Page 156 of Lethal Legacy

He slips his fingers beneath me, swearing softly as he feels me open for him. Lifting an ice cube out of the glass, he runs it down my throat, then over my nipples, lingering on each one. The Scotch and ice sting my flesh, making me gasp. He licks the moisture off, slowly. My hand movements are becoming more erratic. He pushes my hand away and picks me up, carrying me high over his head to the bed then lowering himself down, still holding me above him like he’s a weight lifter, slowly bringing me down until he’s lying on his back with my legs planted either side of his face; then he gets to work with his mouth again.

I grab the back of the headboard, writhing on his face and the hands cupping my ass, crying out as he teases me. Still he won’t touch the core of me with his tongue, teasing every part of me with strong, sure strokes, but holding back from right where I need it. His fingers slip inside me, delicately opening me for his tongue, but they’re not enough. His hands lock me in place, not letting me near what I really want, holding me just far enough off his tongue that I can’t grind down on him like I need to.

“Ohhh...” The buildup is starting again. I’m squirming, my body spinning out of control. “I don’t want to come like this,” I gasp, rocking my hips back and forth over his tongue.

“No.” He lifts me up, pushing me off his face. “You want to come likethis.” He slams me down onto his cock, and I scream as it fills me. “That’s it,milaia,” he murmurs, letting me rock out of control on him. “Scream for me.” He pushes upward and I shriek again, pushing myself hard on him so my swollen clit rubs against his pubic bone. “Fuck, you look beautiful like that,” he growls, surging up into me. I move, faster and faster, and he lets me ride him, murmuring to me as it starts to hit.

Just as the spasms seize he rears up, wrapping his arms around me as his cock pumps deep inside, my breasts crushed to his chest. His mouth takes the next scream from mine, and as my body shakes, his cock pulses his release.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair. “Fuck, I love you, Lucia.”

48

LUCIA

“What about this one?” I hold up a cream silk evening gown that perfectly complements Ofelia’s skin. For a girl with classic Russian coloring, she tans like a Mediterranean beauty, her skin turning a lush buttery caramel in barely ten minutes’ exposure. I spend half my time running after her with sunscreen and a hat.

“I don’t know.” She eyes it doubtfully. “Mama might not like it.”

“Would you rather wait until she’s here to choose? She might like to take you dress shopping herself.”

“No.” She goes quite pale. “No, I don’t like shopping with her.” Something about her swift answer, and the way she turns back to the rack of dresses to hide her face, sets off alarm bells. I hesitate, eyeing her stiff shoulders. Anything to do with Inger is dangerous ground, particularly where Ofelia is concerned.

“Well, the Russian ball is still a week away, and your exams are over. We’ve got time. We can look again tomorrow, okay?”

“’Kay.” Ofelia gives me a small smile, but her eyes slide away from mine. My unease ratchets up a notch.

“How about we go for coffee andpiononos?” I tuck my arm through hers. Masha’s pre-school doesn’t finish up for another week, so Ofelia and I have a rare gap of time to be alone together. We both lovepiononos,syrupy sponge cakes rolled around rich fillings, but since our favorites are those soaked in almond liqueur, we don’t tend to have them when Masha is around.

Her eyes light up. “Yum.”

We wander through the cobblestoned alleys of Malaga’s old historic center, our security detail keeping a respectful distance, and take outdoor seats at one of the specialtypastelerias.

“Are you looking forward to the ball?” I ask after our cakes and coffee arrive.

Ofelia shrugs. “I guess.” Her eyes are opaque, expression carefully neutral. When I first met the children, it was the default mask she presented to the world. These days, however, the only time I see it is when Inger comes up in conversation.

Hence the alarm bells.

“A lot of your friends will be there, too,” I say encouragingly.

“Ha.” Her laugh is completely humorless, with a slightly bitter edge. “Becausethatwill help.” She looks away, stirring her coffee mindlessly, not touching herpionono.

Figuring that’s the best opening I’m likely to get, I go in. “Have you had a falling out with your friends, Ofelia? Is that what this is about?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, my friends are cool. But I doubt they will be after the ball.”

I frown. “Why is that?”

Her eyes flicker to me then away again. “You don’t get it,” she mutters. “You don’t know what those things are like.”

It’s my turn to laugh without humor. “Actually,” I say quietly, “yes, I do.”

Her skeptical gaze rests on me, her coffee stirring becoming more determined. “Oh, you do, huh?”

Oh, baby. You have no idea.

Some of my worst nightmares stem from public events exactly like the one she’s dreading.

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