Page 94 of Ruthless Reign

I don’t waste time. I pull her clit into my mouth, giving it long, hard pulls.

“Shit, Roman, this is… Oh my God, is it supposed to feel this fucking good?”

Only when it’s done right. I don’t say as much because I’m rolling her clit between my lips.

She bucks her hips against my mouth, chasing her pleasure, and I want to applaud how fast she's unlocked her desires. I want to know everything about her. Every single fucking thing, beyond what gets her pussy wet. I want to please her. I want to protect her.

I want to make her happy.

She grips a fistful of my hair as I tongue-fuck her hole to give her clit a break. As the pleasure overtakes, she can’t hold herself up any longer. I take advantage, wrapping my arm around her hip and grinding her down onto my face. Her legs squeeze around me before her release makes her body go taut.

She cries out, soaking my mouth with her cum. I lap up every drop of her pleasure even as her orgasm fades, dropping gentle kisses everywhere but on her clit, which is too sensitive to take any more sensation.

When she’s spent and sated and can barely move on her own, I scoop her up in my arms and draw a bath for her. She smiles up at me and nuzzles into my chest before I lower both of us in the warm water.

It’s all the proof in the world I need that she belongs to me.

CHAPTER FORTY

LIZA

I wake up to the sound of … nothing. Not the usual roar of Moscow traffic, not the distant sirens or the city buzz. Just peace and quiet, and the steady rise and fall of Roman’s chest with every gentle breath he takes.

I take advantage of the moment to drink him in. His hard features are softened by sleep, his dark hair falls across his forehead, and he looks younger than his thirty-eight years.

Lord, staring at him like this is a mistake because it brings out all the wrong feelings. Desire is one thing, but the tenderness invading my chest is dangerous. He’s stirring something inside of me that I can't afford to let loose—not with the tightrope I'm walking in my life right now.

Two days have passed in a blur of domestic bliss. We wake up late, have sex, eat, have more sex, and then attempt to be normal humans who do other things besides having sex. We’ve enjoyed saunas together, taking a break when we get too hot to roll around in the snow before going back inside. He’s taught me how to play Gin Rummy, and I’ve managed to beat him twice. He built a campfire outside, and we bundled up, curled together to watch the night stars. I’ve taught him how to whistle and introduced him to the joys of 90s rom-coms. I know we can’t hide away here forever, but I desperately want to.

As if Roman can sense my inner turmoil, he opens his eyes and gives me a knowing smile. “Good morning, milaya.”

His muscular arm wraps around me, and he hauls me into his chest, sliding a hand beneath the hem of my sleep shirt to give my bare ass a squeeze.

“Good morning to you too.” I chuckle.

“Why’d you bother to put on clothes?” he murmurs into my hair. “You know I’m just going to take them right off.”

I sigh. “I planned on waking up early and making you breakfast. Guess that didn’t happen.”

Truth be told, I also wanted to check on my recent trades, but I couldn't force myself out of bed this morning. Not when Roman’s in it, pressed against me, his hands and smell everywhere.

“You needed the sleep. I kept you plenty busy last night.” He drops a kiss on my forehead. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”

“Breakfast hardly counts as cooking. I can manage scrambled eggs and toast. Maybe I’ll even take cooking lessons someday.”

He caresses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I’ll teach you.”

His words kindle a flicker of hope in my heart, tempting me to believe, even just for a second, that we could have something real. But I know better.

We won’t spend lazy weekends together, him teaching me to cook, or cozy nights watching movies by the fireplace. In the end, he'll be just a bittersweet memory of what could have been if my life was different.

Roman's breath grows ragged as he tightens his arms around my waist and grinds his erection firmly against my stomach. His grip tightens as he kisses me fiercely. Deeply. Relentlessly.

I weave my fingers through his hair and glide them down his neck, eliciting a deep, masculine groan from him. That sound, so potent and raw, is something I want to hear again and again.

“Are you sore?” he asks in a rough whisper.

I bite my lip. “But I still want it.”

---