Page 44 of Viper’s Reign

Then I take him all the way in, sucking hard. His body tenses beneath me, his thighs going rigid as he comes with a long and deep groan that pulls straight at my core.

Jets of hot cum fill my mouth, and I swallow eagerly, the thick, bitter-salt taste coating my throat. I stroke and suck him through the spasms, drawing out every shudder the way he does with me, until he slumps back in his seat, drained. Only then do I release him with a wet pop, swiping my tongue over my lips to catch the last traces of his cum.

The emptiness inside of me is held at bay… for now.

I stare up at him, almost proud of myself. Since we met, he’s wrecked me plenty of times, but this is the first time I feel like I’ve taken control. The idea is intoxicating and my head spins with the realization.

His breathing is still heavy, eyes dark and hooded as he cups my jaw, brushing his thumb over my swollen lips. “I’m not sure I’ll survive you, Plamyashka,” he says huskily, but the satisfied curve of his mouth tells me he loved every second.

The car jerks to a stop, and I glance outside, startled. I’d nearly forgotten we were in a moving vehicle.

We’ve pulled up to a pair of looming gates that are already sliding open. Beyond them, armed men move along the perimeter, nodding at the car as we pass. A cold weight sinks into my stomach, replacing the pit.

Where are we?

I’d assumed he’d take me to a hotel or a penthouse after the wedding, somewhere I could slip away from without drawing attention. Not a private estate with gates and armed patrol and a road so long I can’t see the end of it.

My gaze desperately wants to drift to my clutch, but I stop it. I can’t afford to make Dimitri any more suspicious than he might already be. Hopefully, I’ve distracted him enough to buy some time. I need to figure out my next step, fast.

I shut my eyes for a brief second and try not to think about the secret compartment I stitched into my clutch last night. This is supposed to end tonight, but if he finds out what I’m hiding in there, what I’m supposed to give him, then I won’t get a choice. Not that I have one. Millie is and will always be my priority, no matter how Dimitri makes me feel.

I open my eyes and stare out the window. We drive down the empty road for what feels like an eternity before the first house appears, a three-story mansion set far back from the road with its own gated entrance. Two more follow after that.

Finally, the car slows and turns into the driveway of a picture-perfect two-story building with a dark-green roof. When I glance back at Dimitri, he’s got his cock back in his pants and is dragging his hand through his hair.

I shouldn’t, but part of me desperately wants to lean into him one last time and just… I don’t know. Be. Instead, I reach out and lightly brush my thumb along his chin.

“Where are we?” I ask.

A predatory glint flickers in his eyes. “Home.”

Before I can ask anything else, his driver opens the door and ushers me out. I step out slowly, tilting my head back to admire the building. It’s beautiful in a domestic, unassuming way.

“You live here?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. He’s a bachelor, a confirmed playboy… and he lives here.

“When I need distance from the chaos of the city.” He steers me up the front steps and types a code at the door.

I gulp. There really is no going back now.

Inside, the house is all gleaming tiles and beige walls. Beautiful frames of his family are on one side of the wall—his twin sister, brothers, and an older woman who looks remarkably like Mira. I saw her at the wedding. It must be his mom.

This is home to him.

My heart squeezes.

Why did he have to bring me here?

“Do you bring all your women here?” The question comes out sharper than I intended, edged with what I’m embarrassed to identify as jealousy, which is ridiculous, given the circumstances.

Dimitri raises a brow. “No. You’re the only woman outside of my family to set foot in this house. Ever. I’ve prepared a special room for you. Two, actually. We’re headed to the first one now.”

My stomach flutters, and then catches, because his face has shuttered. For a second, I swear I see anger in his eyes. No, not just anger. Fury.

I frown at him, but it’s gone so fast I wonder if I was imagining it.

What does he have to be angry with me about? Well, a lot, technically—but he doesn’t know that.

Right?