Page 128 of Emerald Malice

I fist my hands at my side. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s no point in suppressing your anger. My advice? Let it out.”

My tongue slides unconsciously over my lips. There’s a lot of fragile things in Andrey’s office. Would it make me better to shatter them? To watch his expensive things break at my feet the way my life has fallen apart?

“I can’t… I don’t want… That’s not what I want,” I stutter.

“Yes, it is. You’re pissed off at me. So be pissed off at me.” When I don’t say anything, he steps back into my space. “Or would you rather I fuck the rage out of you?”

My breath catches as his eyes sparkle with promise. This is what got me in trouble the first time.

But there’s a reason I keep coming back to Andrey time and time again. It feels good.

I nod, almost imperceptibly, but Andrey notices. He notices everything.

With one quick move, he spins me around and presses me against the cool wood of the door. Rough hands shove my skirt down my thighs where it pools at my feet.

His fingers graze over my exposed skin, his breath suddenly ragged and hot against my neck. “Surrender to the anger, little bird.”

Then I feel him—his girth, his weight, his thickness sliding against my skin and between my thighs.

I bent at the waist, pressing my hips back against him, my palms flat against the textured surface of the wood.

“What do you say, lastochka? Are you ready to surrender?”

His hardness nudges at my opening without actually pushing past my lips. I know the only way he’s going to give me what I want is if I ask for it.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. “I need it.”

With a satisfied chuckle, Andrey plunges inside me. I slap my hands on the wood, crying out as he buries himself into me as deep as he can go.

Remi barks on the other side of the door, clawing at the wood, but I can barely think in English, let alone the Russian I need to calm Remi down.

“You and me,” Andrey pants. “We’ll always come back to this. To each other. We need it.”

I want to tell him he’s a liar. I want to tell him I can live without this. But Andrey’s hands come down over mine, his body shadowing mine against the door. We’re molded together as he fucks me from behind with all the aggression and frustration I walked into the room with.

But now, the emotions are channeled into this beautiful, perfect thing.

The entire day will be worth it if only I can fall apart around him. If only I can feel him pulse into me.

“Yes,” I groan. “Yes… harder, harder… fuck.”

Andrey doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t know the meaning of “gentle.” He just fucks me as though he’s got nothing left to lose.

And I close my eyes and surrender.

45

ANDREY

The neon sign sits against a hot pink backsplash. Hot Chick. No points for subtlety.

Even from the outside, it smells like cheap booze and desperation. The kind of place my brother loves to frequent. To further prove my point, the halls are wreathed with smoke and the floors are filthy, but I’m not here for the ambience.

Byron Wells is playing darts by the bar. His back is to me, so he doesn’t see me take a seat around the nearby billiards table. Just as I grab the menu on the table, a chorus of cheers echoes from behind the pillar.

“Nice shot, By!”

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