Page 116 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

"Look at yourself," I say, and my voice comes out like gravel.

She does. I watch her eyes in the mirror travel over her own body, over my hands where they rest on her bare thighs, over the flush spreading across her chest.

"He touched you here." My hand moves to her waist, to the exact place Velenko's fingers had closed. I press my palm flat against it, covering the ghost of his grip. "No one touches you here."

"Not even you?" she asks, and the challenge in her voice is razor-thin.

I squeeze. She gasps. "Especially me."

My other hand slides up her ribcage, slow, deliberate, until my palm covers her breast. She arches into it, and the sight of it in the mirror—my large hand over her, her back curving, her head tipping against my shoulder—makes my cock strain against my trousers so hard it hurts.

"You're wet already," I say. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric still clinging to her hips.

"Shut up."

"Tell me to stop." My thumb drags across her nipple, and she makes a sound she immediately tries to swallow. "Say the word, and I stop."

She says nothing. Her hips shift on my lap, pressing back against my erection, and I bite down on the groan that rises in my throat.

"Lift your hips," I say.

She braces her hands on my thighs and rises just enough. I strip the last piece of fabric down her legs, and then she's bare on my lap, and the mirror shows everything—the length of her legs, the curve of her hips, the slick shine between her thighs that she can't hide.

"Look at you," I breathe. "Look at how fucking beautiful you are."

Her eyes meet mine in the glass, and they're burning.

I free myself one-handed, roll a condom on with practiced efficiency, and position myself beneath her. "Lower yourself. Slowly. I want you to see it."

She sinks down inch by inch, and the angle gives the mirror a full view of my cock disappearing inside her. She watches. Her mouth falls open. Her thighs shake.

"Oh, God," she whispers.

"That's right." I grip her hips, holding her still for a moment, because if she moves too fast I'll lose this. "Look at that. Look at how you take me."

"Stop talking."

"No." I lift my hips, driving deeper, and she cries out. "You watch. You wanted to be seen tonight. So see yourself."

I start to move, lifting her slightly with each thrust so that the mirror catches the rhythm—my cock sliding out, glistening, then pushing back in. The visual is filthy. The wet sound of it is worse. She's dripping down my shaft, and every stroke makes her clench tighter.

"Dmitri—" Her voice breaks.

"Tell me." I thrust harder, and her body jolts. "Tell me how it feels."

"Like I'm going to die." Her hands grip my knees, knuckles white. "Like you're going to break me."

"I won't break you." I drive up deep, and she screams. "But I will take you apart."

Her head falls back against my shoulder. I cup her jaw and force her eyes back to the mirror.

"Watch," I say. "Don't look away."

She watches. Her own reflection stares back at her, fucked open and shaking on my lap, and the sight pushes her over. She comes with a broken moan, clenching around me in pulses that make my vision blur. Her whole body arches, and I hold her hips down and fuck her through it, hard, relentless, until my own orgasm tears through me from the base of my spine.

I bury myself to the hilt and come inside the condom with a groan I muffle against her neck. My hips jerk involuntarily, once, twice, and I feel her tighten around me one final time before the aftershocks fade.

I hold her against me and understand one thing for sure. Velenko touched her to send a message, and now I’m going to answer it.