Reap (Scarred Souls, #2)(48)

Zaal’s tense body relaxed with a relieving exhale. I palmed his cheeks. “Shall we go to bed?”

Zaal’s face expressed confusion again. He looked around us. “We are already on the floor.” I frowned at his strange reply, then my stomach sank. We are already on the floor.…

God, I thought. My stomach turned over. He’d never slept in a bed. It was why he took me on the floor. He didn’t know any better.

“Zaal.” I spoke with authority to command his full attention. “You’re free now. And you’ll sleep in my bed, with me.”

His face showed no understanding, so I pushed slightly on his arms. “Stand, and I’ll show you,” I directed, but Zaal didn’t move. “Zaal?” I pushed harder, but he still didn’t move.

“You will stay with me?” he asked. I caught a tinge of panic in his voice.

My heart bloomed, and I rolled my head to kiss his arm. “I won’t leave your side,” I assured.

Zaal’s green eyes shone, but he pulled back, his length slipping from within me. I moaned at the sudden feeling of loss.

But suddenly I gasped. My head lifted to stare at Zaal. His fingers were running over my clit and further down. I jerked, still too sensitive, when two of Zaal’s fingers pushed within me. I was rooted to the floor. When, unexpectedly, he pulled out his fingers and promptly sat back on his heels.

I was so turned on I could barely think straight.

Gathering my wits, I shakily got to my feet. Zaal was still on the ground, his eyes watching me like a hawk. I moved toward him and held out my hand. He took it without hesitation. Rising slowly to his feet, Zaal’s six foot six height eclipsed the fading sunlight streaming through the blinds at my window.

Walking behind him, I ran my hand over my bed. “We sleep in here.” Zaal’s assessing stare narrowed when it met the comforter.

Releasing his hand, I walked around him. Then he lightly grabbed my wrist. “Where do you go?” His voice betrayed an edge of panic, so I stroked my finger along his forearm. I blushed as I stated, “I’m going to cleanse myself.”

He looked down my body, clearly wondering why. Then he fixed his gaze on my * and his cum coating my thighs. His face turned stormy. He pulled me back, wrapping me tightly in his embrace. “No,” he ordered aggressively. “You stay with me, like this.”

My pulse raced, blood coursing through my body. The way he dominated, he owned, he possessed inflamed my already tingling skin. A finger lifted my chin. I found myself falling into his deep green gaze. “Do not cleanse,” he said in his strong Georgian accent.

“I won’t cleanse,” I assured in reply. His hold on me relaxed.

Leaning over Zaal, I pulled back the comforter and climbed into bed. Zaal was standing beside the bed, looking down. I tapped the mattress and said, “Climb in, Zaal. Rest with me.”

It took a few seconds, but Zaal did climb into the bed next to me. Immediately he held me in his arms. I inhaled the musk of his warm skin and turned to look him in the eyes.

As we stared at each other, somehow I felt different. This man, and what we’d just experienced, had changed me. He was changing me. A small smile spread on my lips as I caught sight of those beautiful three moles on the side of his face.

Zaal drew in a breath. Inching closer, he whispered, “Potzeluy.” I closed my eyes.

Without hesitation, I pressed my mouth against his. It was soft, it was tender. I felt like my prayer had been answered.

As I pulled away, Zaal’s fingers stroked over my hair. Adopting a serious expression, he repeated quietly, “You are … for me?”

Ignoring everything but Zaal and I, our magnetic attraction, and what we’d just shared, I tipped my forehead to meet his, whispering, “Yes, Zaal … I think I am … for you.”





Chapter Twelve

Luka

“One, two, three, four.”

I slammed my fists forward, ripping into the flesh of the newly slaughtered pig hanging from the rafter of the gym. Viktor, my death-match trainer from my Dungeon days, counted my reps beside me.

My bladed knuckle-dusters sliced into the pink flesh of the swine, the dripping blood and the cut of the skin almost humanlike as I let the power of my punches loose.

“Drop and give me fifty,” Viktor ordered. I did as commanded, falling into my push-ups position. I pushed off the floor, eyes focused forward as Viktor counted me down.

The familiar smells of the gym filled my nose, the sounds of clanging metal, grunts, and punching bags being struck brought me back to life. But a rip of guilt also sliced through my chest. Kisa had no idea I’d been training again. She had no idea that I’d called on Viktor to get me match fit again. To be Raze ready.

In the weeks that I’d been back in Brooklyn, the street war between the Bratva and the Jakhua Georgians had begun. Our men were being targeted, shot, killed, beat. And it incensed me. Fueled the constant rage I’d had fought to rein in.

As the knayz I was forbidden to fight. The Pakhan wanted to secure the safety of his future successor. But me? I wanted to be on the streets. I wanted to fight among the men. I wanted to take the lives of our enemy. I wanted to be a part of the war, not watching from the sidelines.

Fuck. I needed the violence. Something dark within me still craved it.

And more than that, I wanted Jakhua. Anri’s revenge would not be complete until that f*cker had died under my blades. I wouldn’t move on until that mission had been accomplished. Right now that f*cker was in hiding. But at some point he’d show his face, and when he did, I’d be prepped and ready to take him out.