Chapter 9 - Yakov
The bandage changes are the only part of my day that matter.
We’d barely got through the door of the second safe house before my body tried to give out on me.
The adrenaline from getting shot hadn’t just faded; it had tanked, leaving me dizzy and close to hitting the floor.
But once that auto-injector slammed into my thigh and muted the screaming in my shoulder, the pain didn’t dull—it mutated into pure, lethal focus.
I was livid. The moment the chemicals cleared the haze from my head, I didn’t waste another second.
I was straight onto the burner phone, hitting up key contacts I’ve quietly cultivated within the syndicates for years.
I started snipping at my father’s throat from the dark.
I know the setup of his contacts in the East. I know every vulnerability in his cash-flow situation, the black-market routes, and the politicians he pays off to keep his compound running.
I spent the last forty-eight hours bleeding his empire—not dry, there’s no fun in that—but the slow drip, drip that’ll drive him fucking loopy.
Freezing certain accounts, rerouting his gun shipments in a way that fucks his clients over, making him look like he’s lost control.
The beautiful part is, he won’t know where the hits are coming from.
My contacts are already calling me, laughing about how the old man is losing his mind, screaming at his inner circle, going insane trying to figure out who is bleeding him out.
Eroding him bit by bit is immensely satisfying.
Watching a god fall to his knees is a hell of a pastime.
But as good as it feels to watch him lose his shit, absolutely none of it compares to this.
None of it matches the suffocating heat of sitting on the end of this mattress, waiting for Raya to touch my skin.
Being together like this, trapped in this dimly lit room with her, makes the war outside seem insignificant.
Twice a day, morning and night, she works behind me while I sit on the edge of the mattress.
For ten minutes, her hands are on my bare skin, and it takes every single ounce of my training to stay perfectly still.
In the beginning, it was pure agony—the silence between us stiff and slightly awkward.
But lately, it feels like she’s softening.
Yesterday, I managed to crack a dry joke, and she actually laughed.
I’d take another bullet to the chest right now if it meant keeping her this compliant, this close.
Tonight, I’m sitting on the bed in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants while she kneels behind me on the bed, finishing up the evening change.
Usually, by now, I’d hear the sharp rip of the medical tape.
Instead, the room is dead silent. Her hands are frozen, resting lightly on the skin right above the wound.
Her fingers are warm, and my entire nervous system dials in on that exact point of contact.
I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I am a predator playing dead, waiting to see what she does next.
Then her fingertips drag. Slowly, tracing the bruised, swollen perimeter where the bandage meets my bare skin.
I reach back with my left hand, covering hers, anchoring her palm flat against my shoulder.
I feel the tiny puff of her warm air hit the nape of my neck.
Very slowly, I tilt my head back, looking up at her over my shoulder.
She’s already staring down at me, her face inches from mine.
For so long I watched her through digital screens, decoding every micro-expression, but up close, her dark eyes are blown out, giving her feelings away.
My gaze drops to her mouth. Her eyes instantly track down to mine, and she closes the distance herself.
When those soft, plump lips hit mine, my brain short-circuits.
She isn’t just kissing me; she’s decided to kiss me.
It’s an active choice, and knowing that Raya Volkov chose me sends a wave of pure, possessive heat straight to my gut.
Every single caveman instinct I have is screaming at me to twist around, pin her to the mattress, and take what’s mine, but I force myself to stay put.
For this to work, it has to be all her. She pulls back, her lips moist and parted.
She looks bewildered by her own body, her eyes darting like she’s about to panic and bolt.
“Don’t,” I growl, my voice rougher than I intended.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t think your way out of this, rodnaya.”
She stares at me for a split second, something dark and reckless flashing in her eyes. Do it, I’m willing her. Come on, baby, do it.
She steps around the side of the bed and slides one leg over my thighs, straddling my lap.
The sudden weight of her against my groin makes me let out a ragged grunt.
My left hand grabs onto her waist, fingers digging deep into her skin, keeping her securely against me.
She rests her hands flat on my chest, right over the heavy thud of my heart, looking down at me.
I let her look. I’ve waited months for this; I can survive another ten seconds.
She leans down and kisses me again, deeper, parting her lips and inviting me in.
The second her tongue brushes mine, I lose it.
I slide my left hand up her spine, burying my fingers deep into her hair, pulling her head back to feast on her mouth.
She makes a tiny, whimpering sound against my lips that goes straight to my cock.
Oh yeah, I think my girl likes it a little rough; wait till this shoulder’s better.
I shift my weight to pull her closer, but my right shoulder takes that exact moment to remind me that a piece of lead tore through it days ago. Pain shoots down my arm, and a sharp, breathy hiss escapes through my gritted teeth.
Raya freezes, pulling back instantly. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Yakov, look at me.”
“I’m fine, rodnaya.”
“You’re white as a sheet.” Her hands fly to the sides of my face, her palms warm against my jaw, forcing my eyes up to meet hers. “If I messed up the stitches—”
“Raya.” I trap one of her hands against my cheek with my left hand, staring directly into her panicked eyes. “If you get off this bed right now, I may actually die. Stay exactly where you are.”
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling against mine. There is a tense, breathless moment where I genuinely don’t know if she’s going to run or stay. Then, a tiny, breathless laugh escapes her. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“Your lunatic,” I mutter, and pull her back down, my tongue probing into her mouth.
She rocks her hips, deliberately testing me by rubbing the warm heat between her legs over my length.
I move my hand up her smooth thigh and under her tantalizingly short skirt, my finger tracing along the edge of her panty elastic.
When I slide my finger inside, she moans as I touch her soft wet pussy.
“You’re so wet, Raya,” I whisper against her lips, my finger dipping into her sopping core. “I think you need this. You need my cock, don’t you, malysh?”
“Yes,” she nods. “Fuck, yes.”
My restraint snaps. I push myself up against her weight, grinding myself against her; she gasps, nails biting crescents into my shoulders, the friction and the pain electric.
My mouth swallows every noise she makes, tongue sweeping past her lips to claim what’s already mine.
I can’t pin her with both arms, so I pin her with my teeth—nipping her bottom lip, the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, sucking my mark onto her neck so the proof of tonight is still there tomorrow—until her breath comes in ragged bursts.
My good hand slides under her shirt, mapping her with my fingertips, the swell of her breasts and the sweet firmness of her nipples, savoring every shudder that passes through her as I gently massage and pull on them, dragging her closer to the edge, guiding her hips into a motion that makes my vision white out at the edges.
There’s a sweetness to the way she moves—hesitant at first, then a hunger and wildness she never lets show.
She’s trying to be gentle with me, but the more I urge her on, the more she lets go: her pulse racing against my tongue as I taste my way down her throat.
Her breath is a series of desperate, ravaged sounds that stoke something primal in me.
“That’s enough fooling around.” I hold her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
“Get those panties off now, before I rip them straight off you.” I see what talking like that does to her, in the soft intake of breath before she swallows.
When she climbs off me to pull them down, I take the opportunity to move onto my knees.
“Lie down and spread your legs for me, malysh. Let me see that pretty pussy.” She immediately does as I ask.
She looks like a fucking angel laying there, hair spread out on the pillow, eyes wide, chest heaving, and her pretty pink pussy laid out, glistening, waiting for me to feast on it.
I hold her open, bend down and swipe my tongue over her, tasting her warm slick arousal, and christ if it’s not the most delectable thing I’ve ever tasted.
I lick and tongue her, pushing my tongue into her as she grasps hold of my hair, rubbing her pussy against my face, desperate for more.
Desperate to orgasm. As I feel her getting close, I latch on to her clit, sucking and pulling on it, taking her over the edge.
She thrusts hard into my face as she screams her release, and I lap up her juices.
“Fuck, Yakov,” she pants. “That was—”
“We’re not finished, sweetheart. We need to fill and stretch that greedy little pussy of yours.
Take my cock out, baby, and take what you need,” I say as I roll onto my back.
I watch her eyes darken as she pulls my sweatpants down, freeing my cock.
Her fingers gently stroke my length as she bends down and takes me into her mouth, sucking on my dick while she continues to move her hand.
It takes all I have not to spurt down her throat.
She’s not the only one turned on, but I want to be inside of her.
“As amazing as that is,” I ease her head off me.
“I want you bouncing on my cock.” She smiles as she moves herself up my body, straddling my groin.
She lifts herself, positioning me at her entrance, and the first touch of her slick hot pussy against my tip makes my head fall back against the pillow.
I’ve killed men without flinching, but this—this may actually fucking kill me.
“Look at me,” she whispers.
I do. I don’t even consider not doing it.
That’s the thing—she doesn’t need to raise her voice.
She doesn’t need to demand anything. She asks, and apparently I have no mechanism left for refusal.
She sinks slowly, taking me inch by excruciating inch, her face a beautiful mask of concentration and pleasure.
I watch enthralled as her body stretches to accommodate my size, my cock swallowed whole and disappearing inside of her.
It’s nothing short of magic. When she’s fully seated, we both pause, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness, then she begins to grind slowly, sending hot, sweet spikes of want right through me.
I lose myself in the slip and press of her body, the way her thighs tremble as I urge them wider with a rough nudge.
The weight of her breast in my palm as she leans forward, the way her arousal leaks over me when I take it into my mouth and suckle on it.
She’s slick and hot, and I want to drown in her, pull her under with me.
“Touch yourself, let me watch you,” I tell her. And she does. Her fingers move to her clit and start moving while I rub her thighs and watch her. She looks like a fucking goddess sat on my cock, her eyes closed, tits bouncing as she chases her orgasm.
“Good girl,” I encourage her. “Use me, malysh,” I try to meet her with equal force, but the pain in my side makes every thrust a gamble between pleasure and agony. She notices, and begins to slow.
“Don’t you dare hold back,” I tell her, voice ragged; she doesn’t.
We kiss and suck and fuck in a clash of teeth and tongues.
She bites my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as her orgasm rips through her.
The ferocity in her ignites something reckless in me, and for a second I forget the pain, the wound, the whole world beyond the press of her body.
I flip her, using what little strength I have left to roll us over so she’s pinned beneath me, legs wrapped tight around my waist. My right arm is useless, but my left makes up for it—holding her down, fisting in the sheets, bracing us both as I drive into her with every ounce of strength I have left.
She meets me thrust for thrust, her teeth bared in a snarl of pleasure.
“Harder, Yakov. Fuck me harder.” Her fingernails rake my lower back, adding to the aches and bruises already blooming across my body.
I pound into her ruthlessly, pushing her thighs apart to drive myself deeper, to imprint myself on her, the bed bouncing against the wall, and the slap of our skin the only sounds in the room.
She pulls my mouth down to hers, hungry and uncoordinated, biting and sucking at my tongue, as if she wants to consume me whole.
Her body arches up, and I know she’s close.
Her hands clutch at my face again, desperate to see me, to keep me present. “I’m there, I’m there,” she gasps.
“Come all over my cock, solntse,” I grunt, slamming into her so hard the headboard rattles against the wall, and the water in the glass on the bedside table sloshes over the side.
She screams my name, head thrown back, hair wild and tangled, the sound ricocheting off the bedroom walls as she shatters—hips jerking, nails clawing, heels digging into the small of my back.
The hot ripple of her pussy orgasming drags me over the edge.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan as I spill inside her, pumping her full of my seed, giving her everything I’ve got.
I feel her pussy clamp and clutch on to me again as her body reacts to mine, sucking the last of the cum out of me with its own orgasm, her eyes rolling in the back of her head as she moans.
“Good girl,” I whisper into the crook of her neck, kissing her reverently, “take my cum like a good girl.”
We lie there in the aftermath of the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, her slumped against my good shoulder as I stroke her hair while she drifts in and out of sleep; I am ruined, and I couldn’t be happier.
I have the girl. The girl is my wife, and tonight she finally consummated what we are. I will burn the entire fucking city to the ground before I ever let her go.