Chapter 24 - Viktor
Never before for anyone, not even myself, have I resorted to daydreaming of what if’s. I haven’t done it for success, power, or legacy. Yet, when it comes to Nadya, I’ll surrender to anything that will grant me a piece of her. There are so many different ways I’ve imagined it.
In no version of my imaginings is the staff too fucking slow to answer the door before the bell rings a second time.
There’s no sound of me stomping across my new penthouse, cursing bitterly about it being impossible to find competent help these days, and nearly ripping the front door off its hinges.
Usually, there isn’t a fucking gun in my hand, all because I can never be too careful these days, now that more people than ever want my head on a pike for my infamous banishment-slash-promotion.
This is my life these days, and I’m still wrapping my head around it.
Then the door opens, and I stop breathing.
It’s so fucking surreal, after all this time and all this distance, that she still looks the same.
Sure, Fantasy Nadya would never resort to an immediate, crude onceover, cluck her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and admonish, “You never told me your brother was a zaddy, Viktor. Like, woah.”
That’s the point, I suppose. The reality of her will always supersede anything I could dream up on fucking ecstasy. She is one of one. She is the extraordinary thing my eyes have ever landed on. She’s so fucking—
She digs into the massive bag slung over her shoulder. My brain glitches. I can’t process the words on the papers she holds out to me. My vision zeroes in on the bottom of the page she taps at. The line where her name is scrawled, in a signature neater than the only time I’ve seen it before.
On a marriage license that looked just like this one.
As I stand there for a suspended, ludicrous moment, my gun still in my hand, her existence makes my head spin. Nadya is on my doorstep. Nadya is here. Nadya, Nadya, Nadya.
Despite her smart fucking mouth, her eyes run over me as wildly as mine do her. They flick back several times to her face like I have to keep checking that it’s really her. She does the same.
“Fuck,” I croak.
“Jeez,” she huffs dramatically, the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She throws on flirty eyelashes and a full pout my way. But her eyes are shining. “At least buy a girl dinner first.”
“No,” I say, and my voice is rough and low and echoes in the hallway, “The only thing I’m hungry for is you.
” And I don’t know which one of us moves first, but there had been space between us, several inches of it.
Now there isn’t, now her hands are on my face.
Mine are in her hair, on her neck, her waist, her thighs.
I grab onto and hoist her up around my waist. I bury my groan against her racing pulse to ask her, “What took you so fucking long?” and lick past the seam of her mouth where every answer to the universe already resides.
“Sign the fucking papers,” she gasps against my lips. “I want to be yours again.”
I can’t fucking believe it. I can’t believe she’s here, except for how I can. Of course I can. If it weren’t going to be me, it would’ve been her.
“You were never not mine, Nadya Yuri.”
She makes a high, needy moan at the back of her throat and clutches back at me.
I kick the door shut and slam her back against it.
Her body squirms against mine, her hands clutching wherever they land amidst their ceaseless wanderings.
The task of ridding her of her thin purple dress with only one hand is the most worthwhile hassle.
I can’t spare the other. It’s splayed over her ass, playing double-duty as it slips beneath damp lace.
Her spine arches away from the heavy wood of the door, manipulating my too-eager mouth to her waiting tits. She’s forsaken a bra, and I’ve never loved her more. My teeth pluck at a rosy bud.
I don’t have enough hands. It always feels like this with her. There’s never, ever enough fucking hands to touch her the way I need to. All fucking over her.
“I don’t need it,” Nadya gasps when my fingers skim over her slippery folds. “I’m—I’m ready. Viktor. I’ve been ready.”
“You’re trying to kill me,” I accuse, strained.
She’s so fucking thin, like she’s lost more weight than her body can handle, and I want to take my time on her. Forever doesn’t sound like long enough. “Let me,” I growl, nipping at her lip in admonishment.
Nadya bites back, stealing another moan.
But she pays me back in kind with a rendition of her own, quivering when I press inside of her, stretching her around my fingers, making room in this tight, hot body that’s all fucking mine. Mine to use and please. Just like mine is hers.
Mindlessly, I sear the words into her flesh.
I rasp them into the air when she shoves impetuously at my chest, pushing me around until she gets what she wants, which is to be on her knees.
She looks up at me, silver-blonde bunching up against the door.
She yanks me toward her with my belt, undoing it with the hand not palming at my achingly stiff erection.
“No,” she argues, hissing as she smooths her own hand between her legs. “You let me.”
Nadya sucks cock like she does everything: full-throttle.
Her wet, greedy mouth takes me in until her throat is swollen with my length, and my forehead thuds against the door I brace myself against. The sight of her with those perfect lips stretched wide, glossy with drool that drips down her stubborn chin, has me too close already.
I tolerate the maddening glory of her hollowed cheeks for a few minutes at most. Then my palm slaps against the door, and I rip out of her mouth, squeezing my eyes shut to keep myself from shooting my load all over her face when she keens over the loss.
Fucking good God.
It would be a good look on her, but I need more right now. I need to be inside of her. I need it more than I’ve ever needed fucking anything.
There’s nothing I won’t give her that she wants.
But sometimes, I need to fucking change what she wants.
I haul her up by the arms and spin her around, shoving her front up to the door, and ripping away her panties. The position doesn’t have a prayer of keeping me from kissing her. Nothing can now. I turn her head toward me with a hand dominating her jaw.
“You’re fucking insane,” I pant into her mouth.
“Thank you,” she sasses, rutting back against me, tucking me into the cleft of her ass just to fuck with me. As if she doesn’t need me just as much. Like she isn’t dripping down the apex of her thighs, sticky with juices I’m not above gathering to smear over my cock before I spear her with it.
She chokes on a cry, and it trips on my own gasped groan.
“Fuck, baby,” I laugh into her shoulder, my hands clamping down on her hips for purchase, forcing myself to slow down as much as I can, trying to give her a fucking moment to adjust.
I last seconds, not minutes. And then we’re moving in tandem, my pelvis tipping upward while she grinds down in our messy, warring rhythm. She meets me thrust for thrust.
My hands are all over her, and even this position can’t keep hers off of me.
Nadya meets my palms, cupping her tits with her hands in my hair.
She returns my fingers, pinching her clit with her teeth at my jaw.
Her nails embedded in my nape. Her feet on top of mine, every limb seemingly overlapping with each other’s.
The sinful sounds of our wild fucking love fill the penthouse. This concrete and stainless steel jungle I’ve been damned to and told to live out my fucking days in. A place I’ve let someone decorate to make it feel less empty, less hollow, less cold.
Yet it’s now, only the woman in my arms, the woman I am crazy about, is shaking in her arms, her cunt fluttering around me, milking the release from my cock as she cries out into my mouth, that I am finally, finally home.
***
Eventually, we make it out of my fucking hallway. After we go another round on the floor, obviously, with my body poised above hers and her delectable legs on my shoulders as I plowed her into the fucking ground.
Nothing can slake my appetite for her—but it’s taken the edge off, which was necessary, if we’re going to talk. I’ve got questions, after all. Starting with and not limited to how the fuck she’s actually here.
I ask over the spray of the shower we stand tangled beneath.
“I have my ways,” she says coyly, squealing as I pinch her ass for it.
My lips press to her temple, breathing her in. “You know, you beat me to it by the thinnest of margins.”
Nadya’s expression is a mix of humor and horror as she whips around, her soapy, slippery body returning to its nuzzling position against mine. “What the actual fuck does that mean?”
“Did you think I’d just wait with my dick in my hand?” I challenge, brows raised. “I’ve been going after your fucking security since I got the fucking annulment notification.”
Nadya winces. “Had to happen.”
“The fuck it did.”
That had been a bad night. It had taken Maxim a long fucking time to talk me down after that. Even longer to dissuade me from jumping in my car and bringing Hell to the Yuris’ doorstep. I confess as much to her.
“Thank Max, in that case,” she says, her fingers carding through hair she’s just washed for me. “That would’ve been stupid. I was handling it.”
Her words do nothing to smooth my frown. “There is no you and me. Only an us. You shouldn’t have had to handle anything on your own.”
“You were in bad shape, remember?”
I glare at her, pressing a hard kiss to her swollen lips. “I could be at death’s door, and I’d still turn around for you.”
“Poetic,” she quips.
I can see through her mockery, though, all the way down to the heart I’ve stolen. “Then I’ll say it plainer. I fucking love you. And it almost fucking killed me, every day I’ve had to wait to say it.”