Page 32 of Claimed in Sin
The very instant I feel his hot release spurting into me, my body seizes. Convulsions force my hips off the bed, pushing him deeper than ever as his body dumps into mine. It's cathartic and deeply emotional, and I cling to him as he glides in and out of me, relishing every twitch of my body.
Stepan rolls off me and pulls me tightly to his chest. My head rests on his arm as he holds me and presses kisses to my forehead while his cum drains out of me onto the bed. It reminds me of the secret I'm carrying and how desperately I want to tell him, but I can't.
"Marry me, Marina," he whispers. "Let me take you away from that mess that has you so emotional, you can't even open up to me." His hand grips my head, with his thumb on my cheekbone, and his fingers curled around my neck so I'm forced to look up at him. "Please. I love you. Don't go back to him. Be with me."
Tears I've been holding back all night crest in my eyes and roll down my cheek. "I can't, and you know it. It's not about me, Stepan. My family is counting on this alliance. Maksim insists on having me, and what would I tell my father?"
This was a mistake. I should never have come here. Being around him is hard enough because he's so amazing. But refusing him when he's so eager and wants me so bad is killing me.
"I don't want to lose you..." His lips brush over mine, and I think again of how badly this will hurt. Even if he'd be willing to wait until Maksim is comfortable with me going out, how could I spend the rest of my life married to a man I don't want and cheating on him with a man I love desperately? I'd never be happy.
I lean into the kiss, deciding that saying nothing will be better.
The silence lingers so long, I start to sense him relaxing. His body is heavy on me, tangled around me, but when light snoring rumbles up out of him, I slowly pull myself away. This has to be the last time I come around. Life will be complicated enoughwithout any more sneaking around. What lies on the horizon is complicated and messy, and honestly, I'm not ready for it.
But I have to walk into it with both eyes wide open and my mind focused. I can't do that if I'm always thinking of another man.
"I love you," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before slipping away. I dress quickly, then sneak out of his house, and I'm three blocks away before I can let myself cry again. I'll call an Uber and make it home safely, but my heart will always be his. I don't think I'll ever be able to love again.
16
STEPAN
The streets of Perm glisten with early summer rain that soaks into my hair and chills me. Water streams along the uneven street, turning every surface into a mirror that reflects the light overhead. I stand in the shadow of a building across the street from where team one works at Roman's order, here to ensure they're doing their job well.
Tonight’s shipment is a crate of fresh AK-74s, a few SVD sniper rifles, and boxes of munitions destined for a crew from Chelyabinsk who've been reliable Radin buyers until now. Or so they claim.
The team moves quickly and quietly as they've been trained. Three of Roman’s most trusted soldiers position themselves in a loose protective arc around the black SUV parked at the curb. The others move the product into the white van quickly, but not as quietly as they should. The buyers' hands hover too close to the bulges beneath their jackets for my liking.
No exchange is ever without tension, but tonight it seems to crackle through the air. Maybe why Ro wanted me to keep an eye on this meeting.
With so much riding on the expansion of Radin operations, my cousin isn't wrong to send reinforcements to keep an eye on our new teams. Usually, they handle themselves, but I can sense these buyers are a bit rougher than most, maybe likely to start shit. Even the way they grunt unappreciatively and mumble in a foreign language makes red flags wave.
The scarred man steps forward and flips open the lid of the nearest crate. He pulls out one of the rifles and grumbles in disgust. “These are the same old pieces of shit you brought last time,” he snarls. His accent is so thick, I can barely understand him. “I specifically asked for the newer models—ones with the updated polymer furniture and better optics rails. These look like they’ve been sitting in a warehouse since the nineties.”
“This is what Roman sent. The quality is the same as always. Take it or leave it.” Angus nods at the crate and crosses his arms over his chest. He's not running this interchange, but he's right to step in and attempt to control the situation.
The buyer slams the lid shut then turns on Angus with a scowl. “And you expect us to pay the same price?” he sneers, and his tone makes it clear he has other plans. “Ten percent off or the deal dies right here on this fucking street.”
Ten percent on a shipment this size isn't pocket change. We're not giving up that much of the profit over one man's snippy opinion. I straighten and rest my hand on my weapon shoved into my waistband as Angus's shoulders square and his chest puffs out. He's preparing himself mentally for a fight he knowsmay happen, and I want to step in and make sure it doesn't. We can't afford noise around our trades right now.
I push off the wall and step out into the rain, striding across the street quietly. The moment I enter the circle of light, the buyers turn to face me and they all stand a bit taller. They know exactly who I am. The Kuzins may be new to this game, but we're not new to this city. Aligning with the Radin organization brought strength they didn't have. Just the looks on these bozos' faces proves it.
“Problem?” I ask, making it obvious my hand rests on my weapon. With as much anger and adrenaline as I've had pumping through my veins lately, I'm chomping at the bit for a good showdown.
The scarred man sizes me up from head to toe, eyes narrowing into slits. “Your boys are trying to rob us blind. These rifles are old stock. I want a discount, or we walk.”
"We made this deal weeks ago and we don't negotiate on the street. You take the deal we're offering or you walk with no weapons." My fingers itch to draw my weapon, but keeping this calm is a smarter go.
The man grins, revealing stained, crooked teeth, and says, “That's big talk from a pretty boy... Probably never got your hands dirty a day in your life. Go run along and let the big kids play."
His insult comes complete with a hand gesture, waving me off, but I don't intimidate easily. I thumb off the safety of my Makarov and pull it from my waistband, pointing it in his general direction. It makes every one of them reach for their weapons, my guys too.
“Careful,” I say softly. “Pretty boys still know how to paint walls red when necessary.”
If the tension was crackling before, it's arcing now, causing men to pull their guns and brace for trouble. Most of them take a cautious step backward, but the wiry rat with prison tattoos on his neck spits on the pavement and steps forward stupidly.
“We came here to do business, not get fucked over by some suit who hides behind Roman Kuzin’s name.”
