22. Rashid
RASHID
I awake with Emory in my arms and the scent of sex still clinging to her skin.
Last night was incredible, and I already want more.
Just the feel of her naked body next to mine compels me to indulge.
I pull her closer and let my hand slide over her breast, across her hip and down to her mound where when I touch, she moans in her sleep.
I press my fingers between her soft folds, stroking her slowly and feeling her body respond with fresh moisture.
She shifts slightly against me, still mostly asleep, but her hips give a small instinctive push toward my hand.
So I lean in closer, brushing the shell of her ear with my lips as I speak in a quiet gravelly voice.
“Wake up, milaya . I’m already rock hard and I need to fuck you again right now. ”
Emory’s eyes flutter open gradually, her gaze still hazy with sleep.
She lets out a quiet whimper as my fingers continue to explore her, sliding up and down her slick slit before focusing on her clit.
“Oh God…” she murmurs, her voice thick and soft.
"Rashid..." She grins at me, which is a welcome sight. She's not pushing me away.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her neck, pressing my dick firmly against her ass.
“I woke up needing this tight pussy. You were lying here naked and it made me ache. Feel how hard I am for you?” I slide two fingers inside her, pumping them while my thumb keeps circling her clit.
“You’re getting so wet already. Your body knows it belongs to my cock in the morning.
” I grin against her shoulder as I bite the flesh there, and her smile shifts as her mouth hangs open.
She pushes back against my hand, breathing deeper, and I keep my mouth close to her ear, letting the dirty words flow. “I’m not going to wait. I’m going to slide into you just like this, spooned up tight, and fuck you until you come around me. Then I’m filling you up.”
I withdraw my fingers and grip my throbbing dick, rubbing the swollen head up and down her entrance to coat it with her arousal.
With one smooth, controlled thrust I sink deep inside her heat.
Her walls stretch around me, gripping every inch as I bury myself to the hilt.
I groan against her shoulder at the intense sensation and begin to move, starting with long, deep strokes that let me savor the way she envelops me.
“Fuck, you feel even better in the morning,” I murmur, my hand returning to her hip to hold her steady as I thrust. “So warm and slick. Last night I couldn’t get enough, and I can't believe I get this again so soon.
" Something changed between us last night, and I'm not sure why, other than perhaps Oleg's daring confession that he hoped I'd take this woman as my own.
She seemed stunned by that, and she clung to me. And now that I've claimed her, I plan to take what I want whenever I want it. I'm pleased that she's not pushing back.
Emory moans softly, pressing her back against my chest to meet my movements. I increase my pace gradually, driving into her with more force, while my free hand reaches around to rub her clit. “You like waking up with my dick stretching you open? Tell me how deep it feels.”
“So deep,” she breathes, trembling with pleasure. There's a tremor in her voice too, almost whimpering. She may not have planned this, but she wants it, and she's enjoying it.
“Yeah? Good. I want you to feel all of me.” I adjust the angle slightly and thrust harder, pounding into her with every stroke.
Sweat begins to form between our bodies as the rhythm builds.
I keep talking to her because it seems to get her worked up.
“This pussy's mine now. I’m gonna fuck you until your legs shake, then pump you full.”
Her moans grow louder and more frequent as I maintain the steady, powerful pace. I keep my fingers working her clit, feeling her walls flutter and tighten around my length with every thrust. The sensation is addictive, drawing me deeper into the moment as I lose myself in her body.
Emory’s body starts to tremble. Her breathing becomes ragged and uneven, and I can almost feel the tension poised in her core. She's ready to snap. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel this pussy pulsing around my dick. Let go.”
Her entire body tenses suddenly. She groans loudly as her orgasm crashes through her, her inner walls contracting in strong, rhythmic waves that grip me. I groan at the intense sensation and keep thrusting through her climax, drawing it out as long as possible while her body shudders in my arms.
The tight, pulsing heat of her orgasm pushes me rapidly toward my own edge.
My thrusts turn faster and more erratic, chasing release.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” I growl against her skin, burying myself as deep as possible inside her and release, spilling in hot pulses.
Pleasure surges through me in intense waves as I empty myself completely, holding her body flush against mine until every last tremor fades.
When she relaxes and her head slumps against the pillow, I pull out and bite the back of her shoulder again. "I'm going to shower. We can have breakfast if you want."
Emory lies on the bed like she's half drunk as I slip out and shower quickly. When I come back, the bed is empty and her clothing is gone.
When I get down to the kitchen, Emory has Lex in a high chair, and the boy is smearing oatmeal across the tray with both fists.
She looks up at me and gestures to the chair across from her where a cup of coffee is already waiting, which means she asked Marta to set it out for me.
It feels strangely domestic of her after she's been fighting me for so long.
"He likes the oatmeal," she says, spooning more onto the tray even though most of the first serving is on his hands and his chin and the front of his shirt. "He's been jabbering. I think he said 'mama." She beams at me while I lift an eyebrow in skepticism.
If this is how children eat, I'm not sure I'm equipped for this. "He's covered in food." I try to hide my disgust, but it must come across on my face. Emory rolls her eyes.
"He's not even three, Rashid. That's what they do with food at this age."
I watch him smash his palm flat into the oatmeal and then look at me with a grin so wide I can see every tooth he has, which isn't many. He babbles and slaps the tray again, launching a piece of banana onto the table near my coffee. Emory catches my expression and bites back a smile.
"You could talk to him," she says. "He's right there."
"And say what?"
"Anything. Say good morning. Tell him the banana is good. He doesn't care what the words are, he just wants to hear your voice." She wipes Lex's face with a cloth and he squirms away from her hand, making a grunt of protests as he waves his fist at her. He's got my fire; I like that.
"Good morning," I tell the boy, but I fear I'm a bit too stiff or formal. I'm not good at this. Lex stares at me for a second, then goes back to destroying his oatmeal.
"Softer," Emory says gently. "You're not giving orders. Just talk to him the way you'd talk to someone you like."
The only frame of reference I have for what she's saying is her.
She's the person I like. So I suck in a breath and try again, saying, "Good morning, Aleksandr." The boy looks up at me again, and this time he reaches one oatmeal-covered hand in my direction, opening and closing his fingers.
Emory watches the exchange quietly, though I can feel her measuring me against whatever standard she's been keeping in her head.
I'm not sure I'll ever measure up. Having been raised in this world, I'm afraid I'm far too cold and rigid to be paternal. But I'm trying.
I'll never be the father this boy deserves, and I know that. I don't have patience for noise or messes and I don't understand why a child needs to be spoken to like he's fragile. But he's my blood and my heir, and those two facts outweigh every reservation I have.
I push back from the table and stand, buttoning my coat. "I have business this morning. I'll be back this afternoon." Breakfast is nice, but I'm feeling uncomfortable, and I don't normally eat.
"Can I spend time with my father while you're gone?" Emory asks, wiping Lex's hands as she looks up at me. "He's been alone down there for days, Rashid."
I consider it for a moment, watching her face for the angle. There might not be one. She just wants to see her father and feed him a meal that isn't water and bread in a locked room.
"Krispin," I call toward the hallway, and he appears in the kitchen doorway. "Bring Rostov up for breakfast. He stays on this floor and you stay with all three of them until I get back. He doesn't leave your sight."
"Yes sir," Krispin says, heading for the basement door.
Emory mouths the words "thank you" across the table, and I nod at her before I leave.
I'm not sure what that exchange will look like between her and her father, but I'd like to be a fly on the wall.
I'm sure Krispin will report to me, but seeing it firsthand would give me a great deal of pleasure.
I could tell immediately that she wasn't happy with him.
I can only imagine the words they'll exchange.
I climb into my car, and the driver has me across town in under twenty minutes. When I walk into the warehouse, Devid has a few men gathered to discuss our plans. We've got a lot riding on this, and testing Gusev is essential to know how deep this runs and how bad of a situation we're up against.
"Tell me what we have," I say, stomping over toward him.
"We've got a shipment window opening in four days on the northern route," Devid says, tapping the gun on his hip. "It's the same corridor Gusev hit last time. So if we load a truck and send it through on schedule it'll look like business as usual."
"Except the truck will be empty?" I ask, glancing around. The goal of the decoy is to throw them off our trail, and hopefully confuse them enough they have to go back to the drawing board to make new plans for their attacks.
"Not empty. We put enough weight in it to make the stops feel right, but nothing of value. The real cargo stays here until we clear the route."
"And when Gusev's men pull it over?" I turn to Igor, who looks clueless. As much as these men are trained muscle, they don't make the plans or decisions.
Devid looks at Igor and then back at me.
"We have armed teams staged at three points along the corridor.
When Gusev's crew moves on the truck, our men close in from behind and box them in.
They won't see it coming because they'll be focused on the driver, and by the time they realize the truck is bait they'll be surrounded. "
"How many men?" I ask uncertainly. So Devid is becoming more aggressive... I can't fault him. It's his livelihood as much as it is mine, and I have been distracted for a few weeks.
"Fourteen total across all positions."
"Make it eighteen," I say, going with his idea.
It's a good one. It may just put a real crimp in Gusev's plans.
"Pull from the eastern detail if you have to.
" I look out over the warehouse, seeing my product being packaged up.
"And nobody fires unless Gusev's men draw first. I want prisoners, not bodies.
Dead men can't tell me who's giving orders. "
"Understood," Devid says, rubbing his hand over his chin.
Igor grunts his acknowledgement, and I turn to stare out the dock bay, the door wide open.
Gusev won't see this coming. And in the meantime we can get more intel from Mr. Rostov, hopefully enough to truly sink the Gusev organization once and for all.
And with Emory getting closer to believing in me and trusting me, it will go smoother than ever.
I'm not down for the count anymore.
The Krasnov name is making a comeback.