Page 51 of Crowned

Maxim’s father won’t know it was me. As far as anyone else is concerned, Maxim has disappeared without a trace. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Kirill places a finger over my lips and his eyes travel down my body. “You are tense because you need to come. How about a game of Russian roulette? We don’t need the gun this time. We don’t even need the roulette. Just the Russian.”

He reaches for the waistband of my leggings and the world disappears in a horny pink haze. His dick is getting harder and harder. I stare at the thick vein at the root of his cock and imagine what it would look like disappearing inside me, over and over again. “I would be insane to have sex with you.”

“Good, because I’m crazy, remember? Tell me you will not come. I will enjoy proving you wrong.”

He gets my waistband down to my hips before I come to my senses and push him away. “Stop that. If you’re so worried about me and the baby, get out of my apartment. We will be so much happier.”

Kirill pushes a hand through his damp curls and smiles lazily at me. A water droplet runs down his chest and over his washboard stomach, and a moan nearly escapes my lips.

“Come find me when you’re ready to be fucked. Meanwhile, rest, and let us take care of everything. It’s what we do best.”

I watch his muscular ass as he swaggers off in search of clothing, lost in a fantasy of being licked, stroked, and finger-fucked to orgasm over and over again, all the while denying them their own release. That would teach them.

I put my hands over my face and shake my head. That would teach them nothing, and the next thing I’d know, one or more of them would be dicking me down while telling me they’ve definitely learned their lesson.

Elyah cooks something with beans and smoked sausage for dinner. I can’t tell if it’s soup or stew when he puts it down in front of us, and some of the vegetables looked burned. As much as I resent his presence in my apartment, I know how hard it is to cook when you have no idea what you’re doing. I lift my spoon and have a taste, reasoning that it probably isn’t as bad as it looks.

It is.

Konstantin is gazing at his dinner like he wants to put a bullet in it.

Kirill takes a mouthful and grimaces like it’s poison. Then he throws his spoon down. “If I were the judge at your trial, I would sentence you to another ten years for this crime.”

Elyah is standing by the stove, dishing out his own bowl. “It is not good? It is what mybabushkacooks when someone is pregnant.” He frowns. “Maybe I did not do it right.”

I force myself to swallow a mouthful. Elyah has put in too much seasoning and overcooked it, but it’s got everything I need. Vegetables. Protein. I wince as I take another bite into something crunchy. Whole cloves of raw garlic. Did he add those at the end? I’m pretty sure Elyah’sbabushkawould have minced them.

Kirill fishes one out and holds it up. “At least the baby will not be a vampire.”

Elyah drops the serving spoon into the pan with a clatter and advances on Kirill. “Does this say world-class cook?” he asks, lifting his T-shirt to reveal the Russian word inked across his ribs. “Does this say Michelin star fucking chef?”

Kirill holds up both hands, leaning back in his chair. “Whoa, Elyah—”

“It says what I am good for.AllI am good for. I am a weapon. I know how to kill, but I cannot make you fucking cordon bleu.”

I stand up and put a hand on his chest. “You’re not a weapon, Elyah. Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

His expression softens as he gazes down at me, and the longing in his eyes broadcasts exactly what he’s thinking. That I’m the only one who can make him believe that he has more to offer than violence and death. Slowly, he reaches for me, sliding his hands around my waist. As he dips his head and his lips brush mine, his palm cups my swollen belly. Every taut line of his body softens.

For me.

Only for me.

As he touches me, it feels like they’re all touching me. He groans, crushing his lips over mine and holding me tight against his chest.

My eyes fly open, and I struggle in his arms. How did we get here? We were having dinner just a moment ago.

“Lilia, please,” Elyah murmurs huskily, letting me go, but slowly, hoping I’ll change my mind. Disappointment and frustration wash over him.

As I glance around at the other men, there’s irritation on Kirill’s face and stony resignation on Konstantin’s. I push my hands through my hair and groan. Having them here is making me crazy.

I head for my bedroom. A moment later, Elyah appears in the doorway.

“I will go get something else for dinner. What do you want?”

His fine blond hair is rumpled and there are red stains on his T-shirt. “You’ve got sauce on you.”

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