trust her implicitly. And that’s not something I say about many people.”
She lets that statement sink in. “Who is she to you?” she asks at last, bested by her own curiosity.
“Someone very important.”
I know that in her mind, I’m confirming the suspicion that’s been festering. But I don’t mind assumptions being made, not in this case. In fact, I’m pretty sure it can work in my favor.
Her face is a battleground. Emotions warring for control. Jealousy, anger, lust. I watch her for a long few breaths, curious which one will win out. The eventual victor makes me smirk.
“Don’t be jealous, little one,” I say softly.
“I’m not jealous of her.”
“That spark in your eye says otherwise.”
“You’re a fucking bastard,” she spits.
“You’re hardly the first woman to call me that.”
“Yeah?” she snaps. “Is that what Brit called you, too?”
“No,” I tell her. “But then, I’m not done with her yet.”
Her chest heaves, and it’s difficult not to stare at her breasts. But I also don’t mind being caught. She wants to prance around naked? Then I get to fucking stare.
“She’s probably not going to be too happy about this,” Willow says in a measured tone.
I shrug. “You are my wife.”
“Sure, yeah, whatever the hell that means.”
“In your mind, maybe nothing. In the Bratva? It means everything.”
I can sense the question on the tip of her tongue: But what does it mean to you?
But she stops short of asking. Instead, she runs her hand down her chest, between her breasts. She does it slowly, teasing me.
I stand up and walk around, enjoying how she tenses as I lean on the table’s edge in front of her.
“How about some wine?” I ask.
She eyes the bottle on the table. “Fine.”
I pop the cork with my teeth. But I don’t reach for a glass. Willow watches with curiosity as I bring the bottle towards her. But she doesn’t move. She’s trying to play at control, ease.
It works—until it doesn’t.
Suddenly, I turn the bottle over, allowing a stream of burgundy wine to flow onto her naked body.
“Jesus!” she gasps as she scrambles in her seat, trying to escape the waterfall of wine.
I put my hand on her shoulder and force her back into her chair. Pinned in place, the wine coats her chest and runs down her flat stomach before pooling between her legs.
“I didn’t think your pussy could get any sweeter,” I murmur, setting the bottle back on the table.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You walked down to dinner stark fucking naked,” I rasp. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“You can’t just have me anytime you please.”
“I think you’ll find I can have anything I want.”
I shove my knee between her legs, resting it against the chair, and lower my mouth to her breasts. When I lick the wine off her, she trembles.
I run my tongue up her stomach, following the trail of sweetness, and then suck her nipple into my mouth. My cock strains impatiently while I feast on her.
Gradually, I move downward. I shove her legs apart and pull her ass to the edge of the chair. I take a moment to admire her tight little pussy before I shove my tongue inside her.
“Fuck,” she gasps. “Fuck…”
Her fingers snake into my hair as I go down on her. Her taut limbs turn to putty. Her juices flow out of her, coating my tongue with a rich, sweet taste.
Apparently, her body has missed me even if she claims she hasn’t.
As much as I want to give up on my mission and just enjoy the moment without agenda, it’s not in my nature to let desire overpower ambition. I can’t lose sight of my goal just because her pussy sings for me.
With my tongue deep inside her, I reach up and grab her nipple. I twist it between two fingers as I circle her clit, flicking it lightly with the tip of my tongue.
“Fuck… st… stop,” she moans, weakly pulling on my hair to try and steer me away.
The attempt is almost laughable. She’s literally soaking my chin with her desire.
I pull out for a moment, just so I can enjoy the needy expression on her flushed face. “If you really want me to stop, you’re going to have to be a lot more convincing.”
She glares at me. “Fuck you.”
I grin. “In a moment, kukolka.”
She bristles, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, her legs inch further apart, practically begging for me.
I thought taking down two Mikhailov buildings was the adrenaline rush of a lifetime.
Turns out taking down one Mikhailov princess is even better.
I grab a hold of her hips and pull her down on top of me. I position her perfectly so that she’s sitting on my face. Then I slap her ass, encouraging her to ride my mouth.
She wastes no time. Her hips jerk back and forth while my tongue laps inside her. Her moans grow louder, echoing off the high ceilings. I know she’s moments away from coming, though she’s fighting it with every ounce of her willpower.
Then she can’t hold off anymore. She comes undone. She lets go. The tension in her face and body melts, and she is euphoric.
For a few moments, she is relaxed. At ease.
I intend to make full use of that.
8
WILLOW
I’m weak for doing this. Weak for letting it happen.
Most of all, I’m weak for wanting it.
But I can’t stop now. I’m too close.
For a fleeting moment, I was able to look out into the world and see myself differently. I could visualize who I would have been if Anya had raised me. If I’d been brought up in this life the way Leo was.
But now I know it doesn’t matter how hard I train. When it comes to him, I’m just weak.