14. Sienna #2
He sucks hard enough to make my thighs tighten around his shoulders, one big hand kneading my other breast while he mouths me like he could stay there all night.
He switches sides and does it again, tongue flicking over the aching peak before he sucks and bites gently and has me squirming under him.
“You’re going to kill me,” I whisper.
He lifts his head and drags his thumb over my wet lower lip. “Not before I fuck you.”
The words make my cunt clench.
He stands and gets rid of the rest of his clothes quickly now, the patience finally giving way to hunger. His cock springs free, thick and flushed and heavy enough to make me stare. He catches me looking and smiles. “Too much?”
I wet my lips. “No.”
He strokes himself once, slowly, watching me watch him. “Good.”
Then he turns me. He bends me over the padded arm of the bench, one hand on the small of my back, the other spreading my thighs wider.
The position makes me feel everything. My skirt bunched at my waist. My underwear hanging half off one ankle. My breasts pressed against the leather. The cool cabin air on my wet skin. Him behind me, big and hard and breathing like he’s already half-gone.
He drags the head of his cock through my slickness once, twice, making me whimper. “Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “You were made to be fucked like this.”
Then he pushes in, and I gasp into the leather.
He doesn’t go gentle. Not cruel, but not soft either. He fills me in one deep, relentless thrust that has my whole body jerking and my hands clutching for something to hold.
“Fuck,” he groans. “That’s it.”
He gives me barely a second to adjust before he starts moving. Hard. Deep. Merciless in the best way.
Every thrust drives me forward against the arm of the bench, my breasts bouncing, my breath breaking into helpless little cries I can’t control.
He grips my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, not yanking, just holding enough to keep my head turned as he fucks into me over and over with the kind of force that makes my knees weak.
“This cunt,” he says between thrusts, like he can’t help himself. “So fucking wet for me. So tight. Taking me like you’ve wanted this as long as I have.”
I have. God, I have.
He reaches around and rubs my clit while he keeps pounding into me, and I come apart again with a strangled moan, shaking so hard I nearly collapse. He fucks me through it, slower for a few strokes, deeper, like he wants to feel every pulse of me around him.
Then he pulls out.
I make a small protest, but he only laughs and turns me back toward him. “Kiss me.”
I do.
He kisses me while he walks me backward to the bed, while I stumble and cling to him, while his hands roam over every soft, aching part of me like he can’t get enough.
He lays me down on my back this time and spreads me wide, taking a second just to look. The sight of his face between my legs, dark and intent and completely undone by me, makes me throb all over again.
“Such a fucking body,” he says. “I’m going to spend the rest of this flight making you come.”
He climbs over me and enters me slowly now, watching my face, kissing me when I tense, pausing when I need it, then sinking deeper and deeper until I’m full of him again.
This time he fucks me like he wants to keep me there.
Long, deep strokes. His mouth on mine. His hand under my thigh to hold me wider.
His other hand on my breast, my waist, my throat, wherever he needs it.
The pace builds gradually, each thrust dragging a little more sound out of me, each one making it harder to think.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer.
He groans and drives in deeper for it. “Greedy girl.”
“You started it.”
That gets a wicked smile out of him.
He shifts us again, rolling so I’m on top for a moment, straddling him, his hands gripping my hips.
“There,” he says. “Ride me.”
I stare at him.
His eyes darken. “Show me what this body can do.”
So I sink down on him and start moving, slow at first, finding the angle, then faster when he starts guiding me with those big hands on my hips.
The look on his face nearly ruins me by itself.
Head back. Mouth parted. Eyes fixed on my breasts bouncing above him, on the way my body takes him, on every movement like he’s starving for it.
“Fuck, Sienna.”
The praise, the filth, the way he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever had on his cock, all of it pushes me higher. I ride him harder, shameless now, and he grips my ass and meets every movement from below until the slick sounds between us turn obscene.
He sits up suddenly, wraps one arm around my back, and latches onto one nipple while I’m still moving.
I cry out and come again.
He follows a few strokes later, thrusting up hard into me, mouth still on my breast, hands crushing me close while he empties himself inside me with a groan that sounds torn out of him.
For a few moments neither of us moves.
Then he lays us down carefully, gathers me against him, and runs a hand over my hip, my waist, my belly, like he’s still not done memorizing me.
Present Day
I wake to the sound of Viktor’s voice.
Close enough to pull me up out of sleep before I fully understand why.
For a second I don’t move. I’m still half-under, warm and heavy, my body loose in that deep, boneless way that only comes after very good sex.
My skin still feels used in the best possible sense.
Satisfied. Quiet for once. During most of this pregnancy, wanting anything has felt like a kind of punishment, my body needy and restless and impossible to settle.
With him, for the first time in months, it has finally gone still.
I open my eyes.
The room is dim now, lamplight soft against the walls. I must have drifted off at some point after we lay there tangled together. The blanket is pulled up over me, and Viktor is no longer in bed.
He’s standing near the door, shirt half-buttoned, one hand braced on the frame.
Yuri says, “You need to see something, pakhan.”
Viktor’s back is half-turned to me. “Now?”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause.
Then Viktor says, “Can it wait ten minutes?”
“No.”
Neither of them knows I’m awake. Yuri is focused on Viktor, and Viktor hasn’t looked toward the bed yet.
I can see only part of Yuri’s face from here, but it’s enough to know he’s not bringing idle gossip or one more wedding problem.
There’s tension in the way he’s standing. In the way Viktor has gone quiet.
I shift my hand under the blanket, not enough to make a sound, just enough to ground myself.
My body protests the movement in a soft, aching way that brings back too much at once. His mouth between my thighs. His hand on my stomach. The way he said he didn’t care whose baby it was, that he wanted to protect me anyway.
I don’t know what to do with that yet.
By the window, Viktor exhales through his nose. “Is it about this morning?”
Yuri doesn’t answer right away.
That tells me yes.
Viktor looks at me for a moment, then says, “Go back to sleep.”
It isn’t cold. It isn’t quite gentle either. More like a decision he’s already made for both of us.
I push myself up a little more against the pillows. “What happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about tonight.”
That’s exactly the kind of answer that guarantees I will worry.
He knows that. I can tell from the look on his face. Still, he doesn’t change it.
He glances once toward Yuri, then back at me. “Sleep, Sienna.”
And before I can push further, he turns and walks out with Yuri. The door closes behind them.
For a few seconds I stay exactly where I am, listening to the silence settle back into the room.
My body is warm and used and tired in that deep, satisfying way that should have knocked me out for the rest of the night.
My legs still ache faintly. My skin still remembers his hands. The sheets smell like sex and him.
None of it helps.
I lie back down anyway and pull the blanket up, as if doing what he said might somehow make sleep come back.
It doesn’t.
My mind keeps circling the same things. Yuri’s face.
The quiet in his voice. You need to see something.
Viktor asking if it was about this morning.
The poisoned champagne. The bridesmaid. Anna’s warning.
Ethan in the hallway telling Camille not to worry because his father would keep the police away.
Nothing in this house feels normal anymore. Maybe it never was.
I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse.
Because now I can still feel the aftershocks of what happened between us, still hear Viktor’s breathing at my throat, still feel his hand over my stomach when he said he didn’t care whose baby it was.
And tangled up in all of that is the very real possibility that someone poisoned a glass meant for him.
After another ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, I give up.
I’m not going back to sleep in Viktor’s bed. Not with my mind running the way it is. Not with Yuri’s voice still in my head. Not with the whole room smelling like him and reminding me exactly what we just did.
So I get up. I pull my dress back on, smooth my hair as best I can with my fingers, and take a second to make sure I look less like I just spent the evening in his bed and more like a tired woman who made a bad decision and is trying to outrun it.
Then I slip out of his room and start back toward mine.
The house is quiet now. Not fully asleep, but close. The lamps in the hallway are low, the carpets soft under my feet, the whole place holding that late-night hush that makes every small sound feel louder than it is.
I’m halfway down the corridor when I see her.
Alina.
She’s coming toward me from the other end of the hall in a silk robe the color of champagne, her hair still perfect in a way that makes me tired just looking at it. She slows the second she sees me.
Of course she does.
Her eyes move over me once, taking in my dress, my face, the fact that I’m coming from this side of the house and not the other.
“Well,” she says. “Where are you coming from?”
I stop, and for one awful second my mind goes blank.
Not because I don’t have lies. I do. Too many, probably. But none of them feel ready enough, and she’s looking at me with the kind of cool interest that says she already suspects more than I want her to.
“I—”
Before I can get any further than that, another door opens behind her. Maksim steps into the hallway, sleeves rolled, phone in one hand, looking mildly irritated in the way men like him always seem to look mildly irritated by life in general.
He takes in the scene quickly. Alina. Me. The tension hanging in the middle.
“Good,” he says, like he’s just remembered something important. “There you are.”
I could kiss him.
Not romantically. Gratefully.
He looks at me, not giving me time to explain anything. “I was about to come find you.”
Alina turns slightly. “Why?”
Maksim answers without even blinking. “Because I wanted to make sure she’s good. I checked her earlier.”
That is plausible enough to save me and blunt enough to stop questions for the moment.
Alina looks from him to me. “You’re playing doctor now?”
“I am a doctor,” he says. His hair is slightly ruffled. “It comes up surprisingly often.”
I have to look away for half a second so I don’t laugh from pure relief.
I clear my throat. “When did you come back?”
He gives Alina a look, though she’s still staring at me. “Just a bit ago. I left the hospital and came straight here.”
“The girl… is she okay?”
“Stable now, but barely,” he says, shaking his head.
Relief shoots through me. Alina scoffs. “We made a big deal for nothing. It must have been just food poisoning.”
I glance at her. Viktor might be the mafia, but I know where Ethan gets his cruelty from. Alina is staring at my belly now, her mouth twisted. I resist the urge to put an arm over my belly to hide it.
Maksim nods toward the far end of the hallway. “Walk with me.”
I don’t hesitate. “Sure.”
Alina’s gaze lingers on me for one more beat, still too sharp, still too curious, but she can’t exactly challenge a medical follow-up without sounding strange even to herself. So she steps aside.
I murmur something polite I don’t mean and start walking beside Maksim before she can ask anything else. We don’t speak until we’ve turned the corner.
Then Maksim says, quietly, “You’re welcome.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “You really are.”
He glances at me. “I assume I don’t want to know.”
“No,” I say. “You definitely don’t.”
That gets a short breath out of him that might be amusement.
“Fine. Then I’ll settle for this. Go back to your room and try not to run into any more of his family tonight.”
“That sounds like excellent advice.”
“It usually is.”
I look at him properly then, at the tired eyes and the dry expression and the fact that he stepped in without asking a single unnecessary question.
“Thank you,” I say again.
This time he nods once, more serious. “Get some sleep, Sienna.”
I almost tell him that sleep is not really the problem anymore.
Instead I say, “I’ll try.”
Then I head the rest of the way to my room alone, very aware of how much more awkward that hallway would have been if he hadn’t appeared when he did.
I go back to my room and lock it. I don’t want Ethan showing up at my door again tonight. I reach for my journal but it’s nowhere to be found. I check my bag again, and then my bedside, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
My journal is gone.