Page 62 of Koroleva

His lustful mouth sought mine to bite and kiss.

I always thought nothing could cloud my judgment until Romeo's kisses came along.

The way he slid his tongue over mine, with a rich envelopment, his way of worshiping my mouth as if he were making love to it slowly and wildly, went beyond any kiss I had ever received. And, although I knew he was my enemy to defeat, my body demanded sex at the slightest touch.

I let the sheet fall and did not resist him pushing me against the wall. Romeo did not seek the bed this time, no.

He lifted me effortlessly, fitting me onto his hip to rock his erection up and down against my melded groin.

It took no time for me to become fluid, and he smiled, offering me a nibble on my lower lip.

"Now tell me you don't want it, you wicked witch."

I felt the wounds on his back, the same ones my nails had made the night before. And I enjoyed knowing that I had marked him.

"Haven't you been taught that when you have nothing important to say, it's better to keep quiet and continue?" He laughed hoarsely against my mouth, continuing to masturbate me with his dick.

"Is that your way of telling me to stop talking and continue?"

"That's my way of telling you I want you to fuck me so hard, so intensely, and so deeply that I can't close my legs without thinking of you. And, moreover, I want you to be unable to think of anything else but how to fit our bodies on every surface we find. Do you think you can handle it, Capulet?" I licked the roses on his neck, and he growled, his eyes laden with promises.

If I had learned anything from men, it was that the best thing was to have them think with their dicks. They became malleable and careless, that's how I wanted Romeo, fucking in the palm of my hand.

He grabbed his cock and rammed me like a brute.

"Are you giving the dick in response or are you trying to turn me into a painting? " I asked, seeking his mouth to punish her.

"With you it is better to seal deals with actions than with words and, now, moan and fuck, Koroleva."

Half an hour later, we were sitting at the table on the terrace.

Adriano was running around the garden with Brutus stalking him, and he kept throwing darting glances at me. Just as I thought, he could really use a good psychologist. I tried to find any resemblance to Yuri, but the child who played with me in Saint Petersburg didn’t look like him at all. Still, his face didn’t remind me of Romeo either; maybe I needed to see a photo of him as a child. Or perhaps he took after Adriana, his mother. Or maybe my theory wasn’t so far off and the deceased had scored a goal against Romeo for the whole team, freeing his family from the child, who belonged to some other random guy.

I needed my husband to agree to DNA tests, to rule out possibilities. The child threw a ball and the dog ran after it. He cautiously shifted his dark little eyes towards me. If he was a Korolev, if he was my blood, I was going to save him from doom and I would have no choice but to bridge our differences.

I was not a woman who adored children, due to the obligations and responsibilities they entailed, but I did love my family above all. If science said that Adriano was my nephew, the sole heir of my brother, I would do whatever was necessary to give him a place in my life.

Aleksa and Andrey were looking at each other, if they were usually serious, today they were really nailing it, which set off all my alarms.

"What’s going on?" I asked, analyzing my man.

"We have problems." The bubble of joy I had been enveloped in for a few hours had just burst.

"What kind of problems?"

"They changed the director of the port this very morning and the Colombians' cargo has to enter in a day." I hit the table and all the cutlery trembled.

"How come they changed him? Why didn’t Gálvez inform us that he was changing jobs? Or has he been fired?"

"He hasn’t been fired," Aleksa clarified. "They found him hanged, in his office, a few hours ago."

"Sukin syn!" I exclaimed.

"Don't speak Russian so that he can’t understand you," Romeo scolded me.

"I just said son of a bitch. When I have to curse, my mother tongue slips out," I explained. "Why the hell did he hang himself?" I inquired, fixing my gaze on Andrey. "I paid him a fortune, he had his life sorted, plus, he had our protection."

"If you want my opinion, madam, I don't think he hanged himself, although it may seem so and he left a letter written in his own handwriting," my man commented.

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