Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
VIKTOR
“That was… intense. Is this your life? Always?”
“Always.”
Steam still clings to my skin when we make it back to bed.
I washed the docks off Jonah in the shower.
I moved slow, like if I went too fast he might vanish under the spray.
He barely spoke. He just stood there while I worked the night out of his hair and off his hands and down the backs of his arms. I watched the water run dark around his feet until the tiles were clean again.
I didn't stop until the harbor was down the drain and he was warm again.
Now he’s curled against me, his cheek tucked under my jaw. His breathing has evened out. Mine hasn't. The adrenaline is still a low hum in my blood.
“How did she know?” he asks softly. “Babushka.”
“She knows everything,” I say. I don’t make it sound like a joke. My mouth finds the place where his neck meets his shoulder. He shivers, but he doesn’t pull away. I can feel the pulse in his throat—a steady reminder that we both made it off that pier.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” My hand slides over his ribs, feeling the movement of his breath. “You’re protected now. By me. By my men. By her. By the name you’re sleeping under.”
He goes still at that. Then his fingers curl into my shirt, like he needs proof I’m real. I answer him without meaning to, pulling him closer. He’s still here after tonight’s execution, and that is what matters. My chest finally drops, the tightness easing just enough for me to breathe.
“I still have questions.” His lips wobble.
“Go on and ask.”
I lean down and take him into my mouth. Jonah cries out, the sound sharp and immediate while his hands tangle in my hair.
I take my time, licking and sucking, swallowing the precum he gives me as I keep him right on the edge.
I want him focused on the friction. I want him to forget the sound of the gunshots.
“You… will you move back to the mansion?” His voice barely holds.
I pull off him and look up through my lashes. “Yes. We’ll all move there, and you are coming too.”
Relief breaks across his face before he can hide it—a smile breaking over his lips. “Okay. Okay.”
I take him back into my mouth, making his next cry come out muffled. “Viktor, I’m… I’m really horny. I didn't think, after tonight, but—I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.”
“That’s not a question.”
He’s close now. I can feel it in the way his hips lift without permission, his breath breaking.
Just before he tips over, I pull away. He whines at the loss of heat, but I ignore it as I crawl up his body to reach for the lube on the nightstand.
His skin is hot under my hands. I coat my fingers and slide them between his legs, watching him whimper when I press one finger inside, then a second.
“Feel good?”
He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. Don’t stop… Please.”
I don't answer him. I add a third finger instead, taking my time as I watch his sensitive skin stretch. His legs fall wider on their own. I know he’s ready. I can’t wait another second. Sliding my fingers out, I line myself up. “Look at me.”
He does, and for a heartbeat, I still my fingers.
His ass clenches around them, impatiently, but I want him to understand what is about to happen in the heavy silence of this room.
“You got any more questions? Because babble or not, I’m going to fill you up until you can't remember anything but my name. Are you ready?”
He swallows hard, his hands fisting in the sheets. “No questions,” he says. “I think.”
“Good.”
Removing my fingers, I push in, inch by inch, keeping the movement slow and controlled. He takes me with a broken sound, his body tightening before yielding to the stretch. When I’m fully seated, I groan low against his neck. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”
His back arches, offering himself without being asked.
I start moving, watching his gorgeous face as the pleasure takes hold.
His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open, his sounds turning rough.
Catching his wrists, I pin them above his head, and he goes pliant at once.
With my free hand, I stroke his cock in time with my thrusts.
His hips buck, desperate for friction. I lean close to his ear.
“You feel that? How good you are wrapped around me. Tell me.”
“So good,” he gasps.
I drive into him harder, watching his breath shatter. Another thrust makes his legs shake. Another, deep enough that his cry turns raw. His cock jerks in my hand. I tighten my grip on his hips. “Look at you, still begging.”
He forces his eyes open, meeting mine through the haze. “I want to ride you,” he pants, the request carrying nerves and choice. “Is that… is that okay?”
A growl tears out of my chest, my hands clamping on his hips hard enough to leave marks. I want my fingerprints to stay on him for days. “More than okay. Show me what you want, krasavchik, and take what’s yours.”
He shivers at that, his cock jumping against his stomach.
He shifts over me and reaches back to guide me to his entrance.
The blunt head presses against him, meeting resistance before his body yields and opens for me.
Jonah sinks down with a sharp gasp, taking me inch by inch.
His face tightens with the stretch, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
I hold still, letting him set the pace. The room is so quiet I can hear skin slide against skin. “You okay?”
His eyes flutter open, dark and blown wide. “Yes… so good.”
When he’s fully seated, we both groan. This angle lets me reach deeper, the pressure making his whole body shudder around me. I slide my hands to his waist and keep him upright. “When you’re ready.”
Jonah braces his hands on my shoulders and lifts himself, then sinks back down with a soft cry. The drag of him around me is torture. He does it again. Then again, finding a rhythm that has us both panting. He moves with a new kind of intent, taking exactly what he needs from me.
“Look at you.” I watch him move above me, my voice rough. Candlelight catches the sweat on his back, tracing the line of his spine. “Riding me like you were made for it.”
He flushes at the praise—a sure smile breaking over his lips. His hips start moving with more certainty. He’s using my body for his pleasure, and I’ve never felt more owned.
“Vik,” he gasps, his pace faltering as he edges closer, his eyes unfocused. “I need… I can't—”
“I’ve got you.” I wrap my hand around his cock, slick with precum. His cry breaks free as his body bucks. “Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”
His rhythm stutters, his thighs trembling. I take over, my hips driving up as I stroke him in time with my movements, pushing him higher.
“Viktor, please, I’m gonna—”
His cock jerks in my palm. “Come for me.” I thrust harder, faster. “Show me how good I make you feel.”
He screams my name as he comes, his release coating my fingers and his stomach.
His body spasms around me, clenching so hard my vision whites out.
That’s all I need. I let go with a low sound, burying myself deep and emptying into him.
I want him to feel every pulse of it. I want him to know where he belongs.
Jonah’s mine. He’s fucking mine, and I’m his. He took care of me when I couldn’t defend myself. He stayed when he was scared. After tonight, something has shifted. He helped me take back my throne.
We stay like that, bodies locked together, breath slowing.
I release his wrists and rub the faint marks my grip left.
Then I pull out, both of us groaning at the loss.
He softens at once under my hand. I settle beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch.
I take his hand, feeling the smoothness of it, the softness of a man who hasn't had to fight until now.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I spent most of my life mourning Mom. Blaming life for being unfair.” His voice wobbles, then steadies. “I don’t know how you did it, but you took that away. The emptiness. You gave me purpose again.”
His blue eyes lift to mine. “I don’t want to stay in the shadows. I want to belong to you. Take care of you. Learn how to throw daggers.”
“Learn Russian,” I add.
Jonah smiles. “Da.”
“We’ll work on that. With only ‘yes,’ you won’t get far. In my bed, sure. Not in the real world.”
He giggles against my throat, warm breath brushing my skin.
“We need to get you a matching tattoo,” I murmur.
“Hm. I’d love one.”
“And a cookbook with Russian recipes.”
“I’ve got Lev for that.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
His laugh breaks loose. “Say it again, krasavchik,” I murmur. “What you said at the bar.”
He hesitates. “Malysh?”
“Hm. Yes.” I stretch out, pulling him with me and tucking him under my arm. “Again.”
“Malysh,” he whispers.
“That’s it. My eyes close.
What a fucking night.