I shoved the waistband down on my underwear, gripped my cock, and buried myself as deep inside her pussy as I could get. Her gasp of satisfaction was better than any music she composed. More real and perfect, and I could listen to it forever.
She raked her fingers down my back, scoring my flesh, but I ignored the sting and pounded into her. I mumbled Serbian against her collarbone, and she murmured back to me in Russian. We didn’t understand the words, but knew exactly what the other was saying.
The fuck was rough, and fast, and so amazing, I lost control way too soon. After I came, I pulled out and slid my middle two fingers inside her. I fucked her like that, my fingers sticky wet with my own cum, until her pussy clamped down in rhythmic pulses and she flung her head back in orgasm.
“Christ,” I groaned, “there’s nothing sexier than watching you come.” I collapsed beside her, my arm thrown over her chest, and tugged her tight against me. It felt so fucking nice, I made the decision instantly. “You sleep here from now on.”
She inhaled sharply, and her word was barely audible, but I heard it anyway.
“Okay.”
?
It’d been a shit day at the dealership. Some fuckhead crashed a BMW during his test drive and totaled the thing, and I wanted to shove my Glock up his ass and pull the trigger until the magazine was empty. On top of that, one of our coke dealers had gotten busted for, of all things, solicitation. Like he hadn’t a clue we could get him any kind of ass he wanted, and ass that wasn’t secretly attached to a cop.
I came in from the garage, tired from the day. I yanked off my coat, tossed it in the closet, and headed for the living room—
Why did it smell like a goddamn pine forest in the house?
I skidded to a stop in the kitchen, noticing the new addition in the living room. “What the hell is that?”
“I chopped down an evergreen on the golf course,” Oksana said from behind the piano.
My pulse jumped. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.” Because if she wasn’t and someone found out, the association would bill me thousands of dollars.
A faint smile twitched on her lips. “They were selling trees on the lot outside the grocery store. John helped me set it up.” Whatever song she was playing stopped, and the opening bars of O Holy Night came from the piano.
I glared at the undecorated tree. Christmas was only a few days away, and I’d dragged my feet long enough I thought I could avoid the whole fucking thing.
The song cut off and she stood from the bench, her expression filled with concern. “You don’t like it? I got it half-price—”
“It’s fine,” I ground out.
I didn’t convince either of us, and Oksana took a hesitant step toward me. “What is it?”
“You bought a Christmas tree, which you’re probably going to want to decorate.” The knot of my tie gave me trouble and I yanked it off in frustration, tossing it on the kitchen counter. I set my hands on the cold granite and leaned on it.
“I don’t understand why that’s . . . upsetting,” she said quietly.
“All my Christmas shit’s in the basement.” I said it like she should get it, even though she wouldn’t. I sighed. “I haven’t been down there since I killed my father.”
Her lips parted with surprise, but it was forever before she spoke. “I’ll have John get rid of it in the morning.”
“No.” I pushed off the counter and straightened. I was being a coward about this. My father had deserved to die for what he’d done, so why did I care so much about going down in the basement? Luka and Addison had helped me clean it up. There was nothing down there but memories, and wasn’t I stronger than some stupid fucking ghost?
“Come on,” I said, forcing my tone to be indifferent. “Help me carry the boxes so I don’t have to make as many trips.”
“I can go get them—”
I cut her off by marching to the basement door and gripping the knob. When I’d been a kid, the unfinished basement had scared me. It was dark. Full of shadows, spider webs, and strange noises, and as I got older, I learned all the secrets that lurked down there.
It was easy to wash blood off the floor because it sloped toward the drain in the center of the room. There was a well-window beside the side door to the garage. It meant nothing had to go through the main house if you didn’t want it to.
The stairs creaked as I went down, and I could hear her following me. Even when I flipped the switch at the base of the steps and the bare bulb flicked on, the place felt like a cave. Cold, dark, and damp. I stared at the pockmark on the far wall. My bullet had gone clean through my father’s head, and Luka had been forced to dig the slug out of the concrete.