I set a punishing pace, driving into her hard enough that the dresser bangs against the wall with each thrust. She meets me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling against mine, taking everything I give her and demanding more.
"Look at me," I command, and her eyes snap open. "I want to see you when you come."
She holds my gaze as I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing tight circles. Her inner muscles start to flutter, and I know she's close.
"That's it, baby. Let go."
"Only if you come with me," she gasps out breathlessly. Those words almost make me come that second. For answer, I grasp her hips tighter and increase my pace. "Now!" she cries out. Her inner walls pulse along my cock, milking it, and I can't hold offany longer even if I wanted to. I let go with a growl, sinking as deep as possible inside her. She squeezes her legs even tighter around my waist, holding me there while my body pulses and I shudder with the exquisite pleasure.
When I can breathe somewhat normally again, I lift her off the dresser and carry her to the bed, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her.
She curls against my side, her head on my chest, and I pull the covers over us both.
"I'm not the same man who ordered the hit on you," I say quietly into the darkness. "But I'm not entirely the man Sasha from the cabin, either."
She's quiet for so long, I think she might have fallen asleep. Then her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. "Who are you, then?"
"Something in between." I press a kiss to her hair. "I'm trying to figure that out."
"Let me know when you do." Her voice is already heavy with sleep.
I hold her as her breathing evens out, as she drifts into sleep, still pressed against my side. The moonlight streams through the window, painting her face in silver, and I realize with absolute certainty that I'll do whatever it takes to keep her.
It's not just about her safety anymore. It's not about protecting an asset or maintaining appearances or any of the logical reasons I've been telling myself.
I've fallen in love with her.
I'm in love with Lena Orlova, and that scares the shit out of me.
45
LENA
The private jet cuts through clouds like a knife through silk, and I press my forehead against the cool window, watching the landscape transform beneath us. City gives way to suburbs, suburbs to farmland, farmland to the wild, untamed mountains I called home for three years.
My stomach churns, though whether from the altitude or the pregnancy or the sheer anxiety of returning to Montana, I can't tell. Probably all three.
"You okay?" Aleksandr's voice is low, meant only for my ears.
"Fine." I don't look at him, just keep my eyes on the mountains growing larger as we descend. "Just thinking."
His hand finds mine on the armrest, fingers lacing through mine with a possessiveness that should annoy me but doesn't. The gesture surprises me more than the touch itself. He's not a man who shows affection in front of his soldiers, yet here he is, holding my hand like it's the most natural thing in the world.
I glance at him. He's focused on his laptop, reviewing something that makes his jaw tighten, but his thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. The contrast between the cold calculation on his face and the gentle touch is strange.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks without looking up from his screen.
"How different everything looks from up here." I turn back to the window. "When I drove out here three years ago, I was terrified. Every mile felt like I was driving deeper into exile. Now I'm flying back in a private jet with a Mob boss holding my hand. Life is weird."
His mouth quirks. "Is that what I am? A Mob boss?"
"Pakhan sounds too formal. Crime lord sounds too dramatic." I squeeze his fingers. "Mob boss has a nice ring to it."
"I'll update my business cards." He closes the laptop and turns to face me fully. Those gold eyes search my face, reading things I don't want him to see. "You're nervous."
"Observant."
"It's my job to notice things." His free hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Talk to me."