Page 46 of Reign of Four

Holy fucking shiiiiiiit?—

A growl catches in my throat as I start fucking her face, unable to be gentle when she opens her eyes and looks at me. Saliva drips down her chin, tears slide down her cheeks, but somehow, her emerald eyes shine brighter than ever as we claim her pussy, ass, and mouth. All three of us, working in tandem.

All four of us about to come hard.

“Now,” I snarl, forcing my cock to the back of her throat as I explode, my muscles tightening, my body rushing with endorphins. I can’t stop it. I pump her mouth full of me, one pulse at a time, as Andrei growls and slams hard into her, filling up hole number two.

Mikhail comes across her back, pumping most of his release against the tight ring of her asshole and between her cheeks. He must have fingered her ass, otherwise she’d be pumped full in hole number three, too. He uses his finger to push some of it inside and play with her some more, stretching her out, getting her used to the feel of it. She clenches around his finger and her body convulses a second time.

Fuck me, did she just come from that?

She taps my thigh and I quickly pull out. I hadn’t meant to stay back there so long. I hold her face as she gasps for air.

Cum drips down her chin, and I know her pussy’s leaking, too. Mikhail did a good enough job of coming on her ass because even though he didn’t fuck her there, it looks like he did.

Valentina’s a fucking mess, and she’s smiling about it. “Filled me up so good,” she murmurs, shutting her eyes. “S’good.”

I kiss the top of her head. “Good girls get filled.”

“Good girls also get naps.” She melts on the table, and Mikhail and Andrei work together to carry her back to the bedroom.

As they leave, I pat my pockets for a cigarette. Once it’s lit between my fingers, I stare at the smoke curling in the air.

For once, I don’t crave the hit.

I set it down on the table and watch the end burn out, feeling a sense of finality wash over me. If I’m going to be a father, I better live long enough to see it.

Chapter 16

Andrei

My wife is smiling. It’s the tiniest curve of her lips, a simple hint of her feelings, and yet it fills me with as much joy as when I’m buried deep inside her. All-encompassing, warm happiness.

During the years after Valentina left, I resigned myself to a life without. I was destined for a life of brutality without the solace of home—a place of rest after long days and nights maintaining order and safeguarding our Bratva.

Valentina returning home and choosing to stay with me—with us—has been an antidote to the bitter poison pumping through my veins. I can have everything I’ve ever wanted, all thanks to my queen.

It’s a debt I will repay for the rest of my life.

Her idle smile grows as she watches Mikhail and Ezra sign their names on their own marriage certificates. She will be recognized as my wife within state and federal bounds, but she will be considered all three of our wives, for all intents and purposes. More importantly, the Bratva will recognize our polyamorous union.

I nod to our lawyer, who signs as witness on all documents before carefully clasping them within his briefcase. Valentina thanks him, and then Mikhail walks him outside to rejoin his guarded escort back within city limits.

Taking Valentina’s hand in mine, I lift her ring to my lips. “You deserve more than this.” We had a perfect wedding planned, twice. Scores of people gathered in celebration, more gifts than could be counted, a magnificent venue draped in silks and adorned with two florists’ worth of bouquets. That is what Valentina deserves—everything. Not a boring legal procedure. Not a white T-shirt and silk shorts. No jewels, roses, or pretty things in sight.

Just a beach house, and her three sex-crazed men.

Valentina meets my eyes. “This is perfect, Andrei. I don’t need a spectacle. I only need you.” She steps into my arms and presses a gentle kiss to my jaw. “I’m happy to do it this way, without all the fuss.”

I brush my fingertips across the expanse of her neck, imagining Liam’s drug-laced needle. The way he must have dragged her from the chapel. Ripped off her veil. Terrified her.

It’s no wonder she doesn’t want a large ceremony. She may never want to attend a wedding again. I can’t say that I blame her. Some might call two botched weddings a bad omen, and a third attempt would be an affront to the gods. I don’t care about the gods or their designs. I care about my wife and her well-being.

If she doesn’t want a wedding, so be it.

I press a kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling?” We haven’t discussed Liam’s death, or Katya’s, for that matter. It feels like we’ve barely had room to breathe, and in that space, all we’ve done is fuck.

Not that I regret the sex. But it’s easy to mask trauma beneath layers of desire.

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