Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Leonid
I thought fucking Laurel would purge her from my system. Two nights of burying myself in her tight, perfect body, over and over until we were both wrecked and shaking. It should have been enough. Tasting her, one claim, and I could file her away like every other woman who’s ever crossed my path.
I was wrong.
She’s deeper than that. Embedded. In my head. In my blood. Knowing I’m the first man who’s ever been inside her, ever touched her like this, ever made her come apart, only makes the possessiveness worse.
It’s primal. I want her entirely for myself. No one else gets to see that shy flush on her cheeks, hear that broken little whimper when she comes. She’s mine now. I have no intention of letting her go anytime soon.
The realization unsettles me. I’ve never felt this way about any woman. Never wanted to keep one. Never cared enough to feel anything beyond mild satisfaction and indifference once the clothes came back on.
And yet here I am, sitting across from her on the jet back to New York, pretending to read the same contract clause for the twentieth time while my dick throbs painfully against my zipper.
She’s curled in the opposite seat, e-reader in her lap, legs tucked beneath her. That gourmandise scent of hers, warm vanilla and chocolate, keeps drifting across the space between us every time she shifts.
I’ve never liked chocolate. But around her?
I crave it. Crave her. All I can think about is this morning, how I woke her with my mouth between her thighs, how she came on my tongue before I flipped her onto her stomach and fucked her hard from behind, her face buried in the pillow, moaning my name until her voice broke.
She raises her head now and catches me staring. She gives me a shy, hesitant smile, then drops her gaze back to the screen.
Her hand hasn’t moved over the screen in a while. She’s not reading anymore than I’m comprehending this contract.
Our eyes meet again.
Her cheeks bloom tomato red. She bites her lower lip, and I have to grip the armrest to stop myself from groaning out loud.
“Bedroom,” I order, voice rougher than I intend. “Now. Strip. Get on the bed.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She sets the e-reader down, stands, smooths her dress with trembling fingers, and walks toward the private cabin at the back of the jet. That round, perfect ass sways with every step. I’m already hard enough; it hurts.
The flight attendant chooses that exact moment to glide over, smile bright and flirty.
“Mr. Volkov, can I get you anything? Or do anything for you?” Her voice is syrupy, eyes lingering too long on my mouth.
I don’t even glance at her. “No!”
She falters, but I’m already moving, long strides carrying me after Laurel. The moment we touch down in New York, that woman is fired.
I push the bedroom door open and freeze.
Laurel stands at the foot of the bed in matching black lace, bra cupping her perfect tits, panties clinging to her hips like a second skin. The sight causes my cock, which is already half-hard from watching her ass sway down the aisle, to surge to full attention in seconds.
“Take off the bra,” I growl, voice low and rough. “Panties too.”
I start stripping as I speak. She doesn’t move right away.
Instead, she gives me a teasing smile and reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra with deliberate laziness.
The straps slide down her shoulders inch by inch.
She lets the lace fall, but she’s taking her sweet fucking time with the panties, thumbs hooked in the sides, dragging them down her thighs like she has all night.
I growl again, deeper this time. “Now is not the time to tease me. If you don’t hurry up, I’m tearing them off you.”
She bites her lower lip, and the sight makes pre-cum leak from my tip. I shove my trousers and briefs down in one rough motion, kicking them aside. My cock springs free, thick and throbbing.
She’s naked now, flushed, eyes dark and daring. I close the distance in two strides. “Teasing me will get you punished.”
“Oh really?” she whispers, tilting her chin up. “What are you going to do about it?”
I wrap my hand around her throat, not tight, just enough to feel her pulse hammer against my palm. “You’re not ready for that.”
The truth is, I’ve never fucked slow in my life.
I like it rough. Women bound, begging, taking everything I give them until they’re shaking and spent.
When I learned she was a virgin, that knowledge almost sent me running.
I’m not built for gentle. I thought I’d break her, scare her off, ruin whatever fragile thing this is before it even starts.
It’s the reason I’ve been holding back. I’ve tried to go easy even when she’s been pushing every goddamn button. I don’t want to scare her away. I don’t want this to end. Not yet.
She tilts her head against my grip, eyes blazing. “Who says I’m not ready?”
The fire in her gaze tells me everything. She likes it. Likes my hand on her throat.
A growl rumbles in my chest. “You like being choked, little thing?”
I tighten my grip, just enough to make her gasp, not enough to hurt. Her pupils blow wide; a fresh rush of wetness coats my fingers when I slide them between her legs.
“So wet already,” I mutter.
I lift her leg, hook it around my waist. Her back hits the wall with a soft thud. I line myself up and notch the head of my cock at her entrance.
“Brace yourself,” I rasp against her ear.
Then I plunge in with one hard, deep thrust.
Her mouth falls open in a perfect, silent O. Her nails dig into my shoulders. I don’t stop. I fuck her wildly, hard, fast, relentless. She’s whimpering, moaning, legs locked around me, taking everything I give her.
I feel her start to flutter, walls squeezing me like a fist.
“Come,” I order against her throat. “Come on my cock.”
She shatters—crying my name, body convulsing, pulsing around me so hard it drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself inside her, pull out, and come with a guttural groan, spilling on her thighs.
I kiss her jaw, her throat, the spot where my hand still rests lightly around her neck.
She’s trembling.
So am I.
The jet touches down smoothly at JFK just after 10 a.m. local time. Laurel is already gathering her things, insisting that she can take an Uber or the subway back to her apartment.
“No,” I say, voice flat, final. “My driver is taking you.”
She opens her mouth to argue. “Don’t you have a meeting or something? I…”
I cut her off with a look. “I do have a meeting, but I don’t care. You’re not catching a ride alone.”
She exhales through her nose, clearly unhappy, but doesn’t fight me further. Good.
The black Escalade is already waiting on the tarmac. I slide in after her, giving the driver her address. She stares out the window the entire drive. I stare at her.
Brooklyn comes into view. Her neighborhood isn’t a war zone, but it’s not safe enough. Not for her. Too many blind corners, too many entry points for anyone with bad intentions.
I step out first, come around to her side, and open her door before the driver can. She takes my hand, steps down, glances up at me with that mix of confusion and something softer.
I grab her suitcase from the trunk myself. And we walk up the cracked concrete steps together. The doorman, older, half-asleep, nods vaguely at us.
I catalog the flickering bulb over the stairwell entrance, the lack of visible cameras. Anyone could walk in.
At her apartment door, she turns, keys already in hand.
“So… I guess this is it,” she says quietly.
I frown. “What is?”
She swallows, eyes flicking away, then back. “What happened in Paris… stays in Paris, right?”
The words land like a slap. What the hell is she talking about? I step closer, crowding her against the door. My hand finds her throat, and I bring my lips to her ear.
“If this is you saying we’re done seeing each other,” I say slowly, voice low, “then you’ve never been more wrong.”
Her eyes widen.
“This just started,” I continue, thumb pressing lightly against her racing pulse. “And I have no intention of ending it anytime soon.”
I tighten my grip, just enough to make the message unmistakable.
“This is only over when I say so.”
Her breath catches as she stares up at me with those wide hazel eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
I kiss her hard, claiming, swallowing the tiny sound she makes. When I pull back, she’s breathing fast, dazed.
“Lock the door behind you, Laurel,” I order.
She nods, and without saying a word, slips inside.