Page 119 of 10 Days to Ruin

“Fuck—” Her hand flies to my hip, nails digging. “Don’t stop— Don’t you fucking stop?—”

I’m losing it. Not much longer left. I’m everywhere at once—hands on her breasts, teeth on her neck, cock buried to the hilt. The ottoman skids across the floor with every thrust. Lipstick tubes and price tags rain around us like confetti as I pull the belt tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Come with me,” I demand, fingers finding her clit. I yank the belt fully taut. “Now.”

She breaks first. I follow a heartbeat later, pistoning through her aftershocks until my release paints her dripping walls white. The roar I bury in her shoulder leaves teeth marks.

We collapse in a heap of limbs and gasping breaths. Fuck only knows how long we stay down there. As far as I’m concerned, it’d be fine if we never move again. I loosen the belt and let it slither aside.

Ariel exhales and trembles against my chest. I stroke her hair with shaking hands and worry that maybe we went too far. But as the shaking worsens, my concern does, too—until I realize it’s not tears wracking her right now.

It’slaughter.

“You’re insane,” she accuses again. “Absolutely crazy.”

“I never pretended otherwise.”

She turns in my arms. The trust in her gaze terrifies me more than any Serbian gun ever has. “It’s not just sex, you know. Not for me.”

My thumb traces her swollen lips. “I know. It’s not for me, either. Not with you.”

“Whatever comes next,” she breathes against my mouth, “we face it honest. We face it together. Don’t… don’t hide from me anymore, okay?”

I look around at all the carnage: our clothes scattered in every corner, a shredded thong, the reddened outlines of my belt where it tightened around Ariel’s throat as she sang such a pretty little song for me.

It’s an utter disaster. It’s perfectly us.

Then I look up. Through the skylight overhead, I see a soft, white snow has begun to fall.

The clerk stares at the armload of lingerie Ariel had “tried on.” “Shall I… wrap these?”

“We’ll take it all,” I tell him.

Under her breath, Ariel adds, “It would be highly unethical to return it.”

The afternoon sun hits my face as we exit. My grip tightens around her hand—not possessive, butpresent.Her grip tightens back in response.

Klaus lobs the bags into the trunk. “Sir, Feliks called. He asked me to inform you that you’ve got the Zimoy meeting in twenty?—”

“Reschedule it.”

“But the Albanians?—”

“Reschedule it.”

I help Ariel into the backseat, then follow her. When the door closes, she turns to me. “Sasha?—”

“Not one word.” I press my palm to her cheek and feel her sweet warmth seeping into me like honey. “Not yet. I just want to sit with you for a while.”

The engine purrs to life. Somewhere beneath the musk of sex and leather, I smell other things.

Smoke.

Blood.

And the faintest hint of hope.

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