31. Danika
DANIKA
"We land in two and a half hours," Victor says, turning to face me. His eyes are dark. He walks over to me, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me against him. "Which means I only have two and a half hours to wash the blood off you and show you exactly who you belong to."
The words settle over me like a brand, possessing me. The old me would push back, tell him I don't belong to anyone, but the truth is, I don't want to be that person with him. Not anymore.
I want to be his. To have the life I never thought I'd get or deserve.
We kiss, and while it's gentle, it's somehow consuming, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands move all over me.
Victor pulls back and leads me into the en suite bathroom. The door swings open to reveal marble, glass, and warm light. The shower is surprisingly big, enclosed in glass panels. It's a luxury I've never had, and it feels surreal, especially while flying into the clouds.
I reach for the hem of my shirt, ready to pull it off, but Victor's hand catches my wrist.
"No," he says firmly. "Let me."
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. No one has ever taken care of me. Not like this or with actual tenderness.
His hands are gentle as he lifts the fabric, peeling it up and over my head. The cool air of the bathroom hits my skin, and I shiver. Victor tosses the shirt aside and steps closer, his gaze dropping to my torso.
His expression changes.
The polished, charming mask drops completely. His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken with something murderous. He looks at the bruise that spreads across my ribs, purple and black, a result of where the vest stopped the bullet.
Victor's fingers hover over the bruise, not quite touching, as if he's afraid he'll hurt me. Then, with agonizing gentleness, he traces the edge of it.
"I hate that you were hurt protecting me," he says, his voice low and rough.
The rawness in his tone catches me off guard. I smile, trying to lighten the moment. "It's nothing," I say. "Makes up for what I did when we first met."
Victor's gaze snaps up to mine, and for a moment, I think he's going to argue. But instead, he bends down and kisses the bruise gently, his lips feather-light against my skin. The tenderness of it breaks something open inside me, and I have to swallow hard to keep the emotion from overwhelming me.
He straightens and turns on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to rise.
Then he finishes undressing me, his hands steady as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down my legs.
I step out of them, and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down slowly.
When I stand naked in front of him, I have no desire to cover myself, no instinct to turn away or hide. The way he looks at me, like I'm something precious, something worth worshiping, does something to me that squashes any self-doubt.
Victor strips out of his ruined suit, his movements unhurried. The fabric is torn, but beneath it, his body is perfect, all lean muscle and a perfectly defined figure.
He steps into the shower and holds out his hand, and I take it.
The water is hot, and it feels like heaven as it cascades over my sore muscles. Victor guides me under the spray, his hands sliding over my shoulders, my arms, my back. He takes the soap and lathers it between his palms before running his hands over my skin.
He's gentle with me. So gentle it makes my chest ache. He washes the blood, the sweat, and the gunpowder from my body, his touch soft, almost delicate. I try to touch him, to return the favor, but he gently moves my hand away.
"This is for you," he says, his voice firm. "Let me take care of you."
I smile, unable to speak, and let him continue.
His hands move over me slowly, washing every inch of me. He tilts my head back under the spray, his fingers working through my hair, massaging my scalp. The sensation is so soothing, so intimate, that I feel overcome with emotion.
I've been taught to be a weapon.
I've been used, broken, and discarded more times than I can count.
I've been trained to kill, to obey, to survive.
No one has ever handled me with such care.
Having Victor touch me like this, like I'm something fragile, something worth protecting, cracks open a vulnerability I didn't know I possessed.
I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to need this.
But because of him, I do.
Victor rinses the soap from my skin, his hands lingering on my waist, my hips, my thighs. The heat between my legs builds, a slow, insistent ache that makes me shift restlessly under his touch.
He notices it. Of course he does.
Victor's lips curve into a small, knowing smile, but he doesn't push. Not yet. He washes himself, then shuts off the water and reaches for a towel, wrapping it around me with the same care he used to wash me. His hands linger on my shoulders, and when I look up, his dark eyes are locked on mine.
Neither of us speaks. We don't need to.
Victor wraps a towel around his own waist, and then, without warning, he lifts me into his arms. I gasp, my hands instinctively gripping his shoulders, but he holds me securely, his strength effortless.
He carries me to the bed in the suite and gently lays me down. The sheets are cool and soft against my skin.
Victor climbs onto the bed beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. We're both still wrapped in towels, the fabric clinging to our damp skin. His fingers run up and down my arms, his touch the softest it's ever been.
His attention, his devotion to me, is starting to be too much for my body. I'm wet between my thighs, and I know it's not remnants of the shower. The ache is unbearable now, a throbbing need that makes my breath come faster and my pulse race.
Victor places his hand gently around my throat, not squeezing, just holding.
He leans in and kisses me, his tongue exploring my mouth with slow strokes.
Then he takes his thumb and presses on my chin, pushing my head away from him gently.
His lips move to my neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there.
I moan, the sound escaping before I can stop it. My body arches toward him, desperate for more.
I'm so turned on, I feel feral, desperate for him on me, inside me.
I can't take it anymore.
I unwrap the towel baring myself completely to him. My chest heaves, my nipples hard and aching, and I reach for him, my hands sliding over his shoulders and his chest.
"I want you to taste how wet I am for you," I say.
Flames of lust flash across Victor's eyes, and he lowers his head. He doesn't move slowly, doesn't kiss my thighs or tease me with gentle touches. He knows exactly what I need because he needs it too.
His mouth closes over my clit, and he moans, the vibrations rolling through my body like an electric current. My back arches off the bed, my breath stopping for a moment.
His tongue works me over with purpose, no hesitation or uncertainty.
The pain in my side all but disappears as hot desire wraps around me, pulling me under.
Everything else fades, the bruises and the exhaustion, until there's nothing but the wet heat of his mouth and the building pressure low in my belly.
I run my fingers through Victor's hair, gripping tight as he devours me.
His hands come up my sides, his fingers pressing into my hips, holding me steady as I grind against his face.
He slowly moves his mouth from side to side, his tongue flicking relentlessly, and I moan loudly enough to drown out the hum of the jet engines.
"I love how sweet you taste, baby," he says, before he quickly continues to pleasure me.
I grind into his mouth so he can have more. He can have anything from me. Everything.
He licks me with long strokes, his tongue sliding up and down, then dipping inside my entrance. My body tightens up quickly, too quickly. I'm already close to coming from being so turned on, from the way he touched me in the shower, from the way he looked at me.
"I'm going to come, Victor," I gasp, my thighs trembling. "Oh God."
He doesn't stop. He just keeps moving.
I start shaking, my muscles locking up as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak. Victor's tongue keeps licking and sucking, sliding in and out of my entrance with a rhythm that makes my mind go blank.
I fist the sheets and shatter, a shaky moan ripping from my lips as the orgasm crashes over me. My hips buck against his face, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me.
He slows his pace but doesn't stop, his tongue gentling as I come down. I laugh breathlessly, the sound half-delirious, and grab his face, bringing him up to me. I kiss him hard, tasting myself on his lips, his tongue. It's hot, primal, and I can't get enough.
"I need you in me," I say against his mouth. "Now."
His hand comes up to wrap around my throat, firm and claiming.
"Say that again," he demands, his voice low and rough.
I look into his eyes, those dark, intense eyes that see straight through me. "I need you inside me."
He leans down and kisses me, deep and possessive, then pulls back just enough to speak. "Be a good girl, then, and turn around on all fours."
He stands up and removes his towel, and I see his rock-hard cock throbbing, the head glistening with precum. My mouth waters at the sight, but I turn over and get on all fours, positioning myself for him like he demanded.
"Like this?" I ask, looking over my shoulder.
"Just like that," he says, his voice deep.
He grips my ass with both hands and spreads my cheeks. I feel his warm tongue on me instantly, a new sensation I've never felt before. My eyes widen, my breath catching.
"Oh," I say, smiling despite the shock. "That... feels... Damn, that feels good."
He runs circles around my hole, his tongue wet and insistent, and I moan, my head dropping forward. Then he bites my cheek gently, his teeth grazing my skin, and lifts his head.
"All of you belongs to me now," he says, positioning himself behind me.
His hands grip my hips, his cock pressing against the entrance of my vagina.
"Ready for me?"
I nod, my breath coming fast.
My head shoots up as I'm stretched instantly. He's so hard, so thick. The burn is immediate, but I take him better than I did the first time, my body remembering, adjusting to accommodate him.
"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he says, sliding in and out of me slowly at first. "Perfect. So perfect for me."
I grip the sheets as I relax my head and grind my hips back against him, taking him deeper.
The stretching relaxes into an erotic feeling that's more than I can even put into words.
It's overwhelming and all-consuming. It's almost like I can't even think, my body too focused on experiencing the pleasure it's getting.
As Victor thrusts, he keeps one hand on my hip while the other slides across my back and fists my hair, yanking my head upward. The pain is thrilling, a sharp contrast to the pleasure, and I moan as he increases his pace.
"That's my good girl. Take me. Take all of me," he says, crashing into me harder.
I lick my lips, my body craving everything he's giving me. The dominance, the possession, the raw need.
I start to feel the second orgasm build, and I tense up, my walls closing around his cock. It's instinct, my body reacting to the mounting pressure.
"Oh, you’re so tight, baby," he says, his voice strained.
"Yeah?" I smile and clench again deliberately. "You like?"
"Holy fuck, Danika," he says, his grip on my hair tightening. "That squeeze is fucking intense. Do it again."
I do, and he growls low in his throat, the sound primal and rough. Doing this actually makes me feel him more, too. So while I might be pushing him closer to breaking, I'm also bringing myself closer. My body is a live wire, every nerve ending on fire.
I start taking deep breaths as my body begins to tingle, the sensation spreading from where he's pounding into me out to my fingertips and toes.
Victor works me harder and harder, each thrust making me feel like I'm moving an inch closer to the headboard. The bed creaks beneath us, the sound mixing with our gasps and moans.
"Come with me," I say, squeezing down on him again.
He tugs at my hair, and his breath starts growing ragged, his control slipping. I can feel it in the way his thrusts become more erratic, more desperate.
My eyes roll back, and I shatter. I scream, stars flashing across my vision as the orgasm rips through me like lightning.
He grunts, too, and buries himself deep inside me.
I fall forward from the thrust onto the bed with him on top, fucking me through it as we both come together.
His movements slow but don't stop, and I feel his cock twitching, emptying his come deep inside me.
God, it feels so good. I bite my bottom lip and grind gently, milking everything out of him.
After a few moments, he slides out and lies next to me, both of us breathing hard. We're tangled in the sheets, the jet humming around us. I turn and rest my head on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
The world outside this bed doesn't exist right now. It's just us, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest.
But slowly, reality creeps back in.
I run my fingertips up and down his stomach, feeling the defined muscles tense under my touch. The silence is comfortable, but there are things I can't avoid.
"I don't know how to do this," I say in a low tone.
Victor's chest rumbles with a laugh. "Do what? Because you're pretty good at what we just did."
I laugh, shaking my head. "No, this. Us. A relationship. I'm not the perfectly poised lady that sits at a politicians side. I don't know how to smile at galas if I'm not there to kill someone."
The admission feels almost too vulnerable, like I'm exposing parts of myself I usually keep locked away. I've never been anyone's anything, never had someone look at me the way Victor does. I don't know how to be soft, how to fit into the world he's building for himself.
Victor kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering there. "I don’t need that, Danika. I need a queen who can charm the prime minister over dinner and slit an enemy's throat in the alley out back."
I tilt my head to look up at him, and he meets my gaze.
“I've done this all my adult life and I've finally realized, I don't want to do it alone anymore. In fact, I don't want to do it with anyone else but you.”
I reach up and rub his face, feeling the stubble scratch against my palm. In that moment, I realize I have finally found my exact match. We're like two monsters who fit perfectly together in this dark world we live in.
He kisses me, slow and deep, and I lie back on his chest for a few moments, letting the comfort of his presence wash over me.
But the thoughts come back in. Reality.
"So," I say, running my fingers up and down the lines of muscle again, "how do we handle Ivan and this feud?"