Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
JONAH
I never realized how beautiful the Morozov mansion really is.
The first time I saw it, not counting the night we ran for our lives, it only looked terrifying.
Now it looks like home. It is just as grand as the old house, yet there’s something different here.
Something settled. It feels like I’m finally going to stay.
I stand in the foyer for a moment, watching the way the late afternoon sun hits the marble floors.
“Careful,” I tell the guards maneuvering my piano through the doorway. It looks small in this space, a relic of my old life being swallowed by the scale of the Morozovs.
“Yes, sir,” one of them replies.
Heat rushes to my face and I turn away too fast. Viktor catches the movement immediately, grinning at my discomfort. “You had better get used to that, krasavchik. They know who you are. Come on, let’s move our stuff into the bedroom before Lev decides to 'help' us unpack.”
When he swings the door open to the master suite, I stop short.
I thought coming back here would scare me, that the memories of being locked in would linger like a bad smell, but the room is transformed.
Fresh sheets stretch smooth across the bed and a new duvet catches the light.
On the dresser, a vase of white lilies opens in the sun.
The air smells like vanilla and expensive wood.
“Look.” I point to the floor-to-ceiling window. “It’s snowing again.” Thick flakes drift down, one after another, clinging to the glass. It feels like a loop is closing. “Remember the last time we were here? When everything was falling apart?”
Viktor steps in behind me, his chin resting on my head. I can feel the solid heat of his chest against my back, a grounding force that makes the rest of the world fade. “You said I could sit here and watch it.”
“Hm. I did.”
His breath brushes my hair. His voice drops into that low rasp that usually means trouble. “After I’d fucked you hard.”
“Viktor.” I shove him back, flustered despite myself. My heart rate is climbing, a steady 90 beats per minute that I can feel in my throat. Clinical. I’m always trying to put a number on it, but he makes it impossible to stay objective.
“What? It’s the truth.” He grins, the predatory light returning to his eyes. He pulls me back in front of him and presses me against the window. The glass is cold, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body.
“S—stop. The door is still open. Anyone could walk past.” I’m already panting. The idea of being caught feeling both thrilling and terrifying in the absolute silence of the wing.
He reaches back and nudges it shut with his foot. The soft click of the lock makes my heart jump. “Not until I get what I want.” His mouth drops to my ear, guiding me forward until my palms press to the cool, polished wood of the windowsill. “Spread your feet, Jonah.”
I widen my stance, my ass pushing back toward him as my cock hardens in my sweats.
Viktor’s hand slides under the waistband.
His fingers feel cold against my overheated skin.
My breath catches when he wraps his hand around me to stroke slowly.
“You’re perfect like this.” His grip tightens, certain and possessive.
“Do you want more, krasavchik? Because I sure as fuck do.”
My hips push into his fist, my body making the choice for me. “Viktor—”
“I know.” He drops lower behind me. “I’m going to make you feel good.”
He sinks to his knees. The expensive carpet swallows the sound of his movement. “You’ve got me hard as hell, krasavchik. You and your sexy ass. Let me taste you.”
He rolls down my pants. The cool air hits my skin, and before I realize what he is about to do, his hands spread my cheeks.
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth presses against my rim, the heat of his tongue shocking against the sensitive skin.
“Hands on the windowsill,” he commands, his voice sending a low vibration through my body.
“You stay where I put you until I say otherwise.”
“Y—yes.”
Viktor spreads me further. I feel his tongue lick across my hole. My head drops forward against the window. The glass feels cool and frictionless against my forehead. The fog from my breath begins to cloud the view of the snow. “Fuck, that feels good.”
A low sound rolls out of him, the vibration carrying through my frame.
His tongue moves in slow passes at first, long strokes that follow the line of my crack before he comes back up firmer, dragging the flat of his tongue over me like he is mapping the territory.
Each lick lands lower, edging closer until he is circling me in tight, teasing laps that make my knees shake.
He answers my unspoken plea by pressing closer, his warmth grounding me as his tongue pushes just lightly enough that my whole body tries to push back for more. His hands grip my hips to keep them still. “Do you want more?”
“Fuck—yes, god, that feels—”
Heat floods my chest while the fog on the window thickens, blurring my reflection with every shaky breath.
Viktor reaches under me and wraps his hand around my cock, matching his strokes to his mouth until my body rocks between his grip and the windowsill.
My legs shake with the effort of staying upright.
I can feel the build, that agonizing pressure at the base of my spine. “I’m close,” I warn.
He pulls back before I can come and smacks my ass once. The sound cracks sharp in the quiet room. “Not yet.”
He rises and crowds me from behind, his chest pressing to my back. My chest heaves. The aftershocks of almost coming leave me lightheaded. His hands slide to my hips and don’t let me move as his mouth brushes my neck. “Stay here. I’m not done with you.”
I nod, bracing my palms on the sill. He reaches for the lube on the nightstand.
The snap of the lid sounds loud in the silence.
He slicks his fingers, the touch returning warm as he presses one finger inside me.
The stretch pulls a sound out of me I can’t swallow down.
He adds a second finger and works me open until my knees threaten to give.
My internal walls clench around him, pulling instinctively.
When he drags his fingers out, I make a broken sound of protest. “Turn around.”
I do, my chest rising hard while my cock remains flushed and leaking.
Viktor grips my hips and suddenly lifts me, hoisting me clean off the floor to set me on the dresser’s edge.
The cool surface hits my back and the mirror reflects the ruined look of my face.
He looks at me for a long beat, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes my skin prickle.
“You’re ready for me,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’re doing to that mirror.”
My legs wrap around his waist without him asking. He pushes them wider until I feel split open for him. The blunt heat of his cock presses to my entrance, firm and patient. He doesn’t hesitate, but waits for me to adjust to the pressure. “Tell me if anything changes.”
“I won’t.”
He pushes in. A choked cry breaks out of me as he sinks deep. My hands fly to his shoulders because there’s nowhere else for the shock to go. I can feel him stretching me, filling every bit of the emptiness I’ve felt for years. “Fuck, Jonah.” His mouth presses to my jaw. “You’re tight. Hold on.”
He pulls out halfway and drives back in hard. The force knocks the breath from my lungs while the dresser shudders under us. He fucks me in quick, sharp thrusts, his hips snapping forward and his grip bruising my thighs in the best way.
“Look at you.” His grip tightens. “Already losing it.”
I am. My legs try to tighten around him, but he forces them wider to hold me open for every stroke. It’s a total takeover. “Harder…please—”
He answers by driving into me faster and deeper, each thrust landing hard enough that it lights something white-hot along my spine. My head falls back against the mirror above the dresser, the glass humming with the impact. “Eyes on me.”
I drag my gaze down to meet his. His pupils are blown and his jaw is tight with the effort of holding himself together. He looks like a man possessed. “You feel how deep I am?” Another thrust forces a broken sound from my throat. “You take me like you were made for it.”
“Viktor… I’m—I’m close—”
His hand closes around my cock, stroking me in a rough, perfect rhythm with his thrusts. His breath ghosts my mouth, tasting like vodka and heat. “Come for me… now.”
I break, the orgasm ripping through me in a violent rush while my body clenches around him.
I cry out, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
The second I clamp down, Viktor loses control.
He slams into me one last time and spills inside me with a gutted sound, his hips jerking through it until he finally drags in air.
“Mine,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every fucking part.”
When our breathing slows, Viktor eases out of me with a quiet groan. I shiver at the loss of the heat. “Stay there.”
He grabs a cloth from the dresser, wets it in the adjoining bathroom, and returns to clean me gingerly.
His thumb brushes the inside of my thigh to ground me.
It is a tender gesture that feels more intimate than the sex.
He helps me off the dresser when my legs threaten to fold, his hand staying at my waist until I’m steady. “Are you good?”
“Yeah,” I answer, my breath still uneven. “Just… used.”
His mouth curves. “That’s the point.”
We pull on our clothes, both of us moving slower now, the post-adrenaline crash settling in. When I tug my shirt down, he steps in to fix the collar and smooths his thumb along the faint mark on my neck. “That one is staying.”
“Good,” I answer before thinking, and his eyes warm at the admission.
“Come on, we need food before we fall over. I can hear your stomach from here.”
We walk out together, Viktor’s hand settling at the small of my back in a way that feels familiar and safe. Nikolai and Lev are already in the kitchen when we get there, arguing over the takeout menus.
Beside the island, a man with wary eyes and a split lip scrubs the counters.
He doesn't look up, but his shoulders are tight, his hands moving with frantic precision.
This is Misha, the one Nikolai refers to as his property.
Nikolai looms over him while reaching for a glass, a predatory light in his eyes.
Misha flinches, but Nikolai doesn't grant him a glance.
“There you are.” Lev points a fork at us. “I was about to phone you. The food has arrived and Nikolai is trying to eat all the dumplings.”
Viktor grabs the bottle of vodka from the counter and lifts it to his mouth, but Nikolai swats his arm. “Use a glass, animal. We’re in a mansion, not a trench.”
I catch the way Viktor and Lev are watching the man at the island. Nikolai catches it too. He looks toward the sink and lets out a dry huff. “That’s what happens to people who steal from me. They learn that my debt is never truly square.”
“I earned the bottle.” Viktor takes another swallow anyway, leaning against the counter with a lazy grace.
Nikolai rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight it. He tilts his head toward the foyer. “Babushka sent someone down while you two were... 'unpacking.' She is pleased, and she says it is good to have the family lined up the right way again. No more fragmentation.”
Lev adds, “And she said not to bleed on her carpets tomorrow. Apparently, the wool is from some rare sheep and she doesn't want it ruined by your lack of coordination.”
Viktor huffs a laugh. “Tell her I’ll try.”
Viktor sits and pulls me down beside him on the bench, and Lev drops a takeout box in front of each of us. “Eat,” Lev says, his tone turning more serious. “We’ve got planning to do. The city doesn't sleep just because you got laid.”
The conversation shifts quickly to the south side, focusing on the shipping lanes and harbor roads where Sokolov’s crew once thought they owned us.
I listen to them speak. The names and places still feel like a map of a foreign country, but it’s a country I’m starting to live in.
I clear my throat. “I’m going back to work tomorrow. ”
The room pauses for a beat. The clatter of forks stops. Viktor answers without looking away from his food. “Fine.”
I blink, surprised by the lack of an argument. “Fine?”
“You are not staying locked in this house forever, malysh. You are a nurse. You belong where the blood is.” He takes another bite, his tone pragmatically flat.
“Sasha will pick you up in the morning and stay with you for every shift. She’ll sit in the waiting room or follow you to the cafeteria. I don’t care if it's annoying.”
I swallow the protest, knowing the look in his eye. “Okay. Sasha is… nice.”
“She’s the best shot we have,” Nikolai says. “Also nice, but mostly she’s the gun. Don’t let the smile fool you.”
Viktor’s hand settles at the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the hairline. “You want your old life back? Good. You will have it, but you get it with protection now. You are a Morozov asset now, Jonah. Act like it.”
Nikolai lifts his drink. “To the south side, and to Sasha babysitting a trouble magnet.”
Lev snorts. “And to Babushka. The woman who built the city and still scares the shit out of it.”
Viktor fills a glass finally and nudges mine with the rim. “And to us, who get to live in what she left behind.”
We drink. The vodka burns a path down my throat. But then Nikolai’s eyes slide to me, the humor fading from his face.
“There’s only one more thing. Your father’s debt. And the price he was willing to pay to make it disappear.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of Dad. Viktor puts his glass down, the sound heavy against the table. “Not to worry. I’ll handle him next.”
Lev nods. “He sold you to us. And though Viktor here is grateful, we won’t leave that standing. It’s a matter of principle.”
“I don’t want him dead,” I say softly, my voice small in the large kitchen.
“We will handle him the way you want, but he answers for what he did. Our father raised us to protect what is ours, and I’m done letting anyone tear at what he built. He valued justice, not just revenge.”
Viktor turns fully toward me, his finger hooking under my chin to lift my face until I’m looking at him. “I will bring you justice, Jonah. Not revenge, but justice. The way my father would have wanted. You are with us now, and that means your past gets closed properly. No loose ends.”
Viktor’s hand settles at the small of my back as he looks at me. The heat of his palm seeps through my shirt. His hand stays at my back. “After that,” he says, “you stop surviving. You start living. With me.”