35. Sandrine #3
I open the door to our bedroom suite and stop cold, seeing Kirill sitting on a chair near the window. His dark suit fits him perfectly, all sharp lines and quiet power. My stupid body reacts before my brain does.
We’ve been intimate nearly every night this week, but the look he gives me when we make eye contact cuts through me. “Shut the door.”
“How did you get up here so fast?” I spin around.
“There’s a set of stairs in the back of the house.”
“Oh.” I toss my purse on the desk and fold my arms. And wait for the scolding.
My pulse jumps. My breathing catches. My center twitches. The filthy spot he put his mouth on me yesterday and made me see stars quivers.
His gaze moves over me slowly. “Come here.”
I just stand under the archway between the sitting area and the bedroom. “Who is Tamara Chernova?”
He stills, and his face turns to ice.
“How do you know that name?” he asks, his look of fury fading imperceptibly.
Kirill controls every reaction before it fully surfaces.
“She was at the dress shop today. Said she knew me. And knew you, too. Pretty well.”
“Hang on,” he says, holding up his hand.
“You told me you didn’t sleep with anyone while I was gone,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I didn’t. Tamara was a decoy,” he says finally.
The way he handily admitted to knowing her makes me sick all over again. “Why did you need a decoy?”
“To get Ares’s psycho security director to stop hacking my phone. To make him think I moved on with someone my father approved of, so I could keep looking for you behind his back.”
I study my husband for a second longer, wondering if he gazed at Tamara the way he looks at me. “Oh.”
I nod and let the silence settle between us, even while the name keeps circling in the back of my mind like smoke that refuses to clear.
“She knew I left you. She thinks I left you on purpose, the same as you,” I say, my voice small. “Did you…talk about me, on your fake dates?” When Kirill doesn’t answer, just wipes his mouth, I sink into the wing chair. “Kirill, no…”
He looks up. “I said as little as possible.”
“Does the entire brotherhood think I left you?”
Kirill’s jaw tightens. “Some of them do. The ones who I had looking for you.”
“And you let them believe I’d leave my child?” I hold my chest, feeling sick.
“I wasn’t about to stand in front of the brotherhood that my father ran to discuss my marriage.”
I lower my eyes. “I guess.”
“Now, will you tell me why you bought seventeen tickets on a charter flight to Miami?” He sits back, legs crossed.
Biting my lip, I move toward him and tell him about Tamara’s scheming posts. Before I’m even done, Kirill is slapping his leg, laughing.
The pakhan laughs! Then he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“What?”
“Her father has contacts all over this city. He’ll see the seats were purchased by me.” He cracks his knuckles. “He’ll know it was to get even for what she did to you.”
“Then we’ll have to find fourteen friends and take a trip to Miami.”
Kirill shakes his head. “I can’t go to Miami. That means you’re not going to Miami. But I can still take care of this.”
Two phone calls later, and the entire flight is canceled.
“Looks like no one is going to Miami.” I pout and sit on his lap. “And I was happy to spend all that money.”
“Me too.” He kisses me. “Now, Mrs. Volkov. Take off that dress. I have to taste you again.”
At that moment, I hear Violet run down the hall for her snack, singing one of her songs. It’s a bigger snack. It will take more time.
While I’m hesitating, my husband lifts my skirt, and on his knees, he looks up at me and says, “So fucking beautiful.”
He growls his approval and slowly spreads my thighs open. He presses his face against my center, and a second later, I hear the sound I’ve come to know as a switch blade flipping into position.
“These are in my way,” he says and slices my panties at the hip bands. “There. Mine.”
He drags his tongue along my slit, and it pulls a cry out of me. I try to be quiet. We have a child on the other side of this door.
Yet her father can’t keep his hands off me. I run my fingers through his hair and secure him in place as he licks me.
He groans against my wet flesh, and I’m already so close. “You taste so fucking good, wife.”
His tongue licks me and circles my clit. It’s like he knows exactly where I need the pressure of his lips and the wetness of his mouth.
“Kirill, I’m so close,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
“Never, wife. Come on. Come for me.”
I moan louder as it seems to ignite his passions more. “Kirill…”
Everything tightens, and I feel myself fall over the edge.
“That’s my wife. So wet for me. Mad one minute, spread and aching to come in my mouth, the next.”
God, that does it. My orgasm wrecks me, white flashes blinding me. My nerves are shuddering. Kirill does not let up. His face is pressed even harder between my legs, eating up my climax.
“There you are,” he says, lifting his face. “That’s the wife I know.”
I have a sharp image of the woman he’s talking about. Even if at this moment, I am completely wrecked and ruined.
That sinful mouth proved to me I’m the only woman Kirill wants.