Page 108 of Emerald Malice

She beckons me forward with a curl of her finger as the other reaches around to unclasp her bra. When was the last time I came when called? Like a fucking dog?

And yet, I find myself walking to the sofa.

I cup one of her breasts, squeezing as my erection throbs hungrily. She plants a hand on my chest and shoves me down onto the sofa.

When she’s satisfied that I’m seated where she wants me, she slides the panties down her slim thighs and then she’s straddling me, her hands on my shoulders, her breasts bouncing inches from my mouth.

There’s no time for me to take charge because she does it first. She grabs my cock, aligns it with her wet slit, and slides down my length, swallowing me into her inner depths.

I see the pinpricks of light again.

I hear that rush of my own blood.

Goddammit, this woman will be the death of me.

She rides me fiercely, her ass rising and falling hard as she takes her pleasure, using me like I’m one of the toys I once sent her.

Looking back on it now, I can’t believe how idiotic that was. A dildo would be wasted on a woman like her. She needs a strong, capable cock attached to a strong, capable man. One who can appreciate every line, every curve, every contour of her body.

She needs someone who can worship her the way she deserves.

When I try to cup her breasts, she grabs my hands instead. Entwining her fingers through mine, she pushes our hands against the sofa’s headrest and bounces on my cock harder still. Small, fluttery moans escape from her parted lips. She rides me faster and faster until we both reach our breaking point.

The second I feel her pussy contract around my dick, my own orgasm explodes inside her. It’s not a conscious decision on my part. I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself back for all the money in the world.

Her hips rock, milking me for all I’m worth, before she finally goes still.

My hand snakes towards her stomach. It’s not so flat anymore. It strikes me with a pang of white-hot guilt that I’ve missed the last two doctor’s appointments. I never even asked her how they went. I spoke directly to the clinic and left it at that. I wonder what’s changed inside of her. How big the baby is. What’s fully formed, what’s in the making, what is still to come?

Before I can truly appreciate the changes in her body, she’s wrenching herself off me and reaching for her discarded clothes on the carpet.

She turns around, giving me the perfect view of her perfect ass before she pulls her clothes on. Then she drops down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, the faintest sheen of sweat coating her skin.

“I want Misha to be released from whatever room you’re keeping him locked in,” she says, all business. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Natalia—”

“Remi will be with me the whole time. Not to mention my own personal boy band, per usual.”

I grimace. The roller coaster of sensations is bringing on a migraine brewed up by the devil himself. “How long are you prepared to fight for this?”

“As long as it takes. I will not let you mistreat that boy. He’s a child. Children deserve to be protected, no matter the circumstances.”

The fierce determination glowing in those fire-bright eyes of hers is almost touching. She’s a mama bear if ever I saw one.

“Very well,” I agree.

“He gets freedom of the grounds?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t lock him in his room anymore?” she verifies.

“Not all the time.”

She hesitates for a second, but then thinks better of arguing the point. “And he can hang out with me whenever he wants?”

“If that’s what he wants, yes.” I rise to my feet and sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Enjoy your victory, lastochka. It may well be your last.”

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