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“Don’t worry. My cock won’t go anywhere near your ass for the rest of the night, but there’s my tongue.” I reached beneath him to cup his soft cock, still wet at the tip. “Plus, I want to play with this some more.”

Stas went rigid. “I’m…much smaller than you.”

“Most men are.”

I licked a stripe up from his taint and hummed as I lapped at his hole. Stas moaned, tilting his hips and bracing on his forearms. Who would have known the grumpy Bratva killer was such a slut for having his ass eaten?

No, not Bratva.

In this hotel room, he’s just Stanislav, a man I’ve tasted and want more than the air I breathe.

“Most people have a problem with my size,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear the words.

“I’m not most people, Stanislav. I’m happy with what you’ve got, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Burying my face between his cheeks, I squeezed his ass, squishing the perfect globes against my face as I hummed. No, I wasn’t just happy. I was fucking ecstatic with what he had.

17

STAS

Adeep, throbbing ache settled low in my back and hips. No doubt bruises were blooming everywhere Yuriy’s hands had held me down, everywhere his body had driven me past sense and into something I still wasn’t ready to name. Muscles I didn’t know I had protested when I shifted.

Jesus. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. A very motivated truck with way too much stamina.

I popped my eyes open and frowned. The space beside me was empty. Rumpled sheet, dented pillow, but empty. The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. The room was too quiet.

I wasn’t alone.

I sensed someone lurking, their attempt to mask their breathing.

Yuriy?

Or…

Even if it was Yuriy, how well could I trust him? He could have fucked me last night to make me vulnerable before gutting me like he’d always wanted to.

Had I been wrong about him?

I slid my hand under the pillow, curling my fingers around my gun, cold, familiar, grounding. In the middle of the night, I’d woken up, spooning Yuriy. With the aftermath of the sex wearing off, I’d spent ten minutes in the bathroom questioning my sanity and debating whether leaving would salvage what was left of my dignity that hadn’t shattered on Yuriy’s cock.

In the end, I’d tucked my gun under my pillow and then went straight back to cuddling him, my body molding against his like it belonged there. Because the man who’d once held a knife to my throat now held the memory of how he’d undone me—how he’d pulled sounds from me I didn’t know I could make.

The same fingers that had plotted my murder had traced constellations on my skin, and god help me… I didn’t trust him, but I craved the way he’d made me feel. I hadn’t slept this soundly in a long time, not since Yelena’s elopement, not since my constant worry for her welfare.

A slow breath filled my lungs as I rolled, body screaming at the movement. I aimed at the shadow standing near the end of the bed.

The intruder didn’t flinch.

“Morning to you too, lover,” Yuriy drawled around a loud, deliberate crunch of an apple, the sound echoing through the quiet room like he’d done it on purpose. “Most people go for a hello, maybe a good-morning kiss after an unforgettable night, but you? Straight to the gun.”

He lifted the apple in a mock toast. “I respect the commitment to foreplay. If that’s your kink, you can press the muzzle to my head next time we fuck. And when we eventually end up in couples’ therapy for trying to murder each other for the past decade, I want it stated for the record that I was a very supportive partner.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, not lowering the gun. My body was still in fight mode, half from the soreness, half from leftover distrust at the sight of Yuriy. The feeling refused to die quietly even after the night we’d had.

“What are you doing sneaking around?” I raked a hand through my hair.

“I was watching you sleep, contemplating the best way to wake you up. Too late now, but just so we’re clear, would you prefer waking up to a blow job or me eating your ass next time?”