Page 60 of The Enforcer's Vow
“I am,” she gasps. “I want it—I want all of it.”
I release her wrists and grab her hips instead, pulling her into every brutal thrust. Her tits bounce with every stroke, nipples flushed and tight, and I lean down to bite one, sucking until she cries out, then I suck it harder and swirl my tongue around it.
She claws at my back, mouth falling open, her eyes glassy with need, and she continues to buck upward into me as I fuck her. Every stroke is pure lust, need that must be sated or I’ll go mad. Zoya is my drug of choice and I need a fix.
“Come on,” I growl. “I want you to come all over my cock.”
“Fuck… I’m so close,” she pants, and I growl against her skin.
“You’re like cocaine, woman… I can’t get enough. Now let that pussy milk me already…”
She shatters beneath me, her inner muscles clamping down with an intensity that matches the sharp, resonant moan escaping her lips as her orgasm crashes over her like a wave. Her body writhes and bucks uncontrollably, yet I persist, thrusting into her with a relentless rhythm. The sensation of her pulsing around me pulls me to my own white-hot release.
I drive in deeply, holding myself there, releasing with a guttural groan as my body tenses and I pour everything into her. My grip on her hips is firm, leaving marks that speak of our fervor, while my breath is hot and ragged against her neck.
We remain entwined, bodies slick with sweat and utterly spent. I rest my forehead against hers, a silent acknowledgment passing between us that something fundamental has shifted. She senses it. I sense it too, though the words remain unspoken.
"You're in my blood now,"I tell her, my voice rough. "I don't care how this ends. I'm not letting you go. Not ever."
Zoya doesn't answer, but her fingers trace patterns on my chest, and I feel her breath against my throat. Whatever happens next, whatever price I have to pay for keeping her, it'll be worth it.
Because she's right. This isn't just about the mission anymore. It's about her, about us, about the life we're building in the spaces between the violence and the lies.
And I'll burn down the entire city before I let anyone take that away from me.
25
ZOYA
The feeling of warmth against my back and the steady rhythm of breathing that isn't my own wakes me. For a moment, I don't remember where I am or how I got here. Then I feel the weight of Maksim's arm draped around my waist, his chest pressed against my spine, and everything comes rushing back. The argument in the hallway, the desperate way we tore at each other's clothes, the way his voice cracked when he told me I was in his blood.
The morning light reaches through the heavy curtains, illuminating the room in a soft golden light. I'm in his bed, not the guest room where I've been sleeping for days. The sheets smell like him, a pleasant scent I don't mind at all. His bedroom is larger than mine, with tall windows that overlook the gardens and furniture that looks expensive but lived-in.
Maksim stirs behind me, and I feel his lips brush against my shoulder. The gesture is so gentle, so different from the man who came home covered in blood last night, that it makes my chest tight.
"Morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
I turn in his arms to face him, studying the angular planes of his face in the morning light. His dark hair is mussed, falling across his forehead, and his hazel eyes are softer than I've ever seen them. There's a cut on his lip I didn't notice in my fury last night, and the knuckles of his right hand are bandaged.
"You're hurt," I say, reaching out to touch the cut.
He catches my hand and presses it flat against his chest. "I'm fine."
"You're always fine," I tell him. "Even when you're not."
"I'm sorry," he says, and the words surprise me. "I'm sorry you didn't feel safe enough to tell me about the baby."
The pregnancy... I should have realized that nothing stays secret in this house, that someone would have seen the pregnancy test or noticed the changes in my behavior. I didn't expect the doctor to be the one who tattled on me, and seeing how angry he was, how impossible it was for him to hide his pain, it rattled me.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you," I say quietly.
His thumb strokes along my jaw, and I lean into the touch. "I'm not proud of the way this started," he says. "The marriage, the mission, the lies. But I'm not lying when I say I want you now. Not the mission, not the leverage. You."
His honesty is startling, and I feel something shift in my chest. "What about Damir?"
The softness in his eyes hardens slightly. "What about him?"
"Is it true what they're saying? That he planted the drugs?"
