Page 109 of Devil's Vows
I bend and toss her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Gabriella squeals at this unexpected move, and the sound is so adorable, I chuckle because it’s not as if I can do anything else. Her brothers have Milana, and this one…she’s mywife.
Fuck my life.
She’s featherlight, and immediately starts to squirm, but I don’t give a damn. I’m still glowing with post-workout heat, and her robe might get sweat-drenched, but at least we’ll cover the stretch between the house and the barracks at my pace and not hers. Like this, she can’t put up a fight, and my body heat will keep her warm, which this flimsy fabric hardly does.
“Put me down, Ivan,” she croaks, hands slapping at me, so softly, it’s as if she’s patting one of the girls on the head.
She might be a spy, but this one can’t harm a fly.
“Nope. I’m going to say this once and only once, so take note,wife,” I say as I stride out of the recreation room. “You areneverto set foot in the barracks again, so putting you down right now isn’t exactly an option.”
56
IVAN
I carry her all the way to the house and up the stairs to her room. At some point, she stopped protesting, and I missed her poorly aimed slaps at my butt. Then she giggled. “All the blood is going to my head! I’m drunk!” followed minutes later by a vague protest that included, “Put me down. I’m feeling sick.”
I ignore her and the guards along the way, and just shoot Yuri a swift glance where he is waiting outside her room.
“The girls?”
“Asleep.”
“Good.”
He points to a washing basket with everything raided from Gabriella’s room.
“In my office. Wait for us there. Two guards on the stairs,” I huff, feeling her weight now. “Our little bird isn’t taking flight soon.”
And then we’re back in her room, which still has the markings of a bride’s wedding night, except that everything has been re-ordered after Yuri had scoured the place for proof. The wedding dress we’d left on the floor is draped over the dressingtable chair, and the bed is freshly made. We didn’t even get that far.
“Right,” I say as I heave her down.
She sways, flushed red in the face, and clings to my arms. I steady her, and then she meets my gaze, flustered.
“I don’t know if I just need to sit or need to vomit.”
“Probably sit. Do it in here,” I say as I steer her to the bathroom. I spot my camera’s inconspicuous lens where it’s still taking footage, so well-hidden…but if she were a pro—a real spy—she would have spotted it by now. “Here.” I nudge her toward the bath’s edge, and with a soft squeeze of her shoulder, she sinks down.
I reach for my belt buckle and start to unfasten it.
“Ivan—”
Fear flashes through her eyes and fuck it, my anger, still simmering, threatens to boil up again. Someone took a belt to her, probably as a kid, maybe some perverted priest or nun when she was older. Doesn’t sheknowme? Hasn’t she seen enough in the past weeks in this house?
“I’m into a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking wife beater. I’m taking a shower, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.” So watch, so I can watch you and dissect your reactions with fresh eyes.
I step a foot away, but keep facing her, and she stares up at me, eyes wide, our gazes locked as I pull the belt from its loops. With a slow, forced exhale, I lower it to the floor, not wanting to startle my already jittery bird. The buckle clangs as it hits the marble tile, and I watch as her gaze jumps from the discarded belt back to me.
Her eyes beg me not to do this—mine beg her to watch, to drop her gaze to my hard, needy cock.
The silence stretches as I take my time to unbutton and zip down my pants, knowing by the time they fall to the ground, I’m going to be so fucking hard, and all I want is her mouth…those sweet rosy lips to close over my cock while she keeps staring me in the eye like this. So fucking honest, so fucking sweet.
I could use her. I could force her to her knees and make her suck me off, but I’ve never needed to force a woman, and I’m sure as fuck not going to start now. I drop my pants, and my cock jumps free, bobbing within arm’s reach. I take it in hand, slowly riding it until she drops her gaze and stares, licking her lips, a red flush spreading on her cheeks.
“Still want this?” I ask, offering it to her.
She bites her plump bottom lip but says nothing. Through her robe’s thin fabric, her nipples pout, needy, perfect little peaks I’d love to pay attention to if this wasn’t all so fucked up.
