Chapter 24 VICTORIA
VICTORIA
I close the door to my room and immediately regret walking away.
My lips still burn from Alexei's kiss. My body still hums with wanting him. And I just told him we'd talk tomorrow like I'm some kind of reasonable person capable of rational conversation when all I can think about is his mouth on mine.
What am I doing?
I lean against the door, eyes closed, trying to steady myself. Trying to think clearly through the haze of desire that's been clouding my judgment since the moment three dangerous men walked into my life and dismantled every defense I'd spent years building.
The situation is absurd. I'm attracted to all three of them. Equally. Desperately. In ways that should be impossible but feel inevitable.
When I confessed to Maksim that I want all three of them, I expected rejection. Anger. Disgust.
Instead, gave me pause. Consideration. But not revulsion. Not the judgment I was bracing for.
They didn't freak out the way I'm freaking out.
Why am I the one who can't handle this?
I've faced trafficking networks. Run operations that could get me killed. Built an organization from nothing and maintained it through sheer will and strategic thinking.
But three men wanting me, and me wanting them back? That's what breaks my composure?
I push away from the door. Pace the length of my room. The space feels too small suddenly. Too quiet. The faint scent of Alexei clings to my clothes.
I need to direct the courage I have in every other area of my life toward this. Need to stop running from what I want just because it doesn't fit the narrow definition of acceptable I've been clinging to.
I need to start living.
The decision crystallizes with sudden clarity. Sharp and clean and terrifying.
Before I can second-guess myself, there's a knock at my door.
My pulse accelerates. I know before I open it who's standing on the other side.
Alexei leans against the doorframe, looking at his watch with exaggerated attention. When he lifts his eyes to mine, they're blazing with heat and humor and challenge.
"It's 12:01," he says. "Already tomorrow. Want to talk?"
I shake my head.
Then I grab his shirt and pull him into a kiss.
He makes a sound of surprise that turns into a groan. His hands find my waist, my hips, pulling me flush against him as he kicks the door closed behind us.
The kiss is desperate. Hungry. Everything I've been holding back pouring out in the press of lips and clash of tongues and the way our bodies move together like they've been waiting for this.
We stumble toward the bed, shedding clothes along the way. His shirt hits the floor. My sweater follows. His hands are everywhere, pulling at fabric, finding skin, making me gasp against his mouth.
By the time we reach the mattress, we're mostly undressed. I fall back onto the bed, and he follows me down, his weight settling over me in a way that makes me feel grounded instead of trapped.
His mouth trails down my neck. Hot. Deliberate. Finding the sensitive spot where my pulse hammers beneath skin.
"You taste like heaven," he murmurs against my collarbone.
Lower. His lips find my breast, tongue circling my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The sensation shoots straight to my core, makes me arch into him with a sound I don't recognize as my own.
He gives equal attention to the other breast. Biting gently. Soothing with his tongue. Building heat with every touch until I'm squirming beneath him.
Then he's moving lower. Kissing down my ribs, across my stomach, pausing at my hip bone to scrape his teeth across sensitive flesh.
He settles between my legs, and the sight of him there, green eyes dark with want, mouth curved in a wicked grin, makes my lungs forget their rhythm.
"Watch me," he commands.
I can't look away.
His mouth finds me, and I forget how to think.
His tongue is rough velvet against my clit, circling with devastating precision. He alternates between soft licks and harder pressure, reading my responses, adjusting his rhythm until I'm trembling.
Two fingers slide inside me. Crook upward. Find a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
The combination of his mouth and his fingers and the way he's watching me come apart is too much. The pressure builds and builds until I can't contain it anymore.
I come, my body arching off the bed, his hands holding my hips steady as I shatter.
He doesn't stop. Works me through the aftershocks until I'm gasping, oversensitive, pulling at his hair to make him stop or keep going, I can't tell which.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is wet with me, and the sight makes fresh arousal bloom low in my belly.
He kneels between my spread legs. His cock is hard, the tip glistening. He wraps his hands around my ankles, holding them in a V, positioning himself at my entrance.
Then he pushes in.
The stretch is intense. Fuller than I remember from Maksim. Different angle. Different rhythm. But equally perfect in its own way.
He starts to move. Long, deep strokes that make me feel him everywhere. His eyes never leave mine, and the intimacy of it, the connection, makes this more than just physical.
My hands grip the sheets. My body rises to meet his thrusts. The friction, the pressure, the way he fills me completely, it all builds toward release.
He puts my legs on his shoulders, reaches down, presses his thumb to my clit while maintaining his rhythm, and I come again. Hard. Clenching around him so tight he groans.
"Not done with you yet, kotyonok," he says, voice rough.
He pulls out, and I whimper at the loss. Then he's moving, flipping us so he's on his back and I'm straddling his hips.
"Ride me," he orders, hands gripping my waist. "Give me one more."
"I can't," I gasp. "I don't think I can."
His thumb finds my clit again. Circles it with just enough pressure to make me jerk against him.
"You can," he says. "And you will."
I sink down onto him, taking him deep, and we both groan at the sensation. This angle is different too. Deeper. More intense.
I start to move. Tentative at first, finding my rhythm. His hands guide me, helping me rise and fall, setting a pace that builds pressure with every motion.
"That's it," he encourages, voice strained. "Just like that. So fucking perfect."
I lean forward, brace my hands on his chest, and ride him harder. Faster. Chasing the pleasure that's building again despite thinking I had nothing left.
His thumb never leaves my clit. Circling. Pressing. Driving me higher.
When I come this time, it's with his name torn from my throat, my body convulsing around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seem endless.
He follows immediately after, his hands tightening on my hips, his body arching beneath mine as he comes with a groan that I feel in my bones.
I collapse onto his chest. Both of us gasping. Both covered in sweat. Both trembling with aftershocks.
His arms come around me. Hold me close. His heart pounds beneath my ear, gradually slowing as we both come down from the high.
Neither of us speaks. Words feel unnecessary. Inadequate for what just happened.
His pulse is still racing beneath my ear, he is still inside me, when I realize the truth I've been running from.
I don't want space. I don't want distance. I don't want to be careful or reasonable or any of the things I thought I needed to be.
I want him.
And Maksim. And Zakhar.
All three of them. However that works. Whatever that means.
The revelation should terrify me. Should send me scrambling back behind the walls I've spent years constructing.
Instead, it feels like freedom.
Like finally breathing after years of holding my breath.