Page 28 of Merciless Queen

When I turn away, it’s with relief. I hadn’t figured out how to hide my weapons from her if she insisted on undressing me. I actually assumed I’d be patted down at the door or something, and never have gotten this far. So this is it. She either spots my knives now and the fight begins, or I manage to conceal them until a better time.

On my way toward her large king-sized bed, adorned with a black comforter, my pace remains slow, back facing in her direction while I finish unbuttoning my shirt, which is mostly undone from her during the car ride here. Before sliding it off, I pull the knives tucked into my jeans upwards, subtly tucking them inside my shirt in the same movement. When it’s balled up, my weapons are concealed and I’m careful when tossing it to the floor.

“Turn,” she commands.

I do, unbuttoning my jeans as I spin.

She remains against the door, watching, and jerks her chin. “Go on. Finish. I just want to watch.”

Smirking, I pull down my jeans and boxers in one go, my cock bouncing free. I wrap my hand around myself, thumb rubbing the precum beading on my head. I’m harder than I’ve been in a while, and the reason behind it is a horrible betrayal.

Vanessa slowly crosses the room, her gaze locked where my hand is. She reaches for me, nudging my hand away with a lifted brow. “For tonight, this is mine. You’ve agreed.”

“I’m yours.”

My throat goes dry. To be a Volkov’s, even for a night, goes against every vow I made. To say such a thing, though it’s a lie, makes my insides burn.

She smiles, scraping her hand down my chest, her nails imbedding red lines over my skin. She continues down to my waist before stopping, my cock twitching with her proximity and the tease of her near-touch.

“You’re such a pretty one,” she murmurs, eyes skipping down my body. “This cock of yours…” She cups my throat, fingers wrapping my jaw as she drags me closer to her, keeping a fraction of space between us. Her lips stroke over mine; not quite a kiss but close enough I’m practically panting with want. “Get on the bed, Zeno. I’m done waiting.”

“Sì signora.”

Your move, Volkov.

Zeno’s tonguewas way too effective for his own good, but the moment he showed me his cock, my insides clenched with an utmost need, a craving, only he’ll be satisfying.

He slides onto the bed, positioning himself in the centre and leans back against the headboard. “Your move,signora.”

God, that word. That language.Russian is obviously my mother tongue and that of my country’s too, so it’s boring and simplistic in my opinion, especially when spoken during sex. Perhaps it’s because Italian is different from what I know, or it’s simplyhimthat makes it sound hotter. I could very well listen to him talk all day without complaint.

Mymove, as he worded it, is to slowly approach the bed, jerking the ribbon ties at my chest as I do. The dress isn’t held up by much and with an extra flick of my fingers, the bodice loosens enough that with a few more movements, it’s wiggled down to my waist before gravity finishes removing it, leaving me completely bare except for my heels.

“Bellissima.”

I shiver, but not from the cold. “What’s that mean?”

“Gorgeous. Beautiful. Everything in that calibre.”

His compliment ignites my nerves, but I pretend to be unaffected by it, making myself busy and reaching for the pre-tied silky rope from between the headboard and mattress.

Zeno watches, his lips kicking into a delicious smirk when I slowly tie his wrist, demanding, “Remind me of your safe word.”

It’smisericordia, the Italian term formercy, if my memory is pronouncing that correctly. The irony isn’t lost on me. Almost like this complete stranger is aware of the nickname given by soldiers and enemies alike. A really good coincidence, even if it feelstoogood to be one, but I shrug it off.

“Misericordia.”His eyes remain on me as I walk to the other side of the bed and retrieve more rope and begin the same process.

“Good. Be sure to use it if you feel the binds are too restricting at any point, or you need out.” I wave my hand toward his wrists. “Comfortable?”

He nods, a flutter of surprise flashing over his face; a look I feel almost insulted by. And maybe I would be if I didn’t understand it as much as I do, though it never fails to annoy me. The number of female dominants versus their male counterparts seems so much less, and somehow, it comes with the assumption that I don’t know how to properly take care of my partner, even if they’re only a one-night-stand.

“If I were to pull this...” I lean over and gesture to one end of the tie. “You’d be free. Okay?”

He nods.

“Verbal responses only.”

“Sì, signora.”

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