CHAPTER 17 #3
I kissed her then, savagely, possessively, my mouth crushing hers, my tongue invading with a fierce urgency that stole her breath.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a branding, a reclaiming, a brutal assertion of ownership that was both a punishment and a promise.
I tasted her fire, her courage, her undeniable desire.
My hands slid lower, cupping her ass, lifting her, pressing her even harder against my aching cock.
She whimpered, a soft, desperate sound, her body already molding to mine, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. I lifted her effortlessly, carrying her out of the comms room, my gaze fixed on the bedroom, on the place where our bodies spoke a language no words could ever convey.
“You think you can challenge me?” I growled against her lips, my voice thick with lust and possessive fury. “You think you can walk into a den of wolves and not expect to be claimed?”
“I think I can make them bleed,” she retorted, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her hips grinding against mine, betraying her own desperate need. “And I think I can make you bleed too, Morozov.”
I laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that was pure predatory satisfaction. “Try it, moya roza,” I challenged, throwing her onto the bed, the mattress sinking under her weight. “Try and make me bleed. But you’ll drown in my blood first.”
I followed her down, my body covering hers, my mouth descending again, ravishing her lips, her neck, the soft skin of her throat. My hands tore at her clothes, ripping the simple t-shirt, tossing it aside. She wore no bra, her breasts heaving, already hardening under my gaze.
“Liam,” she moaned, her voice a desperate plea, a hungry demand.
I didn’t answer with words, but with action. My fingers slid into her leggings, ripping them down, exposing her slick, wet heat. She was ready for me, already throbbing, her body betraying the fire that raged beneath her defiance.
“You like to play with fire, don’t you, Rose?” I growled, my lips brushing against her inner thigh, my breath hot on her sensitive skin. “You like to tempt fate. To test my fucking limits.”
She bucked under me, her hips arching, silently begging for more. “Yes,” she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. “Yes, I do. And you like it, don’t you? My defiance. My... fire.”
I plunged into her then, a single, deep thrust that made her cry out, her body clenching around me.
The raw sensation was agonizingly exquisite, a perfect fit, a violent claiming that was both punishing and profoundly intimate.
My hips began to move, slow at first, then faster, harder, each thrust driving deeper, filling her completely.
“Every fucking inch,” I snarled, my voice raw with exertion, with desperate need. “Every single goddamn part of you is mine. Your mind. Your body. Your fire. You belong to me, Rose. And you’ll never forget it.”
She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me impossibly closer, her nails digging into my back as she met my thrusts with equal ferocity.
Her head tossed from side to side, her hair a wild, tangled mess against the white sheets.
Her moans mingled with my grunts, a symphony of raw, untamed passion that filled the sterile safe house, making it ours.
“Fuck me, Liam,” she begged, her voice hoarse, broken. “Fuck me until I can’t think. Until I can’t breathe. Just... you.”
I obliged, slamming into her, harder and faster, driving her to the brink, watching her eyes roll back in her head as she convulsed around me, her climax ripping through her body, her screams echoing in the room.
I followed quickly, my own orgasm a violent, shuddering release that emptied me into her, branding her with my seed, with my possession, with my undeniable claim.
We lay there, tangled and spent, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the aftermath of our violent union, the undeniable truth of our volatile connection.
I rolled onto my side, pulling her against me, her head resting on my shoulder. My fingers tangled in her damp hair, stroking, soothing. The fury that had driven me was spent, replaced by a fierce, protective resolve.
“The plan is set,” I murmured against her temple, my voice rough. “Konstantin won’t know what hit him. And Dmitri... Dmitri will regret ever calling himself Morozov.”
She nodded, her body still trembling slightly, her hand finding mine, our fingers intertwining. “And we’ll be ready for him,” she whispered, her voice still a little shaky, but firm with renewed purpose. “Together.”
I tightened my grip on her. She wasn’t just a captive.
She wasn’t just a weapon. She was the fire that fueled my rage, the mind that sharpened my strategy, the partner I hadn’t known I needed.
This war was hers too, now. And we would face it together.
Konstantin Volkov was about to learn that the Morozov empire had a new queen.
And she was just as ruthless as its king.
The storm was coming, and we were the eye of it, ready to burn everything in our path.