49. Sandrine
Sandrine
Violet has dinner and goes to bed like this was a normal day. The doctor suggested she’d fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion from pent-up anxiety that she doesn’t understand.
I showered with Kirill in there with me. He washed my hair. Cleaned every inch of me. And used his tongue to make me come, to calm me down.
Better than meds.
I asked him earlier about Elodie. He assured me she was fine.
With our heart rates at a normal level again, I ask a follow-up, “Did Elodie really look unharmed?”
“Completely.” Kirill towels himself off. “I know a hostage when I see one.”
“But she could be lying. Is this man you know a bad man?”
Kirill’s jaw ticks. “Yes. But…” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “He’s not a complete psychopath to do something bad to a woman who he knows is related to Ares and me.”
I think about that.
That place is crawling with mafia.
Is she staying there for her story? With a bad man? God, this is infuriating. I’ll just have to try calling her again. I keep getting her voicemail.
“If something happens to her, you have to do something about it, right?” I ask Kirill.
My husband stands in the bathroom doorway naked, stroking his cock. “That’s how it works.” He pushes off the doorframe and slides into the bed next to me.
Next, he’s kissing me so hard that I shut up completely. Only, it has the opposite effect, and I moan against his mouth.
“I was so fucking worried about you.” His low growl vibrates into me. “Both of you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No. This is our life. I had men working for me who were willing to betray me. And I didn’t know it.”
Two hands close around my breasts, steadying me while my brain melts a little. My heart pounds and I’m just so ravenous for him. My husband.
He sits up and grips my thighs. “On the floor. All fours on the carpet, moya zhena.”
The floor? That’s new.
I slide off the bed and get on my hands and knees. After hearing the condom wrapper tear away and the sound of it stretching across Kirill’s massive length, he slides into me and starts pounding me from behind.
I’m trembling. My body can’t decide what it wants more. Relief from my knees digging into the carpet or my husband’s huge cock owning me.
At this pace, pleasure is all I feel. I drop my head and moan like a cat in heat. Blood roars in my ears, but I hear Kirill growl something in Russian, deep and filthy-sounding. It’s just a hum of words, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, changing to English. “Oh, fuck yes.”
He sinks his cock deeper, and we both groan at the same time.
“Kirill, please,” I shiver, moaning his name.
He doesn’t say anything back. Just keeps fucking me with a feral edge. My body is all tingles and pulsing. My clit aches, and when I touch it, it’s hot and slick.
“Too fucking good.” He slowly pulls out, inch by torturous inch, then thrusts inside again. “Christ.”
“Kirill, make me come.”
“I will always find you this time.” His fist closes around my hair and drags me forward like I’m on a leash. “I am going to kill whoever tried to take you away from me.”
My orgasm crashes over me, but Kirill comes, too, while pumping me even harder. When he’s finished, he pulls out of me, grunting.
Wrung out, I’m flipped over and carried to the bed. Back to the mess of sheets from this morning’s lovemaking before the sun was even up.
Kirill removes the condom, tosses it, and reaches into his nightstand to put on a fresh one. He gets back on top of me, and enters me again, already hard. He kisses me, devours me, consumes me.
Using his powerful hips, he fucks me so damn deep again. It drives me crazy. He keeps going until we’re both at our limit. This one is brutal. His hands end up around my neck, while he sits up and destroys me with his cock.
I come again in a rush and feel nothing but wetness on my thighs.
“Yeah, you love your husband’s cock.” He keeps pumping. “Fuck, I’m coming again.”
He presses his forehead to mine and shatters inside me. After holding me for a few seconds, he lifts his head. His eyes are red and his cheeks just as flushed.
“Let’s go to sleep so this day ends,” he says, getting up and putting his briefs on.
I slide into a nightshirt and fall back into his arms. Closing my eyes, I hope I don’t see the monster who tied me up today in my nightmares.
* * *
Hours later, lying on my side with Kirill’s body pressed against my back, I wake to the sound of Violet crying down the hall. Kirill is out of bed in a matter of seconds.
“Stay here,” he says, sounding quite awake.
Wearing sweatpants, he leaves the bedroom in a rush. Before I can even sit up, Kirill is back, holding Violet, her arms around his neck.
Hair tangled from sleep, she also clutches the stuffed dinosaur against her wrinkled pink pajama tops. “Can I sleep here?”
My heart breaks instantly, and I lift the blankets. “Come here, sweet girl.”
Kirill puts her on the bed, and she dives under the covers next to me. “Mommy, you smell nice.”
My husband shuts the door and gets back into bed. She immediately latches onto my collar with one hand while Kirill settles beside her, wedging our daughter between us.
This terrifying Bratva king strokes his daughter’s hair with such unbearable gentleness that it physically hurts to watch. The room goes quiet except for Violet’s soft breathing.
Within minutes, she’s asleep again, and Kirill snorts a laugh. “I can bring her back to her room.”
“No.” I nuzzle her, but pull him in close, too. “I need this. I need both of you.”
With his arm wrapped around us, Kirill looks at her, then at me.
“I love you, Sandrine,” he says. “I can’t believe I almost lost you again without telling you that.”
“I love you, Kirill,” I say back. Closing my eyes, I add, “Just saying that feels… Real. Right.”
“You told me first, you know,” he whispers, still stroking Violet’s hair. “You were so brave. Unafraid.”
“Did you say it back?”
He smiles. “I did. I wanted to be brave, too.”