Page 68 of Twisted Fate

She wriggles and sighs as I push a second finger into her wet heat. I grind the heel of my palm against her clit while I work my fingers in and out, making her whimper. Her hips shift restlessly beneath me. My cock is so hard it hurts.

This girl. This fucking gorgeous, brave girl.

I want to make this slow, to draw out her moans and sighs and cries, to make her shake and beg, to see her drenched in sweat, her thighs slick with her arousal. So I take my time, stroking her, teasing her.

“Damian.” My name is a plea. “Damian, please. Oh, god, that feels so good.” She arches into me and presses her lips to mine. “I need you inside me. I want to come with you inside me.”

I don’t make her repeat herself. I push her thighs apart and shift atop her, lacing our fingers together. “Look at me,” I order, and she does, her eyes on mine, pupils dark and dilated with arousal.

I push the head of my cock inside her, pull back, push forward, going deeper with each thrust until I’m all the way in, her sweet pussy so tight, so hot. “Fucking gorgeous,” I say as I move, watching her expression as she arches her body, taking all of me, her eyes never leaving mine.

Her breathing is ragged and shallow as she matches my rhythm, her hips working in tandem with mine. Perfect synchrony.

I feel my orgasm building, twisting tighter and tighter, but only when she screams my name, her whole body shuddering do I let myself go, let myself come in a hurricane of sensation, my body, my thoughts consumed by her. Consumed by this woman who sacrificed her freedom for her brother, who shot a man to keep me safe, who braved an ocean to save me from loss and grief. This woman who was neither born into my world nor raised in it, but who adapts and bends and survives. This woman who is like no other.

Alina Madsen is mine. She will always be mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

26

Alina

“I need to tell you something,” I whisper as I lie wrapped in Damian’s arms. He believed in me, fought his brother for me. I want to tell him what I know. “I didn’t tell you in the beginning because I was saving it as my trump card. I thought I could use it to save Markus or to buy him more time or something.”

“Your trump card?” he asks, and I feel his lips against the top of my head.

It would be easier to tell him like this, wrapped in his arms, not having to see the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes. But I’m not a coward. So I sit up and look down at him. He’s lying on his back, one arm under his head, the sheets down around his hips, his perfect, chiseled torso bare.

“Keep looking at me like that and the only words coming out of your mouth will be my name and ‘please’,” he says.

I shake my head and rest my hand on his chest. I feel the steady beat of his heart.

“I should have said something sooner. At first, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you. I didn’t tell you because information is power, and this information was the only power I had. When Leo was questioning me, I didn’t tell him because he would have thought I kept it secret because I was a spy. But I need to tell you now…”

His dark eyes study me, his expression unreadable.

I wet my lips. “Enzo never talked to me about work. But I overheard one-sided conversations more than once. He spoke to the Ivanovs. He did jobs for them. One night when we were at La Vecchia, Mikhail Ivanov was there. I didn’t know who he was. Enzo didn’t introduce me. But I saw a picture in the paper and I figured it out. They talked for a long time. Mikhail gave him an envelope that I’m pretty sure was stuffed with cash.”

Damian’s quiet for a long moment. My heart pounds. I feel sick.

Then he says, “Bianchi works for the Ivanovs.”

It isn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “I think so, yeah.”

Damian runs his fingers through my hair, staring at the strands as they slide off his palm. Then he raises his gaze to mine. “You didn’t tell me because you thought it was information you could trade at a later date. Maybe save your brother’s ass. Or save your own.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I was saving it for the right time.”

He nods. “I would have done the same. It was a good strategy. So why tell me now?”

“Because it’s information you need to find the man who killed your father. I don’t know if it was Enzo, but even if it wasn’t, he’s involved somehow. It’s information you need and I want you to have it.”

He smiles, a flash of white teeth against tan skin and dark three-day stubble. I don’t think a more beautiful man has ever existed.

“Thank you,” he says, and pulls me down into the cradle of his arms, holding me against his heart.

I hear the stateroom door close when Damian slips out. He thought I was asleep. I wasn’t. I watched him as he pulled on worn jeans and a t-shirt. I watched him as he took Leo’s knife from the table and left the room.

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