Page 18 of The Butcher
My eyes opened gradually, and the quiet luxury of the room came into focus around me. Morning light filtered through the tall windows casting pale gold across the dark wood furniture and silk sheets. The scent of him lingered in the air, sharp and masculine, mixing with the faint trace of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it.
I had already come to recognize that scent as uniquely his.
The steady rise and fall of his chest against my back made my pulse quicken while the memory of what we shared last night followed closely behind it.
I shifted carefully, testing the ache in my hips and thighs and especially between my legs. Thatsmall movement made him stir behind me almost instantly. His grip tightened, fingers sliding from my stomach to my waist as though instinct alone had guided the reaction.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and low against my ear.
The sound of it sent a shiver down my spine, not from fear but from the deep, masculine certainty in his tone. I swallowed slowly before answering, my throat dry as the full weight of last night returned to me.
“Yes,” I said softly.
The word had barely left my lips before he moved, sliding his hand along my side in a slow, leisurely path. The contact was steady rather than urgent, yet the simple pressure of his touch made awareness bloom again beneath my skin.
The soreness between my thighs pulsed sharply as I adjusted against him, and the quiet sound that escaped me gave away more than I intended.
Of course, Alexei noticed immediately.
His hand moved lower, fingers brushing along the inside of my thigh in a careful, assessing touch that felt both possessive and controlled. He traced the sticky evidence of last night where his cum hadleaked from me, rubbing it into my swollen folds like a brand.
The contact lingered just long enough to make my breath hitch, and the slight tightening of his grip told me he understood exactly how I felt.
I hadn’t expected this gentleness from him… not from the Russian Butcher of the Bratva.
“You’re sore,” he said, his voice calm and certain.
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation delivered with the same authority he used when issuing orders, yet there was a quiet edge of concern beneath the words that made my chest tighten unexpectedly.
“I’m okay,” I breathed out as he continued to rub me between my thighs.
My body ached deeply from what he had done to me, from the stretch of him and the force of his possession. The reminder of that pain carried a strange sense of ownership alongside the discomfort. I had given myself to him completely, and he had taken me without hesitation, marking me in a way that could never be undone.
I knew the white sheets would be stained red.
He growled softly, lips brushing my ear. “I like knowing my cock left you this tender. Every time you move today, you’ll remember who owns this pussy now.” He shifted again, sliding his handbeneath my chin and turning my face gently toward him until our eyes met. The sight of him this close stole my breath.
His dark eyes were slightly heavy-lidded from sleep, and the sharp lines of his face looked less severe in the soft morning light.
The tiny scars along his jaw and cheek stood out more clearly now, visible reminders of the violence that had shaped him into the man he was.
Yet, there was something different in his expression this morning. The brutal edge that usually surrounded him had softened slightly, replaced by a quiet satisfaction that made heat rise in my chest.
He looked at me like I belonged to him. Completely.
“You were perfect,” he said.
The praise came quietly, spoken with calm certainty, and the approval in his voice sent a warm flush through my body despite the soreness still lingering beneath my skin. I held his gaze, unsure how to respond to the simple statement yet unable to deny the way my heart reacted to it.
Without warning, Alexei pushed himself up. The movement had the blankets slipping from my body, exposing me as well as his bare body. I couldn't stop myself from admiring his broad shoulders andpowerful muscles that shifted beneath his tattooed and scarred skin.
He noticed me staring at him, probably sensing how much he turned me on. I saw it in his dark gaze as he looked at my face then lower to my breasts, along my belly, and settled between my spread thighs.
“Mmm,” he hummed and dragged his thumb along his lower lip as if he were remembering the taste of me on his tongue. “Look at you… still dripping with my cum. Spread those thighs wider for me. Let your husband see what he ruined last night.”
And then he rose from the bed in one smooth motion. My gaze followed him automatically, drawn to the sheer strength in his frame and the memory of how that strength had pinned me beneath him last night as he made me orgasm.
Heat pooled low in my stomach before I could stop it, but the spell was broken when he crossed the room without hesitation, completely unashamed of his nakedness and the fact his cock was semi-hard. He opened the bedroom door and bent to pick something up. When he shut the door and turned, he held a tray of food. The rich scent reached me immediately, aromas of warm bread, freshly cooked eggs, bacon, and strong coffee fillingthe air.
