CHAPTER 18 #2
“And you like it, don’t you, Morozov?” I challenged, my fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling myself closer until our bodies were molded together, his heat seeping into mine.
“My defiance. My intellect. My willingness to break your own fucking rules to win this war.” My lips brushed his, a tantalizing whisper.
“You call me your queen. Queens don’t just sit on the goddamn throne. They fight. And they command.”
His eyes blazed, a feral hunger in their depths. “You want to command me, little queen?” he rasped, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of my hip, sending shivers through me. “You think you can break me?”
“I think I can make you burn,” I whispered, my gaze fixed on his mouth, my own desire a wildfire in my blood.
“Make you want me so badly you forget who you are. Forget your control. Forget everything but me.” My hand slid from his shoulder, down his chest, lingering on the waistband of his fatigues, my fingers brushing against the hard curve of his cock.
A guttural sound, half growl, half groan, ripped from his throat. His jaw clenched, his eyes momentarily closing, a flicker of raw, unrestrained need passing over his face. He was fighting it, fighting the submission my touch, my words, provoked. And that only made me push harder.
“You want Markovic to break?” I purred, my voice low and husky, my fingers teasing the fabric of his fatigues. “Let me show you how to break a man, Liam. Let me show you how to control him. How to make him crave what you offer, even if it’s his own destruction.”
He seized my wrists, his grip tight, almost bruising, but not painful.
His eyes snapped open, blazing with a mixture of fury and desperate desire.
“You think you can manipulate me, Rose?” he snarled, his voice thick with a dark, possessive intensity.
“You think you can play these games and not expect to be claimed?”
“I’m already claimed, Pakhan,” I whispered, my lips brushing his, my body grinding against his, the friction exquisite.
“But you’re mine too. This empire, this war, this...
us. It’s all ours. We’re partners. And partners share everything.
” My hand, still at his waist, became bolder, slipping inside his fatigues, wrapping around his hard, throbbing cock.
A shudder ripped through him, his eyes rolling back in his head, a desperate groan escaping his lips.
His control, usually iron-clad, was fracturing under my touch, my audacity.
His grip on my wrists loosened, his hands now sliding to my ass, gripping me fiercely, lifting me until my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He was still standing, his back against the map table, my body pressed against his, my wet heat already throbbing against the fabric of his pants.
“You little fucking devil,” he rasped, his mouth descending, ravishing mine with a desperate hunger, his tongue invading, devouring.
It was a kiss of anger, of desperate passion, of begrudging surrender.
My hands went to his hair, pulling, clutching as I met his intensity, my hips grinding against him, silently begging for the release I knew he could give.
He pulled back, his eyes burning into mine. “You want to break Markovic, moya roza? Show me. Show me how you play. But know this,” he growled, his voice thick with a dark promise, “I will always be the one holding the fucking reins. And you will always be mine.”
He slammed me back against the map table, not gently, the metal digging into my lower back. I cried out, a gasp of pain and exhilaration. His hands tore at my leggings, ripping them down, exposing my aching, wet heat to the cool air. His eyes, dark and predatory, devoured me.
“Show me, Rose,” he commanded, his voice raw with lust, as he ripped open his fatigues, freeing his hard, engorged cock. “Show me your fucking power.”
He plunged into me then, a single, deep thrust that made me gasp, my body arching against the cold metal of the table.
The friction, the depth, the sheer raw sensation of him filling me completely, was agonizingly exquisite.
My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder, each thrust a brutal assertion of his dominance, a punishment for my defiance, and a desperate plea for my fiery submission.
“Yes,” I gasped, my head thrown back, my eyes closing as the pleasure became a searing inferno. “Yes, Liam. Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t think. Until I can’t breathe. Just... you. Always you.”
His grunts mingled with my moans, a symphony of raw, untamed passion.
He drove into me, again and again, slamming our bodies together with a force that rattled the table.
My fingers dug into his back, my nails scoring his skin, as my hips bucked, meeting his thrusts with an equal, desperate ferocity.
The tactical map, spread beneath us, became a tableau of our own brutal, passionate war.
He drove me to the brink, his eyes fixed on mine, watching my climax build, watching my body convulse around him, my screams echoing in the room. He followed quickly, his own orgasm a violent, shuddering release that emptied him into me, filling me with his seed, with his possessive claim.
We lay there, tangled and spent, our bodies slick with sweat, my legs still wrapped around his waist, his chest heaving against mine. The comms room was silent once more, save for our ragged breathing. My injured foot pressed uncomfortably against his thigh, but I barely noticed.
He pulled back slowly, his eyes still dark with spent passion, but a new, calculating glint had returned. He adjusted his fatigues, then gently, almost tenderly, helped me slide off the table. My legs trembled, my body still singing with the aftershocks of our encounter.
“Markovic,” he said, his voice still a little rough, but now infused with a new focus, a steely determination. “Prepare the dossier. And Rose... your plan. It’s audacious. It’s dangerous. And it just might work.”
He reached out, his calloused thumb tracing the curve of my jaw, a possessive, almost tender gesture.
“You keep surprising me, moya roza. Keep sharpening my blade. And together,” his eyes burned into mine, a dark promise in their depths, “we will dismantle Konstantin Volkov’s empire, piece by bloody piece. Starting with his viper of a lawyer.”
He left the comms room, his footsteps firm and resolute, leaving me standing there, my body aching, my mind already racing, plotting.
The war was far from over, but a new phase had begun.
And this time, I wasn't just a captive or a pawn.
I was a weapon, honed and dangerous, ready to strike.
My place was by his side, in his war, and in his bed. And I wouldn't have it any other way.