VLAD (The V Games #1)(43)

Oh God.

His greedy mouth. His hot, slick tongue. His powerful, wandering hands.

Too much.

He feasts on me, like I’m a buffet laid out just for him. And I am. Just. For. Him. Warm laps of his tongue travel the length of my lips, separating them and finding the throbbing clit hidden away inside.

I grasp the side of the counter to ground myself. I feel like I’m floating away on a cloud of ecstasy. Do all men do this? Does it always feel this good?

My back arches as he sucks my clit into his mouth. I feel a swirling building in my stomach and heat spreading throughout my body in waves. Something prods at my opening, and then I’m filled with what I believe to be his finger. It hurts and pleasures in the same breath. I’m flying. I’m going to come undone right here on the kitchen counter.

I startle when the kitchen door opens and a male voice chokes out, “Blyad, prostite, gospodin.” Fuck, sorry, sir.

I hurry to sit up and frantically push my dress down to hide what we’ve been doing. Vlad stares at me wolfishly, a sheen of my juices coating his mouth.

He’s the hunter and I’m the prey.

Vlad murmurs an order meant for only me to hear. “Zakroy svoi glaza, solntce moyo.” Close your eyes, my sun.

My insides cramp with worry and I can’t do as he asks. Instead, I watch in guilt-ridden horror as he prowls toward the man who backs up knowing he’s walked into something he won’t walk out of.

“Vlad,” he pleads, but Vlad is quick, silent, and as deadly as they come. His arm snaps out, landing a closed fist to the man’s throat. The man gasps in shock and grasps at his larynx, making a wheezing sound. His eyes are wide and panicked. Vlad rounds him, slipping something from his pocket and clasping an arm around the man, putting him in a headlock.

Fast, efficient jabs to the neck, the object shines when the light catches it. It’s a knife. Not the fish hook one. A different one—one with their crest etched into it. The imperial two-headed eagle. The man sags in his arms, blood spurting from the wounds in his neck.

Normally unemotional, calm eyes blaze with wildness. Vlad’s expression is crazed for a moment before he blinks it away and releases the man. He falls to the floor with a thud, blood puddling around him.

I stare for a second until I think I’ll be sick. Bile races up my throat, and I jump down from the counter to rush to the sink. I retch, and tears spring to my eyes. I’ve seen men killed before—hell, even women, by Vlad’s hand, no less—but this was not because of something they did. It was for something we did. I did. He was protecting us—the awful things we were doing. That means I’m a monster too.

“Irina,” Vlad says, his voice quiet and collected. Fingers run down my spine, offering me comfort. “He has a loose tongue. He would have talked.” He continues to stroke me, and I wonder if he’s smearing blood all over my clothes.

I shudder and nod, wiping a hand across my mouth. “I know,” I tell him, because I do. I quickly wash my hands, but it doesn’t clean away the dirtiness I feel all over right now.

“Go help Diana pack for tonight,” he urges, his tone soft and gentle. It’s hard to come to terms with who’s touching me and who stabbed a man to death seconds ago. “I’ll have food brought to you when I’ve cleaned this mess up.”

“Okay,” I manage, then pull away from the sink to leave, my body trembling violently.

His hand grasps mine before I get too far away. The heat and comfort he provides with his strong touch grounds me. The shaking subsides as his fingers trace over my palm. He stares at me, his eyes making promises I somehow understand down to a cellular level.

What’s happening between us is unstoppable.

An arranged marriage. His bratty, meddling sister. A potential loose-lipped man.

Nothing will snuff out what has begun to rage between us. An inferno. A fiery explosion of epic proportions.

We are the sun.

This isn’t just lust taking us over. This is so much more. Something that needs to be protected and kept from everyone else.

Our fingers dance with each other’s before our connection breaks. With watery eyes, but a new resolve, I push out the doors and allow him to do what he does best.

Take control. Handle things. Make moves that ensure he wins.

And this time, I hope he does win, because we’re on the same team.





Stepan enters the kitchen five minutes after I called him. He looks down at one of my father’s lackeys and raises a questioning brow. It’s not his job to question me, so I ignore his unspoken request and tell him to take care of it.

Leaving him to it, I make my way to my office. I was rash and foolish to take Irina like that in the open, but seeing her flushed from sleep and knowing my scent would be lingering on her skin from last night was too tempting. There were so many things I wanted to do to her I didn’t get time for last night, my urges overtook me, and for once, I let them.

I slip behind my desk and bring up the camera monitors for the kitchen. I rewind the feed and delete the recorded indiscretion. Problem solved.

Sighing, I lean back in the chair and relish her flavor still lingering on my lips. She consumes me. Now that I’ve tasted her, I don’t think I can ever stop.

She’s mine.

And that’s not changing any time soon.

Diana knocks on the office door, but before she can enter, she is shoved aside as Vika waltzes in.