Page 58 of The Killer Card

Love of my life don’t ever leave me.

Dragging the leather strap of the crop up my abs she smirks. “Patience is a virtue, pretty boy,” she reminds me. I shiver when she brings the crop between us, using it to tilt my head back into the position she desires. My breathing is ragged, chest heaving, but I don’t move an inch that she doesn’t command. “There we go. You listen so well with the right motivation.”

My cock twitches at her praise, rigid and leaking like a faucet onto my stomach. If she were to lean back and just graze me right now I’d go off like a canon. And she knows it. This woman knows exactly what she does to me with her words alone.

Slowly, too fucking slowly, she lowers her hips until I can finally swipe my tongue through her center. The groan that rumbles from my chest is primal, the moan she echoes back pure sin.

I can’t take it anymore. She can beat me black and blue, I don’t give a shit. I dig my fingers into her hips and firmly yank her down until she is fully seated on my face. She throws her head back on a shocked cry when I plunge my tongue inside her, feasting on her core like it’s my last meal.

“Graham—” She gasps, tugging at my hair. “Fuck, you’re so- AH!”

I fuck her deep with my tongue, pulling out to circle her clit with powerful strokes that have her already quivering. This might be the fastest I make her come. Maybe I’ll do it twice, I haven’t quite decided. I do know that if she doesn’t stop moaning like that I’m going to blow my load all over her back.

She’s grinding her hips against my face, chasing the strokes of my tongue and I help her along, wanting nothing more than for her to find the pace that makes her shatter instantly. Her hand spasms, the crop falling to the bed, allowing her to place a hand against the wall when her legs fail to hold her up any longer.

“Fuck, Graham—” She gasps. “I’m gonna- I’m—”

Come for, mamí. Come on—

She screams, slamming her hand against the wall and I mentally apologize to my neighbors for the noise. I have no doubt I’ll be the reason a polite please be considerate email is sent by the office tomorrow. But I don’t give a fuck because Naomi comes so hard on my tongue she nearly rips the hair from my head.

She’s still wrecked from it, quivering and gasping, when I flip her onto her back, lining my cock up with her dripping entrance. She has the nerve to glare at me when she says, “This is not being patient- Fuck!” Her head falls back when I slide inside her in one hard thrust.

“Punish me later, mi reina,” I growl. “Do your worst. Va a valer la pena- Verga, mujer—”

I’m losing control of my English being inside her. I was already on the verge of coming just tasting her, but being inside her is like nothing else in the world.

“I’m not going to last long, mi reina,” I growl. “Etes perfectamente arrecha.”

She’s screaming too loud to even make sense of the obscenities I start muttering in her ear. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me. Going to make you come so hard you see stars.” Not that she could understand a word anyway, because even with my brain scattered to the winds I know not a lick of it is in English.

“Graham!”

She cries out my name, her nails clawing into my back deep enough to leave scars- I hope they leave scars- as she shatters under me. And like an animal I growl as I follow her over the edge, spilling deep inside her where I fucking belong. She’s mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“You’re a fucking treasure,” I breathe into her ear. “I think I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you…”

She goes rigid beneath me and I curse. Fuck, did I say that in English? I can hardly think straight. I’m still seeing stars. It wouldn’t surprise me if I slipped and finally admitted to her that I fucking love her with my every breath.

“What…” Her voice trembles.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, raising up on my hands. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to quickly clear my head. “I didn’t mean to say that. Just forget I said anything—”

“Graham,” she snaps and I blink my eyes open to find her glaring at me suspiciously. “Did you just…. Was that fucking Russian?!”

Oh. “Well…” I sigh, bowing my head. “Fuck…”

✽✽✽

"You speak Russian.”

I don’t answer her as I pour myself two fingers of vodka into a chilled short glass. I holed up the bottle in question. “Yes,” she says, then as I pour her drink. “You never said you spoke Russian.”

“You never asked.” I walk her drink over to her on the bed, leaning against the headboard at her side.

She watches me take a sip, mirroring my actions. “How long?” She asks.

With a shrug, I raise the glass to my lips again. “My whole life.”