Page 37 of Valentine's Miracle

“I can nail them in the broom closet together; they’ll be busy for a while.”

Victoria laughs at my suggestion, but I’m more serious than joking. She doesn’t see it and shakes her head at me. Another kiss on my lips and she rolls out from under me. My hand inches towards her ankle as her round ass pops up in my vision; thick white cum drips creamily from between her red, swollen hole that I have fucked all night last night and made her stretched apart this morning too.

“Stop looking, you pervert!” She blushes, throwing a pillow at me while making a run to the bathroom with her clothes bundled in her arms.

While she gets ready in the bathroom, I find new clothes and put them on. The door clicks open, and her head pops out with a grin. She takes a bundle of her hair and wraps them around her neck, looking at the mirror with a pout.

She says, “It doesn’t cover anything up.”

“I don’t want you to,” I counter back, dropping the toothbrush in the cup.

“It’s so obvious,” she huffs, letting her hair down and falling on her small shoulders. The movement draws my eyes to her tits, they bounce in her blue blouse, and one thing leads to another, her ass is covered with a tight pencil skirt complete with stockings.

Simple and casual, but a beautiful charm on her presence.

“Put it up.”

She spins to me and gasps, shocked as if I had the audacity to say that. “That’s even worse! I can’t go out like this! People won’t take me seriously.”

“Shame,” I deadpan, eyebrow cocked with a lack of interest.

Twitching her nose, she slaps my arm with a light touch. “I can conceal it with makeup.”

“No.”

She whines. “What do you want me to do?”

“Keep it down and leave it.” I flip her hair over her shoulder, eyeing the bruise just above her collar.

“Fine,” she begrudgingly agrees. “I don’t have anything planned today, so you get your wish, mister.”

She skips out of the bathroom, finding her black heels and taking a look at the mirror to fix her hair. With a bag on her shoulder, she’s ready with me at her side, and my hand is laced between hers.

She giggles, squeezing my hand, marveling at the difference between us while we get to the elevator. With good timing, the door opens, and there goes a quiet ride down to the lobby.

“Hey!” Sebastian greets. He’s glowing; that goddamn glow is actually violent enough for me to narrow my eyes in suspicion.

“You didn’t,” Victoria gasps, allegation and staggering trauma in her voice.

“Sebastian’s chef d'œuvre, dear Victoria.”

Given his Russian accent just had an influx of French tone, it’s a French word that neither Sebastian nor I understand.

“If he’s a masterpiece, he needs to be in the zoo.”

Sebastian chokes. “Hey!”

Ah, something did happen last night in their room. Everyone’s consenting adults and I don’t want to know any details regarding the time of the blackout or the morning after.

“Touché.” Fyodor tips his head as the elevator descends, his eyes looking over Victoria’s hand that’s enclosed in mine through an iron hold.

“He was quiet…exquisite—”

Victoria hums. “Not interested, Fyodor. What I want to know is, did you email the documents over to them?”

“Spain has such a difficult time difference from America.” He shakes his head, a slight disappointment on his face.

He turns to me. “What do you think of being a long-term bodyguard?”

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