“Another two inches, but who’s counting?” He sucked the surprise off her lips. While she rocked back and forth. The buzzing at her tailbone shifted every bone in her groin. And he hadn’t even hit her anus, yet. But damn… Damn, damn, damn.

She raked her fingers through his hair, holding on to his kiss while her pussy held onto his dick. Sucking open and closed as she slid down a little lower. Aided by the moisture dripping down her pussy.

He dragged his lips away from hers, and she gave a little mew in protest. He ignored it and his lips scorched a path down to the crook of her shoulder. Pushing her backward to suck on her collarbone. His lips drove further, arching her backwards, into a deeper arch over his hands. Until he pulled her breast up to suck the whole tit into his mouth. Stuffing himself. She was more than a mouthful, but his mouth was as ravenous as her pussy. Working to get as much as he could before pulling back to the tip and biting down. She told him rough. And he delivered. Gnawing on her nipple before sliding over to the other and resuming his attack. Leaving her nipples red, but not raw, until they hummed and vibrated in time with her tailbone. The drench of her juices slid her pussy home.

She celebrated by wrapping her calves around his butt and rocking closer. Their pelvises grinding each other like motar and pestle.

His head nudged her back, gaping a space between their bodies with his kiss while his vibrating finger snaked between them. He pressed the electric finger on top of her clit. Not the lips, not the top of her mound. Her freaking clit! The direct contact had her climbing up his tree trunk, like Jack chasing the golden goose.

She leaped up but slid back down. Rocking forward, she followed the rhythm he set.

A slave to his rocking, Up, down, he lifted and sank her. Swirling around in a circle. He gasped. She moaned. Sweat drenched them as they worked like laborers in a field, gathering every piece of forbidden fruit. Taking, giving, sharing. But always there was more and more. Until her legs shook, until her pussy wept. Until his cock spat his pleasure in gasps and blasts that coated her walls. Drenching them even more. Until her heart pounded its way to her brain. Exploding everything she thought she knew about sex. Until there was nothing left.

And even then her poor pussy wept. Until the water dripped from her eyes, and she closed them in surrender.

Chapter 8

Jessalyn dropped onto the pillow. Rurik lay down on his, as well. He didn’t have women stay or visit in his suite. There were rooms downstairs for that. But even then, he rarely had visitors. Visitors led to familiarity. And what was the point? He could never give a woman what she wanted. He folded his hands behind his head and sighed. His heart questioned what it knew very well to be true. It didn’t have room for anybody other than family. Not when he was exactly what she’d said: a crazy Russian Mafia killer.

“That was… I can’t…” She panted beside him.

His chest puffed up like a high schooler who’d given his first orgasm. “Yes dove, how was it?” He smiled up at the skylight. Not surprised by her silence. His chest inflated even more. Filled like a balloon.

“Have you done that a lot?” She wheezed out on a heavy exhale. “You must have a lot of experience teaching women how to ride your… organ.”

The words shanked the balloon, spitting his good mood across the room. Why did women ask questions they didn’t want the answer to? He glared at the dark sky.

“I guess that was not appropriate, huh?” She sighed. “It’s just… you’re so good in bed. You must have slept with a lot of women to…”

Hundreds. He turned on his side to face her. “None were my wife.”

She rolled over to face him. “Do you think we’ll really make it? Like really be husband and wife?”

His nostrils flared. How many times did he have to convince her? How many ways? “It will work as long as we trust each other. Can I trust you, dove?”

She plopped onto her back, balling her hands into fists by her side. “If you trusted me, you would let me go.”

“But would I though?” He traced an errant curl draped across her shoulders. He liked her hair down like this. Every day for three weeks she’d worn it tied up, all the curls restrained on top of her head. But the rich, deep, black river of hair flowing soft and free across his pillow was better, far better.

She turned back to him. “Sanyet, I would never betray your secrets. They are safe with me. I swear it.”

“Prove it. Tell me one of yours.”

Her eyes closed, and she rolled away again, her fists returning to their clenched balls. “What if my secrets involve other people? My family?”

“Okay, start there. Tell me about your family.”

“You already know I live with my mother.”

“And your father…”

She turned her head to the opposite wall. Her fists strained until her knuckles glowed white. “What is there to tell? My father was the son of poor Mexican immigrants. He worked hard. Respected his parents, loved his wife. Treasured his daughter….” She grinned. “Of course, I was easy to love.”

“Of course,” he deadpanned.

“Life was wonderful. Leave it to Beaver or The Cosby Show. Until he was murdered at their bodega during a robbery attempt.”

“Did the police ever catch the guy?” Because he could. Or Ven could. Once his brother started in with his computers, no one could hide. It would take time if the case was cold, but cold cases could heat with the right amount of pressure.

Tags: Jailaa West Crime
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