Page 74 of The Mad Don
The pleasure coils tighter and tighter. His hand slips between my legs, rubbing my clit in circles while he keeps thrusting. I come hard with a quiet, shuddering cry, my walls clenching around his thick cock. He follows moments later, burying himself as deep as possible and spilling inside me with a low groan, his face pressed to my neck.
He pulls out, and he kisses my shoulder, my ear.
After we both take a shower, and he washes me clean, kissing my body. He hands me a clean shirt of his, and we cuddle in bed.
I feel the rasp of stubble, the warmth of him, the small movement of his jaw as he breathes. I let myself be drawn back down and folded against him.
“Do you regret coming here?” he asks.
I wonder if it’s a trap. What is he really asking? Is he feeling guilty about being my first?
“I’m not baiting you,Lupa.” he reads my mind. “Do you regret meeting me?”
I think about it. I have felt a great many things since I walked into this house. Fear was not one of them, not the way it should have been. Anger, suspicion, the slow betrayal of my own body. But not regret.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Meeting you is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he whispers.
I brace.
This is a game. This is him teasing me, pulling at me, waiting for me to soften, so he can laugh, at best or at worst… I turn to give him a piece of my mind. But his eyes are half closed. His breathing has gone quiet. His grip on me has loosened.
He’s asleep.
I soften before I can stop it. I prop myself up on one elbow and look at him. The moonlight comes through the gap in the curtains and lies pale across his face. His features are loose. The hard thing he carries in them during the day is gone. I let my eyes move over him, then my fingers follow, light along the line of his nose, over his mouth, to the curve of his ear. His breath stirs against my wrist. I lower myself and press a kiss to his earlobe. His skin feels warm under my lips.
Then I catch myself.
I shouldn’t be in his bed at all. I am Kirill’s person. Somehow, I am lying in his sheets in the dark, pressing kisses to his ear like a girl with no sense.
How will I ever explain this mess to Kirill?
I move to slide out of the bed. The air hits my skin where the blanket lifts. In his sleep, his arm tightens. He pulls me back down, and his mouth finds mine, half-aware, still tasting faintly of wine.
“Lupa,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
I go stiff.
He’s still asleep. His face hasn’t changed.
I look at him for a while.
One night can’t hurt. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything — about Fabiano, about the medications, about all of it — and I’ll go back to being what I’m supposed to be. But tonight, I can stay. I lower myself into his arms. His warmth comes around me, and his arm settles over my back. I close my eyes, and I let myself drift.
* * *
I wake up to his mouth on my neck. His lips slide against my skin, just below my ear, and warmth goes through me as I fullyawaken. I open my eyes. The sun is hitting the window strongly. It’s almost afternoon. I look up at him.
“Good morning,” he whispers. “How did you sleep?”
I pull away in embarrassment. How did I sleep so deeply? I haven’t slept through a full night in two months, and last night, I went under in his arms and didn’t surface once.
He draws me back against him and kisses my chin. What is wrong with him this morning? The softness from last night is still there, and it feels so wrong. Surely softness has a price with this man. What trap is this?
“I’ll miss you,” he says.
I look at him, confused at first, but then I remember that the deal with Kirill is almost done. It’s a couple of days at most a week. Then I go home.
