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“No she doesn’t,” I interject, before Sabrina can argue.
Sabrina throws me a look that’s far from grateful. She doesn’t want me to fight her battles for her. Especially not in the house.
“You better hurry before we run out of hot water,” I prod her.
“Yes, Dad.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m going.”
I know she’s being sarcastic, but it sends a pulse of heat through my chest all the same. I want to take care of Sabrina much more than she wants to receive it.
Following her up the stairs, I say, “You’ll be the most gorgeous woman at that wedding.”
Sabrina pauses halfway, up turning toward me.
“Are you worried about going when Zakharov is still looking for you? He’s knows you’re gonna be there.”
“He’s not invited, and even if he was, there’s no way he’d start shit today. Nikolai Markov would skin him alive if he ruined his daughter’s big day.”
“When are going to deal with him?”
“Soon,” I promise.
Our biggest point of conflict is how we prioritize what needs to be done. We’re in a constant state of triage, bleeding out in a thousand places. All we can do is plug the most critical holes first. The order of those actions is where Sabrina and I disagree.
Things have been tense between us.
She thinks I lied to her, luring her out here under the promise of partnership, while putting myself in a position of authority over her.
She’s not entirely wrong. I need to find a way to show her how much I value her intelligence and her initiative, even if I don’t always agree with her.
She’s integrating with the group, but she’s not just another soldier.
I have to show her how much she means to me.
We haven’t even had time to hook up the last few days. I’m aching for her. We need that physical contact to keep us connected—it’s crucial to our relationship.
While Sabrina showers, I run through a list of potential suppliers Jasper brought me.
He’s found a dozen different options, but none of them are great. None can provide all the ingredients we need, and I have to discard half the list on price, availability, or conflicting arrangements with rivals.
Sabrina emerges at last, lips painted, eyes smoky and catlike, hair piled up in cascading ringlets like Aphrodite. She’s wearing a plum-colored gown, draped and silky, the material clinging to her luscious curves by a few thin straps.
I haven’t seen her dolled up like this in weeks. She’s ravishing. My mouth waters, blood rushing into my cock.
In an instant, I’m up from the bed, seizing her by the shoulders and tearing the dress off her.
I’ve ripped Sabrina’s clothes plenty of times before. She loves when I’m ravenous for her, she loves when I’m rough.
This time, she shrieks with outrage, shoving me away.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She’s never pushed me away before. She’s never stopped me from fucking her, not even in the most inappropriate or hurried moments.
I’m off-balanced, confused.
She lifts the dangling shoulder strap, torn from the dress.
“You ruined it!”
