Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(20)

She eyes the bottle on the table. “Fine.”

I pop the cork with my teeth. But I don’t reach for a glass. Willow watches with curiosity as I bring the bottle towards her. But she doesn’t move. She’s trying to play at control, ease.

It works—until it doesn’t.

Suddenly, I turn the bottle over, allowing a stream of burgundy wine to flow onto her naked body.

“Jesus!” she gasps as she scrambles in her seat, trying to escape the waterfall of wine.

I put my hand on her shoulder and force her back into her chair. Pinned in place, the wine coats her chest and runs down her flat stomach before pooling between her legs.

“I didn’t think your pussy could get any sweeter,” I murmur, setting the bottle back on the table.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You walked down to dinner stark fucking naked,” I rasp. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“You can’t just have me anytime you please.”

“I think you’ll find I can have anything I want.”

I shove my knee between her legs, resting it against the chair, and lower my mouth to her breasts. When I lick the wine off her, she trembles.

I run my tongue up her stomach, following the trail of sweetness, and then suck her nipple into my mouth. My cock strains impatiently while I feast on her.

Gradually, I move downward. I shove her legs apart and pull her ass to the edge of the chair. I take a moment to admire her tight little pussy before I shove my tongue inside her.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Fuck…”

Her fingers snake into my hair as I go down on her. Her taut limbs turn to putty. Her juices flow out of her, coating my tongue with a rich, sweet taste.

Apparently, her body has missed me even if she claims she hasn’t.

As much as I want to give up on my mission and just enjoy the moment without agenda, it’s not in my nature to let desire overpower ambition. I can’t lose sight of my goal just because her pussy sings for me.

With my tongue deep inside her, I reach up and grab her nipple. I twist it between two fingers as I circle her clit, flicking it lightly with the tip of my tongue.

“Fuck… st… stop,” she moans, weakly pulling on my hair to try and steer me away.

The attempt is almost laughable. She’s literally soaking my chin with her desire.

I pull out for a moment, just so I can enjoy the needy expression on her flushed face. “If you really want me to stop, you’re going to have to be a lot more convincing.”

She glares at me. “Fuck you.”

I grin. “In a moment, kukolka.”

She bristles, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, her legs inch further apart, practically begging for me.

I thought taking down two Mikhailov buildings was the adrenaline rush of a lifetime.

Turns out taking down one Mikhailov princess is even better.

I grab a hold of her hips and pull her down on top of me. I position her perfectly so that she’s sitting on my face. Then I slap her ass, encouraging her to ride my mouth.

She wastes no time. Her hips jerk back and forth while my tongue laps inside her. Her moans grow louder, echoing off the high ceilings. I know she’s moments away from coming, though she’s fighting it with every ounce of her willpower.

Then she can’t hold off anymore. She comes undone. She lets go. The tension in her face and body melts, and she is euphoric.

For a few moments, she is relaxed. At ease.

I intend to make full use of that.





8





WILLOW





I’m weak for doing this. Weak for letting it happen.

Most of all, I’m weak for wanting it.

But I can’t stop now. I’m too close.

For a fleeting moment, I was able to look out into the world and see myself differently. I could visualize who I would have been if Anya had raised me. If I’d been brought up in this life the way Leo was.

But now I know it doesn’t matter how hard I train. When it comes to him, I’m just weak.

He slaps my ass and I buck into his tongue. It rolls around my clit, and I suck in air like my life depends on it.

The orgasm unfurls over me, softly at first before the rest of it drops like a hammer. I writhe wildly, my limbs completely beyond my control. But Leo has me. He holds me up and I sag into his embrace until all I can feel is the gentle buzzing of the pleasure working its way through me.

He peels me off his face and lays me out on the floor. I’m dizzy. My legs feel like jelly. I go where he puts me as easily as moving a doll.

He hovers over me for a moment, and I see his beautiful face. Then he descends. His lips glide down my neck, across my collarbone, over my breasts. His tongue laps at the juices—both my own and the wine—dripping down my legs, and my eyes roll back in my head at the light, fluttering touches.

“You missed this, didn’t you?”

His words reach me from miles away. They’re soft, gentle. It reminds me of a simpler time, when I believed loving him was my future. My child’s future, too.

“You should have fought harder,” I whisper, the words slipping from my lips. “For me. And him. You should have fought harder for us.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I don’t regret them. Not yet, anyway.