Page 72 of Scorch

He shrugs a shoulder and puts my hands behind my back. “Keep them there.” The sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and when he reaches for his belt, my pulse skyrockets.

“Viktor—”

“Shhh.”

He tugs the belt through the loops in one motion, leans back, and loops it around my hands. When he cinches it, his body’s pressed up against mine, and it’s instant fire. I swallow hard, trying to get a grip, when he adjusts me so I’m leaning back on the counter.

Leaning in, he lifts the whole piece of lemon cake in his hand and offers me a bite. “Where are your manners?” I ask teasingly.

“Ladies first,” he says as if that’s the only rule that matters.

I lick my tongue out and scoop the lemon icing into my mouth. “Mmm,” I moan. “Oh God, this is delicious.” I take a bite. The cake is light and fluffy, with a thick layer of lemon filling sandwiched between layers. I lick his fingers, and he growls before he takes the rest of the cake and eats it in one huge gulp. He leans in and captures my mouth with his, our kiss laced with icing and cake, sweet and indulgent.

I’m still licking my lips when he’s down between my legs, his mouth on my pussy. My clit throbs, and I stifle a scream as he licks and suckles and bites. My legs are over his shoulders, my knees pressed against the heat of his skin, when he leaves my pussy and goes back to the box.

“Viktor,” I whine. “Please.”

“Not yet,” he growls, reaching into the box for another slice of chocolate, this one layered with peanut butter frosting. “You’re hungry for cake,” he says with a smile. “I’m hungry for cake. Let them eat cake.”

This time, he paints my lips with the icing, like edible lip gloss. I’m grinning, covered in chocolate crumbs, as he places a piece in my mouth and kneels in front of me again. This time, I’m on the cusp of climax when I swallow the last bite of cake, and I nearly cry when he takes his mouth off me.

“Be a good girl,” he says, shaking his head at me. “I promise it will be worth it.”

He reaches for the pièce de résistance, a quadruple-layered concoction of deep, dark chocolate cake layered between thick layers of ganache. “Here. Eat this,” he says, feeding me a piece with his rough fingers. I lick and nibble his fingers as he feeds me. I love the way his eyes flare with arousal. Again, he places the cake in my mouth, this time a large portion that spills onto the tee. The icing tastes like melted truffles, and I am here for it. He kneels in front of me, wraps my legs around his head, and growls against my leg, “Come, Lydia. You eat your treat, and I’ll eat mine. Come, baby.”

My head falls back as he laps my pussy again and again; the tip of his tongue is perfect as I lick the crumbs from my lips, savor the rich taste of chocolate, and soar toward release on his tongue. Waves of pleasure drown me. My hips jerk toward him, milking every drop of pleasure, until I collapse on the counter, spent, my tied hands braced behind me.

My gaze is hazy, my body floating as he gets to his feet and drags a heavy hand across his mouth, his eyes boring into mine.

“Fucking delicious,” he says in a low growl of a whisper. “Do you want any more?”

“Oh my God, no,” I moan, completely sated. I watch him lazily, half drunk, half mesmerized, while he walks over to the cake, reaches in the box, and finishes every last crumb.

I watch in a daze as he cleans up the mess we made—tosses out the pastry box, puts the top on the whipped cream, and slides it into the fridge.

“How did you know?” I say sleepily. “All my favorites.”

He gives me a casual shrug. “I’ve been watching, baby. That’s all you need to know.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Viktor

The next few weeks with Lydia feel like a passing dream.Sometimes, I fear that I'm going to open my eyes and she'll be gone. I don't want it to be that way. I'm not sure I could stop it if I tried. Still, I don't take any of this for granted.

The days with her begin to unfold, turning into weeks. Despite the fact that both Lydia and Aria spend hours trying to anticipate the next attack planned by the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, we find no conclusive evidence that they're going to move soon. It might seem like they've shifted their focus.

I know better, though. We can't grow complacent. One of the biggest mistakes we could make is letting our guard down.

So I don't. And Lydia doesn’t fucking like it, but I don’t care.

It helps that she has a job here with me and my family. My job is of a physical nature—I’m the group heavy. I’m the one everyone comes to when they need a heavy hand or muscle. All of my brothers can hold their own, but no one does it quite like I do. That means Lydia gets to accompany me, for better or for worse.

For better or for fucking worse.

There’s no use pretending to be someone other than who I really am. When we marry each other, we accept each other for who we are completely, no holds barred. I never understood how anyone would bother doing any less.

I’m going to make it worth her while, though. I swear I am. I’m trying now.

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