He stops.
“Condom,” I say breathlessly. I don’t want to repeat our mistake.
“I gave you a birth control shot.”
“You did what?”
He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t explain. He takes my body like he took my life, without making excuses. The physical possession is more than fucking. It’s a statement, proof that his power over me stretches further than defeating me with strength or words.
When I’m close to coming, he climbs onto the bed and pulls me on top of him. Gripping my ass, he sets the pace, keeping release just out of my reach. Sadistically, he watches the agony on my face as he cups my breasts over the lace of the bra and denies me relief. It’s a lesson, a demonstration of who holds the power.
Sweat covers my body. My skin is slick. I’m raw inside. “Yan.”
He slaps my ass, grabbing a handful of flesh. “Who owns your life?”
I don’t want to say it, don’t want to admit it. Stubbornly, I bite my cheek.
His fingers tighten on my thighs as he increases his assault, bringing me so close I want to cry with frustration. I need just a little more. When I reach for my clit, he grabs my arms and bends them behind my back.
“All you have to do is say it.” He slows his movements to a leisurely roll of his hips.
I grit my teeth so I won’t beg.
“One word, Mina.”
I can’t take it anymore. I break. “You.”
He lets go of my arms to grip my hips. Bracing me, he gives me what I want, what I’ve earned with a word.
He slams up and orders, “Touch yourself.”
I drag circles with my finger around my clit. He watches with concentration, learning what pleases me. When the orgasm hits, I don’t have enough strength left to remain upright. I fall over his chest even as he picks up his rhythm to find his own release. He comes shortly after, his seed bathing my body with more proof of what I’ve become.
Depleted, I lie sprawled out over him.
Beaten.
In his bed, I lost the war I started against the wall.
15
Yan
The woman lying on my chest doesn’t cry, but she wants to. I know what vanquishment looks like. Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her close and give her what I can, whatever I’m capable of. I hate her for what she’s done, but I own her. That gives me a responsibility toward her.
My anger is gone. It burned out with the wild sex, vanished when my cock softened and slipped out of her body with my seed. What’s left in the wake of our fire is a wet spot on the sheets and the cold ashes of reason. With that comes a tinge of regret. Ilya was right. Mina fucked me with her own, justified motivations. I had no right to see more into it.
Whatever the case, she’s here now, and she’s staying.
Rubbing her back, I ask, “What do you need the money for?” Because I said things and I feel guilty. A strange sentiment for me.
It takes her a moment to answer. “A girl has to live.”
“Taking care of you is my job now.”
“Am I not allowed to be proud?”
I admire that. It pisses me off that I find it endearing. Unnecessary, but cute. Still, my voice is harder than intended when I ask, “And exactly how much were you hoping to earn?”
She intertwines her fingers on my chest and rests her chin on her hands. “How much is the hit worth?”
I smile. Nice try.
She shrugs when I don’t bite. “A million.”
I raise my brow.
She huffs. “Five hundred thousand?”
She looks so hopeful with her big, doll-like blue eyes I can’t help but drag my fingers through her hair. Fine. What is giving her a little pride when I’ve taken her freedom?
“Tell me what you’re going to do with the money.”
She bends her legs and crosses her ankles. “Shoes, handbags, jewelry.”
Why does the thought of her splurging on the things women like send a jolt of heat straight to my chest? I’ve never wanted to play house, but imagining her wearing pretty things, dresses to look good just for me, has an unexpected appeal. She’s joking a little. Her half-smile says so, but I suddenly want that: the shoes, handbags, and jewelry. The illusion.
I tangle my fingers in her hair. “You know what will happen if you let the information slip, right, princess?” Despite all the sweetness she makes me feel, I can’t go soft.
“Yes.” She doesn’t wince or blink. She gets me. She understands how it works because she’s part of my world.
“Good.”
She pulls on my chest hair. “Does that mean it’s a yes? Five hundred?”
I catch her hand. “We’ll see.”
She presses her cheek to my chest, but not before I glimpse her smile. “Who ordered the hit?”
Whether I like it or not, she’s in on this. She’s in on my life, because I’m never letting her out of my sight again. “Government.”