Page 89 of Cashmere Cruelty

April shudders,hard.

She arches off the table, but my hands are there, pinning her into place. With a broken whimper, she thrusts back against me, riding the wave of her orgasm with a violence I didn’t think she was capable of.

I come so hard I nearly white out.

We stay like that for a while, catching our breath. April whines as I fill her up, clutching her thighs around me to avoid making a mess.Good, a savage part of me snarls.Keep it all in.

You’re mine.

When I finally pull out to look at her, I could come again just from the sight. April is marked. Everywhere I lay eyes on, a fresh bruise is blooming, purple and beautiful, on her skin. Around a few, bitemarks pop out, angry and red. Aclaim.

And now, everybody will see it.

April gazes back at me. Her shiny lips part around a word, but she seems to think better of it, closing them immediately. But I know what that word was.

Stay.

Last night, I didn’t. Icouldn’t.If this was allowed to spiral any further, it would’ve spelled disaster on both our lives.

But now, I realize I’d miscalculated. I’d failed to account for one, fundamental variable in my plans:

Iwanther.

And nothing’s gonna change that.

So when she starts scooting back to make room, fixing her dress to send me off, I kiss that goodbye straight off her mouth.

“Did you think,” I growl against her lips, “I’d let you off that easy,kalina?”

April swallows. I watch her throat bob with the hunger of a predator.

Then she yanks me back to her.

It’s hard to think of anything else after that.

27

APRIL

We start having sex everywhere.

And I do meaneverywhere.

“This,” Matvey snarls as he rips—literally, not metaphorically—my clothes off, “means nothing.”

“Agreed,” I moan back, drawing him close again and locking my legs around his waist.

We do it on the couch. We do it on the kitchen counter. We even do it on the Persian rug. That thing must be worth more than one or both of my kidneys on the black market, but Matvey doesn’t hesitate for one instant to make an absolute mess of it. Or of me.

“You’re…!” I gasp as he hooks one of my legs around his shoulder, thrusting deep inside me. “Such an asshole…!”

“And you’re—” Matvey grunts while he annihilates me, leaving me without a single second to catch my breath, “an insufferable… naughty… tailor.”

Family dinner is now always preceded by the kind of aperitif no one else is invited to. The kind that would invite complaints by the neighbors, if we had any.

And if Matvey didn’t own the entire building.

The worst part, though?

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