Page 79 of Jewel of the Assassin
VALENTINA
Tears fall down my cheeks as Roman holds me in his gaze. His revelation felt like a whispered prayer.
You are not a trembling creature. You are my right.
I practiced the Russian phrase over and over while he was gone, needing to know his true thoughts and beliefs.
Now, I do.
He wants everything. I’ll give him everything tonight.
His confession meant more than relief. It was understanding. It was truth. And I need truth now more than ever.
Valentina Volkov.
Guilt shreds through me because I haven’t shared the other part of the conversation. The trespasser called me a princess. If I were, would it make a difference? Dark thoughts consume me at the glimmers, my father beating me, the murder of my mother. Why would I want to hold onto the past of a princess locked and beaten in a cage after what Roman has revealed tonight?
The heart of a queen. The soul of an empress. His right. His soul.
I lock away everything else that happened tonight. Even without the confession, I’d still want him, need him more than ever. I can still feel the son of a bitch’s hands on me, his inferior dick in my mouth and throat.
I need Roman’s hands, his mouth, his cock…everywhere.
So, I slowly, tenderly rub my lips against his and whisper, “Fuck me, Roman Makarova. Fuck your wife.”
He tilts his head and flashes a predatory grin. “My fuckingpleasure.”
My pussy practically screams with heat.
Taking my ass with one hand, he lifts me, a low rumbling in his chest when I wrap my legs around his waist. Oh, God, he taunts me, rubbing four fingers along my slick folds. The other locks in my hair, gripping the back of my neck.
“Does this soaking, sloppy cunt need my cock, Moya Koroleva?”
“Roman, goddamn you!” I cry out, wriggling and squirming, bucking my hips.
Ugh, he rubs me harder, fiercer, punishing. “How many times did you get yourself off while I was gone?” he demands, and I gulp, blushing. Does he know exactly how many times? Does he know about the time in the shower? Or the bath? He can’t possibly have cameras in the bathtub to see my hand beneath all the bubbles, right?
The pressure tightens in me. He’s working my clit into a swollen frenzy. Maybe if I brat, he’ll apply more pressure. Just a little more…
“Ungh, I didn’t!”
“Lies, filthy girl. Filthy lies.” He slaps my cunt, and I lurch, grabbing onto his shoulders. “That earns you a triple punishment on top of the number of times you came.”
“Once,” I hiss. The others were in the shower and bath. Another crack of his palm, and I shriek, “Okay, okay! Threetimes.” Slap, slap. “Four! Four!” I confess and try to grab his hand, try to press it to my pussy. One daggered glare from those jewel green eyes vows the worst punishment if I try.
So, I let go with a sigh.
“Good girl,” he commends me. “Such a dirty girl. Now, you’re going to get on your knees, spread your legs as wide as you can, and present that pretty pussy to me for your spankings.”
“Ugh, Roman!”
He swings his hand again, this time leaving a red print on the swell of my breast. I yelp, but I hurry, scrambling out of his lap and getting on my knees, elbows on the moss, ass in the air.
“Prekrasno,” he says. “Very lovely, moya zhena. But somehow, my hand does not seem quite enough for your discipline tonight. Nor what you deserve.”
“Wh-what does that mean?” I shiver, glancing back.
“It means I will bring you low. Give you the pain I know you are strong enough to withstand. And take you to the ultimate heights so you never forget who owns this beautiful body. One moment, Valya,” he says, rubbing my bottom.
