Chapter Six

“Thank you.”

Corrine’s murmur brushed over Sasha’s chest, the puff of her breath cooling his overheated, damp skin. A deep, heavy lethargy weighed down his limbs, infiltrated his bones. Another of the new things he’d never experienced before Corrine. Usually, after sex, a restless energy filled him, as if the orgasm left him wired. He’d never been drained…or complete. And he’d never lain beside a woman, content to have her draped over him like a blanket.

This—she—was an aberration, and the knowledge that it couldn’t last, that they couldn’t last, was the only thing prohibiting panic from sinking its claws into him.

“For what?” he asked. Unable to stop himself, he picked up a thick strand of her fiery hair and twisted it around his finger, thankful she’d removed the wig so he could touch the hair that had fascinated him from the very first. He waited for her reply, and when it didn’t come, he cupped her chin and nudged her head back. “For what?” he repeated.

Her long, thick lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from him. “I bet no one tells you what to do,” she said instead of answering his question.

He frowned, not grasping the meaning of her reply. He’d been speaking English for nearly twenty-two years, but sometimes this woman’s conversation made him wonder if some phrases still eluded him.

“Of course people have told me what to do,” he said. “Not lately, though.” Excluding the past few nights with her. His cock stirred at just the thought of her kneeling before him, controlling him even as he had his dick buried in her throat. Or of her straddling him, fucking him with slow, torturous slides.

She was right; not many people dared order him around. Since his father had issued his ultimatum, then disowned him, Sasha had maintained control over his own life.

Power was important, especially when involved in the mob. People would use and abuse if a person allowed it. In a world where trust was scarce and guarding your back was a necessity, he’d ensured no one would ever have him at their mercy. But being in constant control, always regarding others with suspicion, never letting go, was exhausting. And when Corrine had taken some of that power, demanding he submit some of that strength into her keeping, letting him just be for only a little while, he’d trusted her.

And it’d felt so goddamn good.

For once in longer than he could remember, he’d handed over that control, relieved that he could release it and in return receive an ecstasy that had shattered every concept of sex and pleasure he’d experienced and possessed.

She had no idea of the gift she’d given him. Of the power she wielded.

Of the fear she instilled.

“There has never been a time in my life where someone wasn’t handing out rules, making demands, issuing orders, and expecting me to follow them,” she said. “And for the most part, I did obey them. Maybe because it was easier to, maybe because I believed in the course they wanted me to travel. I don’t know. But in twenty-four years, I haven’t been in control of my own life, had no significant say-so. Until tonight.” Her lashes lifted, and her green eyes twisted something in his chest. “You gave me a glimpse of what it feels like to be strong, to take charge and own it.”

“You are strong, Corrine,” he murmured, brushing her tangled hair back from her face. “Brave. Sometimes it takes more strength to be still and quiet than to move. Maybe you just weren’t ready before. But someone once told me, it isn’t what you’ve done that defines you, but who you choose to be from this moment on.” His mother had uttered those words to him when he’d been lying in a hospital bed after having been shot.

“I’m so scared,” she rasped, jerking her head free of his grip on her chin and curling into him. As if she couldn’t face him for the confession. “Of everything. Of the life I’m walking back into as soon as I leave here. Of the brothers, cousins, and friends who are now strangers, as more and more things come out about the world I’ve blindly grown up in. Of…of my father,” she whispered. “Do you know C. Dunn?”

The switch in topics threw him, and for a second, he struggled to keep up. What did a sports columnist for an online newspaper have to do with her father? Or her, for that matter. “Yes. The sports journalist for The Beantown Globe. But I don’t see—”

“I’m C. Dunn,” she stated, tone flat.

Shock nailed him in the chest like a wildly thrown haymaker. He sat up, carrying her with him, his hands on her shoulders. His mind rifled through what he knew of the columnist: obviously knew his—no, her—sports, was witty, interesting, and hilarious, and a fanatic when it came to Boston’s home teams. Sasha couldn’t remember seeing a picture of the journalist, and then recollections of Corrine’s sports references and staunch defense of the Sox and Patriots ran through his head. Damn.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and the defensive gesture warred with the vulnerable tremble of her mouth. What? Did she expect him to ridicule her? Laugh?

“That’s fucking amazing,” he said, awe filling him. “God, Corrine,” he said, chuckling.

Some of the defiance leaked from her expression, uncertainty replacing it. “You believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Does the site know who you are?”

She nodded. “But I asked them to keep it a secret. Not only is it something that’s all mine, but…” Her expression darkened, and her arms tightened around her chest. “Do you know what my father would’ve done if he’d found out his daughter, who was supposed to be finding a husband and having babies, wrote a sports column? My parents, especially my father, have clearly defined ideas of who they want their daughter to be, and writing about baseball and football is not included in them. It didn’t—doesn’t—fit in with who he demands I should be. He would’ve forced me to quit, threatened my editor, and ruined the newspaper. And I knew what he was capable of before I found out who he really was.” She loosed a harsh bark of laughter. “How stupid does that make me?”

“Corrine…” He drew her closer, but she scooted away from him, taking the sheet to wrap under her arms and over her breasts like a shield.

“No.” She scooped a handful of her hair out of her face and shook her head, holding out a hand, halting his words. “The man who tucked me in at night…the man who walked me into school my first day of kindergarten…the man who stood and applauded the loudest at my high school and college graduations…he’s the same man who has pimped women, peddled drugs, and ordered murders. Maybe he didn’t personally stand on those corners dealing or shoot the guns, I don’t know. But he headed the organization that did. What would he have done to the people who had helped his daughter defy him? What would he have done to me? I hate myself for asking myself that question. Hate myself more because I don’t know the answer.”

Christ. Were these the same thoughts that had run through his mother’s head about him? Had she seen the son she’d raised and sacrificed for as a monster? He closed his eyes, exhaled, but the suffocating pressure in his lungs didn’t ease. Because he knew—he knew—the confusion and hurt that darkened Corrine’s eyes were a perfect reflection of what his mother had felt during the years she’d lived with the knowledge that her son was a criminal.

“Sasha?” Corrine’s hand cupped his jaw, and on instinct, he turned his mouth into her palm, seeking the heat his newfound revelation had leeched from his body. “Sasha, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just like your father.” He let the bald statement hang in the air between them.

Opening his eyes, he met her gaze, waiting to see the fear, condemnation, hate, and betrayal there. But after several seconds, they didn’t appear, and her thumb stroked his cheek…waiting. Sighing, he cupped her hand in his and lowered it, placing it in her lap and drawing back. It wasn’t right to allow her to continue to touch him when he had to tell her she’d become involved with a man who’d once existed in the same murky world her father ruled.

“I grew up in a neighborhood where the Irish mob ran nearly everything. And if they didn’t run it, they extorted it. My two best friends had been born into the life; their parents were heavily involved. And eventually, I became involved, too. At an early age, they ran errands, stole cars, collected debts. Killian and Rion were big for their age, and after the sixth grade, so was I. But while they didn’t really have a choice, I did. I loved it—the danger, the excitement, the rush, the money. My father, who had left everything in Russia to come to America in order to give his family a better life, hated what I’d become. He was a hard man, but he was also very proud. And having a thug as a son was something he couldn’t stomach or condone. When I was sixteen, he kicked me out of the house and his life, and as his wife, my mother cut me out of her life, too.”

“Sasha, I’m so sorry. God, you must’ve been so scared.” She reached for him again, took his hand in hers, and this time, he let her.

“Yeah, I was,” he admitted for the first time, even to himself. Even after Killian offered his home to him, he’d still been scared, rejected, and as grief-stricken as if his parents had really died. “My friends took me in, and I continued in that life. Corrine, my father had been a professor with degrees in Russia, and then when he came here, the only work he could get was as a janitor in a school. I saw him struggle, scrape to get by and provide for us, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be my own man, have everything I wanted. Even if it meant stealing to get it. I was damn good at it until one job.”

She didn’t interrupt but reached around him and stroked the bullet wound under his shoulder.

He nodded. “The guy who was in charge of casing the jewelry store didn’t know the owners had hired an extra security guard. I was shot—almost died. When I was in the hospital, my mother came to see me. Eleven years without a word from her, and she visited me, told me she was dying. And her only wish was to see me become the man she’d raised, the man she’d always believed I was capable of being.”

Cradling his jaw in her palm again, Corrine caressed his bottom lip. “And you did.”

“Eventually, I did,” he agreed. The road to leaving the mob hadn’t been easy…hadn’t been clean. He, Killian, and Rion had paid a heavy price. Maybe Killian more than he or Rion. Still, they’d escaped the mob life and granted his mother’s dying wish. At least, he hoped he had. She probably hadn’t meant owning a sex club, but it was legitimate. It was honest. He prayed that was enough.

“She would’ve been proud,” she murmured, as if reading his mind. “You’ve built something of your own that gives people the freedom to be who they are. To find who they could be. Like I did.”

Her compassion stunned him, momentarily stealing him of his voice.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You aren’t disgusted by me?” Relief flooded him, and it wasn’t until then he’d acknowledged how much her respect meant to him.

“Disgusted? Of course not. How could I be? I understand your reasons then, and you’ve changed your life now,” she murmured, kneeling beside him and tightening her hold on his face so it felt like an embrace. The sheet fell from her, baring her breasts and stomach to him, and while desire simmered inside him, it wasn’t the dominant emotion. He bracketed her hips with his hands, gratefulness rushing through him, humbling him. “Was it your mother who told you the past doesn’t define you?”

“Yes.”

“She was right. And she obviously knew you were more than a thief. She saw past your actions to you—the real you. She saw what I do. A man with a core of integrity and honor. A loyal man, protector, a warrior. Ragnar.”

“We really need to have a long discussion about the difference between Russians and Vikings, lisichka.” He smiled, surprised he was able to. Especially when her words simultaneously lifted a weight off his chest and strangled him. Threading his fingers through her hair, he gripped the thick strands. “If you can see that, then know it’s okay to still love your father, Corrine. There’s no shame in remembering and adoring the man who protected you. Whatever else he is, he was a good father to you. You can hate his actions and still love him. From someone who lost the love of his family because of his choices, don’t take that away from him, because in the coming weeks he’s going to lose everything else. Let him have that. And fuck those who don’t agree with it.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, but a single tear rolled down her cheek before falling between them. With a small whimper, she straddled his lap, jerking his head back, and covering his mouth with hers. He opened under her, accepting the thrust of her tongue and meeting it with one of his own. Desperation tainted the kiss, and he understood it. Escape. He could make her forget, if even for a little while, the emotions and loyalties tearing her apart. Burrowing his fingers in her hair, he gripped the strands and took control of the clash of tongues, lips, and teeth. He held her still as he fucked her mouth with forceful strokes and stinging bites. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. Finally, with a sigh, the tension stringing her so tight loosened, and she submitted to him, tilting her head, letting him take and give.

Rearing up, he tumbled her back onto the bed and crouched over her on his hands and knees, never breaking the erotic contact of their mouths. He swallowed each whimper and moan as his due, offering her his own in return. The woman had him hard as fuck and throbbing over a kiss.

He tore away from her, dragging his tongue down the slender column of her neck, over her collarbone, and to her breasts. With a growl, he sucked a nipple deep, trapping the peak between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He pulled on her, teasing the other tip until she twisted and cried out beneath him. Her fingers clutched his head, holding him to her while her hips bucked and rolled, stroking her wet sex over his cock. She was all liquid heat and soft flesh. Her body called to him, taunted him, stirred a need in him that could only be satisfied once he was buried balls-deep inside her.

Switching to the neglected breast, he ground his hips against her, getting himself drenched so the ride was slick and easy. Her heels dug into his ass as she pressed more of her breast into his mouth and rode him with a frantic, jerky rhythm that signaled her headlong rush to orgasm.

“Not yet,” he growled against her skin, levering his hips away from her. Her disappointed cry echoed in his ears. “The first time you come is going to be on my mouth. I’ve been waiting all night to taste you.”

His mouth watered for it. Sliding down her body, he clamped her writhing hips between his hands and dived for her, burying his tongue in her slit. He groaned, that first burst of sweet and tangy flavor exploding on his taste buds. Lowering his head, he lapped at the moisture glistening on her folds, losing himself in the pleasure of eating her pussy.

He moved to her clit, pursing his lips around it and sucking it at the moment he drove three fingers into her sex. Her scream rained down on him, and her twisting increased. She arched into his mouth, her slick, muscled walls clamping down on his fingers. He thrust inside her, coating his fingers in her liquid heat then sliding one down the path of skin that led to her ass.

“Sasha,” she rasped, stiffening, her fingers clenching and releasing on his head.

“Shh,” he soothed. “You’ve gone this far with me, lisichka, come a little further. Trust me.” While he spoke, he gently rimmed her hole, increasing the pressure with each pass, letting her become familiar with his touch. “You with me, baby?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed.

“Good girl.” In reward, he licked her clit even as he returned to her core and dipped his fingers inside, corkscrewing his wrist to drench himself in her. Then he shifted back to her ass, pressing a fingertip to the tiny entrance and groaning at the small fluttering of her muscles. “Relax for me. Push against my finger.” He waited until her body loosened and then slipped inside.

She whimpered, clenching around him. He stilled, lapping at her clit, sucking it, distracting her.

“Breathe and relax for me,” he instructed again. The glass-smooth channel clutched his finger, and his erection jumped like it’d penetrated her ass. “You feel so good. Let me in some more, baby. I can make you come so hard,” he promised.

Gradually, she loosened, and her breathing deepened.

“Okay?” he asked, glancing up her belly and breasts. Her eyes were wide and glazed in her flushed face, red strands sticking to her damp cheekbones.

“Yes,” she said. “I can feel you.” She broke off on a groan as he slid another inch inside her tunnel. “Oh God, I can feel you there.”

“Where, lisichka?” He crouched between her wide-spread thighs and thrust two fingers of his other hand deep inside her at the same time he buried the entire length of his finger in her back hole. “Talk to me. Where can you feel me?”

“In my pussy,” she whispered. Gasped. “In my ass. Everywhere.” A keening wail burst from her lips, and her walls contracted around him, spasming hard as she flew over the edge into orgasm.

“Fuck,” he growled, and sucking her, he finger-fucked her from both ends, riding her through the release that shook her body and pulled scream after scream from her throat. Goddamn, she was beautiful. Uninhibited as she took his hard strokes, her knees pulled to her chest, her behind lifted into each thrust.

As soon as she stopped milking his finger, he stretched over to the bedside table, jerked open the drawer, and quickly ripped open a condom. In seconds, he’d sheathed himself and was buried inside her.

He grunted as he tunneled through her taut core, the passage tight from its recent orgasm. Clenching his teeth, he fell over her, his hands slamming to the mattress on either side of her head. He captured her mouth, letting her taste herself on his tongue, and fucked her with a fervor that boarded on animalistic. It was primal, the need to plunge inside her over and over, as instinctive as breathing. He needed her, needed her wet, slick embrace over his cock, needed her to take him to oblivion.

His hips slammed into hers over and over, and her nails scored his ass as she took every stroke, every thrust. Electric currents raced down his spine, sizzling in his lower back, in the soles of his fucking feet. His balls drew tight, and he hurt with the need to come. Hovering right on that edge, but damn it, not wanting to dive over. Not wanting this erotic torture to end. But fuck, he wanted…needed…

“Let go.” Like earlier, her whispered command reached him through the roar of lust, infiltrating the din in his head. Giving him permission to lose that last, unraveling thread of control. “Let me catch you.”

Oh God. He exploded, her words—her assurance—shoving him over the crumbling ledge. He plummeted headfirst into ecstasy, into the fire, into the black. And her arms closed around him, holding him close.

She had him.