Page 104 of Jewel of the Assassin
She obeys, pinching them, twisting her nipples while thrusting her ass back, finding my rhythm.
One more thrust of the gun. One more thrust from my cock, and I command, “Come.”
Her inner muscles squeeze, but she doesn’t pulsate yet. I drive harder into her, snapping and pumping all my ejaculation into her.
And then, I come out, drop to my knees, removing the clit sucker and licking her from taint to cleft. She breaks fingernails. And comes, screaming my name again and again…and again.
35
“What color are my eyes?”
VALENTINA
ONE DAY LATER
“It’s beautiful!” I gush to Roman when he unveils the latest painting in the gallery.
I blush, smiling at the memory of learning another of my husband’s talents, remembering when he had me pose nude for him. Until now, he kept the painting a secret. It awes me how he managed to capture my contours and curves…in a flawless balance of oil paints. He’s displayed it in the shaded portion of the gallery, reserved for us.
Suddenly, a strident alarm blares, resonating through the air. Every nerve in my body jolts. This alarm…it’s a full-scale breach warning.
Roman’s expression changes instantly. His jaw turns to iron. His hand goes to the chip in his wrist, pulling up a translucent holographic feed. My breath catches, chest on fire. Red pulses flash across the map overlay of our estate.
“Helicopters,” he says, low but laced with venom. “Two, no—three.” His eyes narrow as icons swarm in on the grounds. “Mercenaries. They’ve tripped the outer wires, set off landmines. But more are coming.”
We know who is responsible for the invasion.
Anton.
And Nikolai—Roman’s father.
Before I can speak, his arm hooks around me, dragging me from the gallery and pushing through a side corridor.
We find Zina already in the main hall, a hurricane in human form as she ushers staff and Sasha and Roman’s mother toward a heavy reinforced door in the west wing. I shouldn’t be surprised at the entrance of the tunnel. She doesn’t even flinch at our approach—her focus is razor sharp.
Roman shoves me forward, right into her path. “Take her,” he commands.
Shalun swoops down from his perch above the mezzanine, his black wings slapping the air as he caws like a warning siren. My heart is already pounding, but his agitation makes it worse.
“Where are you going?” I demand, grabbing Roman’s arm even as Zina’s grip tightens on mine.
His gaze locks on mine, blazing with a promise I feel in my bones. “To show them what a grave mistake they’ve made. Coming for my home. And mywife.”
I should let Zina drag me away. I should go into the tunnel, down into the safe darkness. But my feet dig in. Zina shouts to the others, herding them into the passage, but I pull free long enough to help the last of the staff through. “Go,” I tell her, “I’ll be right behind you.”
She eyes me, distrust in her narrowed gaze, but there’s no time to argue. The remaining staff enter, and she steps into the tunnel.
And that’s when I shove her, just far enough for me to slam the door shut and twist the lock. The sound of it echoes in the hall, final and absolute.
“Valentina!” she shouts through the thick steel, voice sharp with fury and fear.
I lean in. “I’m going to help my husband,” I say, steady and certain.As a true queen does for her king.
The pounding on the other side fades beneath the thunder of approaching helicopters. I turn. My blood runs hot. My crown is out there, facing an army. And I will stand beside him.
So, I run as fast as I can, removing my heels. Tights clothe my feet. The wine-red dress is snug, not built for running, but I don’t care. I grab a black wool cloak from the hook in the greenhouse and tear outside. I have to get to Roman.
Shoving myself into the coat, I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that my husband armed me after the other day. My Makarov is tucked into my belt. But I don’t see him anywhere.
