He knelt at her side as he unfastened the button and zip on her jeans before pulling them and her panties down the silky length of her legs and then discarded them altogether. Next came the removal of her T-shirt and bra, before he dropped them on top of the pile of her clothes now on the floor.

  He drew his breath in sharply as he looked down at her completely naked body in the glow given off by the low wall lights. She was fucking perfect. He’d had absolutely no idea what his perfect woman looked like, or even if he had one, until he first saw Marisha. She was it for him in every way, from the top of her silky dark hair, down to her pert breasts, slender waist, curvaceous hips, and slender legs.

  Legs Jericho now parted so that he could gaze his fill of her red, swollen, and glistening pussy lips as he threw off his T-shirt. He stood and quickly shed his jeans and fitted boxers.

  Marisha hadn’t moved when he knelt between her thighs, his thick and engorged cock jutting forward, pre-cum dripping from the swollen head.

  “Do you think I should shave down there?” Marisha prompted when she saw the way he was staring at the glistening arousal between her thighs. “I read somewhere that men find a woman’s bare mound erotic.”

  “The hell you did!” he grated, moving up the bed until his legs were straddling either side of Marisha’s waist and pinning her to the bed. “As no other men will be seeing your mound, I’m happy with it just the way it is, thank you very much.” His hands moved to cup and squeeze each of her breasts. “And what have you read about a man’s preferences in these?”

  She smiled up at him. “That they don’t care if they’re big or small, or if the nipples are pale or dark, as long as they can suck them and they’re responsive.”

  “Hm, let’s test that theory, shall we?” Jericho lowered his head until he was able to suck and lick one nipple to an engorged peak before doing the same with its twin. All the time he did so, Marisha groaned and squirmed with pleasure. “Yep, very responsive.” He nodded his approval. “Let’s see how this feels,” he murmured as he placed his engorged cock between her breasts before pushing them together. “God, yes,” he groaned as he slowly fucked his cock in and out between Marisha’s soft breasts.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marisha loved the look of ecstasy on Jericho’s face as he made love to her breasts. He thrust high enough for her to lift her head and lick the viscous pre-cum from the glistening head. It tasted exactly as she remember, salty and sweet together, and totally addictive.

  She moved up onto her elbows to make it easier for her to lick and suck the release from that cockhead every time Jericho thrust his hips forward.

  He released her breasts as he sat back before surging forward, his hands either side of her head on the pillow as he stared hotly at her moist and parted lips. “Open them for me,” he groaned before moving forward enough that his cockhead was now between her parted lips. “Please suck me. Harder and deeper,” he encouraged gruffly once his cock was inside her mouth. “God, yes,” he groaned as she sucked him so far into the moist cavern of her mouth, it hollowed out her cheeks.

  Each forward movement released more and more of his pre-cum down the back of her throat. Thick. Delicious. Plentiful.

  He finally, reluctantly, pulled back. “I’m hungry for the taste of you,” he explained before moving to lie between her parted thighs and feast on the heat and slickness of her pussy before pressing his tongue deeper inside her.

  Marisha’s head dropped back on the pillows as she arched her back. It pushed his tongue deeper inside her as the fingers of one hand played with and squeezed her nipples and the other explored between the dampness of her thighs.

  His coated his fingers in that wetness before exploring farther back, using that lubrication to loosen the tight ring of muscle before pushing the tip of one finger inside her. Marisha’s body immediately tensed.

  He raised his head to look up at her with fevered eyes. “Trust me,” he encouraged gruffly.

  She already trusted Jericho. They might not have known each other for weeks or months or had a traditional relationship, but she knew she would trust Jericho with her life if it ever became necessary.

  She reached down to thread her fingers through the silky softness of his hair. “I’d like to feel you inside me when we both come.”

  His throat moved as he swallowed. “Are you sure you want to give me your innocence?”

  “Positive,” she answered without hesitation.

  “It’s a big step. Irreversible.”

  “I want it,” she insisted. “I want you.”

  They might not be at the stage where they could say “I love you” to each other, but Marisha had known from the first second she heard Jericho outside the room she was locked in that he was going to be important to her.

  She now knew he was the most important person to her. Above everyone and everything else.

  He released a ragged breath. “If we do this, then I’m never letting you go,” he warned.

  She smiled her affection. “Were you ever going to do that anyway?”

  “No,” he acknowledged evenly.

  “That’s what I thought.” She held her arms out to him. “Come up here and kiss me, and then we’re going to make love together before you, at least, grab a few hours’ sleep.” The last thing she wanted was for Jericho to arrive in Moscow exhausted and put himself at risk by not being as alert as he needed to be.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her searchingly. “This isn’t going to be our only chance to make love together, because neither of us are going to die in Moscow,” he reassured her dryly as he moved up her body until they were once again face-to-face.

  Busted!

  It was Marisha’s worst fear, one she’d thought she’d kept to herself. Obviously not. “I still want to belong to you now,” she insisted stubbornly.

  He touched her cheek gently. “I’m not one of those men who carries a condom around in my wallet just in case I get lucky. I don’t do casual anymore, Marisha.”

  “Then pull out before you come,” she insisted impatiently. “But I want you inside me now.”

  He grimaced. “That method isn’t a hundred percent effective, as many sets of new parents know to their cost.”

  “So I’ll get pregnant.” Her voice rose in her agitation. “Jeez, Jericho, what does a woman have to do or say to get you to put that huge cock inside her?”

  Jericho burst out laughing. Primarily because of Marisha’s obvious disgruntlement, but also because of the way that annoyance had caused her to speak with a bluntness he had never heard from her before.

  She was right, of course. What sort of man decided to play hard to get when the woman he so badly wanted was offering him her innocence?

  An honorable one, he immediately answered himself.

  It was a sense of honor Jericho believed had deserted him long ago on the streets of Dublin.

  If that was true, then Marisha had given that back to him.

  In the way she now wanted to give herself to him.

  He still questioned the reason for her need for urgency, believed, no matter what she said to the contrary, that Marisha thought one or both of them might die in Moscow. Jericho hoped not, but if it was even a possibility, then it made him feel that same caveman urgency to claim Marisha as she felt for him.

  He sobered to once again gently stroke one of her now fiery-red cheeks. “So you think I have a huge cock, hm?” he teased.

  The color deepened in her cheeks. “Well, I obviously don’t have anything to compare it with, but…”

  “Nor will you,” he growled possessively. “Ever,” he added in case there was any doubt as to the seriousness of his intentions. “You’re mine, Marisha. Now. Always.”

  Her gaze met his unblinkingly. “Then give me what I want.” She reached down to wrap her fingers around his engorged cock and began to slowly pump it up and down. The soft pad of her thumb moved over the slit to gather up and smooth the release of his pre-cum over that bulbous top.

  It was more torture than any man, including Jericho, could withstand.

  “Witch,” he groaned as he dislodged her hand and pulled her beneath him. He took his weight on his elbows before guiding his cockhead to where her pussy lips were moist and welcoming him inside. “It might hurt a little at first— Shit, are you okay?” He stilled at the sound of her indrawn breath as his cock breeched her innocence.

  Her fingers dug into the bareness of his shoulders, the nails not quite piercing. “Keep going,” she urged. “Keep— So full,” she groaned as Jericho slowly pushed his cock deeper inside her. “That really is a huge cock.”

  Jericho didn’t laugh this time, finding nothing amusing in the tears glistening in those mesmerizing blue eyes or the way the color had left Marisha’s cheeks the moment she felt his intrusion.

  But it was too late to withdraw now. The damage had been done, and Marisha’s virginity was a thing of the past.

  Besides which, Jericho wasn’t sure he was capable of pulling out now that his cock was buried in the hot, sweet depths of her tight channel. Not when he was already fighting the instinct to thrust even deeper. When he just wanted to stay there, inside her heat, for the rest of his life.

  He had never experienced anything as perfect as being inside Marisha.

  His.

  She was his.

  And he was hers.

  Now.

  Always.

  “Okay.” Marisha nodded seconds later. “I’m okay now.” She encouraged him to move.

  Jericho did so cautiously at first, not wanting to hurt her any more than he already had. Thankfully, the natural lubrication inside her soon took over, and she obviously began to feel pleasure as he slowly thrust his cock in and out of her heat.

  Within minutes, Marisha was lifting her hips to meet each of his thrusts, taking him deeper and faster as the pleasure soared out of their control, Jericho ensuring that his cock rubbed against her G-spot with every thrust in and slow drag out.

  Marisha’s breathing became ragged, then labored, before she gave a gasp as her whole body became rigid. “Jericho, I’m going to— Oh God…” she cried out as her inner walls began to convulse around his cock.

  Jericho continued thrusting inside her through the whole of her release. But his self-control shattered completely when he felt her inner muscles clamping around his cock for a second time as another climax claimed her.

  He pulled out quickly, so that spurt after spurt of his cum splashed across and covered her abdomen and breasts in his creamy release.

  Quickly enough, he hoped, for there to be no repercussions.

  Not because he wouldn’t love to see Marisha grow round with his child. The mere idea of it was enough for his satiated cock to give a twinge of interest.

  But this wasn’t the time.

  Any future for himself and Marisha had to be put on hold until they knew more about the situation in Moscow and they discovered whether Marisha’s father was alive or dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Feeling nicely rested, are you?” Kieran drawled as the brothers walked down the steps of the plane to join the rest of the men on the tarmac the following morning—or afternoon in Moscow—at the private airport where half a dozen black SUVs were lined up to drive them into the city itself. There were another half dozen vehicles parked a short distance away waiting for the arrival of the Markovic private jet.

  “Shut it,” Jericho tersely advised.

  He had slept the night before, with Marisha held securely in his arms. But it hadn’t been a restful sleep, his dreams filled with images of Marisha being gunned down in the streets of Moscow by numerous faceless gunmen, as her mother and sister had been sixteen years ago.

  Waking with Marisha held safely in his arms had helped dispel that foreboding somewhat. Instead, he had been filled with the same urgency she had the night before as he made love to her again in the shower this morning. If anything should happen to her—

  “We’re all here to protect her too, bro.” Kieran gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  He gave his brother a grateful smile. “She can be a little…headstrong.” Right now, Marisha, after coming down the steps in front of him, was standing within the circle of his men, shyly laughing and joking with them.

  “Really? I didn’t notice that at all when she initially went up against Leon yesterday and demanded to come to Moscow with us,” Kieran teased. “She’s lucky that having Carla in his life, and now their baby son, has softened him somewhat.” He gave a shake of his head. “Two years ago, she would have either been thrown out or found herself over Leon’s knee having her arse smacked for daring to talk to him that way!”

  “I might have taken exception to him doing that now I’ve decided I’m the only one allowed to spank her arse,” Jericho derided.

  His brother grinned. “Never thought I’d ever see this day. Well done, bro.” He nodded his approval. “Can I be best man at the wedding, or have you already asked Killian?”

  He scowled. “I haven’t asked Marisha yet!”

  “You will,” Kieran predicted.

  All Jericho knew right now, as he watched the Markovic jet land, was that in this moment, he had other priorities. Such as finding Boris Borzikov, if he was anywhere in Moscow to be found.

  At the same time as keeping Marisha alive.

  “Oh my God…” Marisha breathed the words slowly as she stared out the window of the SUV at the burned-out husk of where her father’s house had once been.

  She’d only been there once. She hadn’t seen him at all when she was growing up, and Boris had preferred to visit her at the apartment he paid for when she was older.

  For a few seconds, she’d actually wondered if she’d made a mistake and this wasn’t Boris’s house at all. That it couldn’t be. Because Boris’s house had been one of the grandest in Moscow and surrounded by a security wall that was patrolled by numerous security guards. The inside was run just as efficiently by an army of servants.

  The perimeter wall was still standing, but the wrought iron gates fronting the property were hanging off their hinges as if a vehicle had been driven at them at high speed. The house itself was a skeleton of blackened and collapsed bricks that had once stood three stories high.

  Could anyone have survived such a devastating fire?

  Had Boris survived?

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She turned to look at Jericho as he climbed into the back seat of the SUV beside her. He had asked her to wait inside the vehicle while he and his men investigated the ruined building and questioned the neighbors. Gregori Markovic and his men had already driven off to go farther into the city so that Nikolai Volkov could speak with his connections there.

  Marisha shook her head. “We don’t know for certain that Boris is dead.”

  Jericho’s expression softened as he took one of her hands in his. “The fire was deliberately set. You can smell the petrol they used to ignite it. The closest neighbors say that the servants managed to escape mainly unharmed, but that no one has seen Boris Borzikov since the house was burned to the ground.”

  “So they didn’t find his body?”

  “No, but— Where are you going?” Jericho demanded as Marisha opened the door beside her before releasing her hand from his and stepping down onto the gravel driveway.

  She had only reached the front of the vehicle by the time Jericho joined her.

  “Marisha. Love.” He lightly gripped her shoulder to stop her from going any nearer to the burned-out husk that had been her father’s home. “It isn’t safe for you to get too close. Some of the walls that are still standing are unsafe and might fall on you and—What the hell, Marisha!” he bit out impatiently, falling into step beside her as she kept walking.

  “You said no one has seen Boris since the fire.” It was a statement, not a question. “Not the neighbors or servants.”

  “No…”

  “That his body hasn’t been found.”

  He grimaced as she repeated what they already knew. “If the fire burned hotly enough, there might have been nothing left to find.”

  She nodded, ignoring the fact that Jericho’s men were all watching as Jericho followed her when she skirted around the main wreckage of the house toward the back where the kitchen had once been.

  The metal appliances, like the fridge and freezer and the double-oven range, were still in place, but all blackened from the smoke. There was nothing left at all of the heavy oak worktable that had once stood in the center of the large kitchen.

  This close to the debris, Marisha was able to smell the petrol Jericho had said had been used to start the fire.

  Again, if Boris was already dead, why had the Federovs needed to set fire to his house?

  To be vindictive?

  To cover up the crime of shooting him?

  And yet Jericho said no body had been found in the wreckage, shot or otherwise.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jericho demanded when she stepped farther into what had been the spacious and modern kitchen.

  “Help me to move this, will you?” She bent down to grasp the end of a heavy wooden beam that had once been part of the now nonexistent ceiling. It was badly charred but still weighed more than she could lift on her own. “Jericho?” She glanced up at him when he made no move to help her.

  Jericho had absolutely no idea what Marisha was doing, and he could see the same puzzlement on the faces of his men standing a polite distance away.

  Was Marisha so consumed with grief that she wasn’t acting rationally?

  It certainly seemed that way.

  “She’s gonna hurt herself, bro,” Kieran told him quietly as he stepped forward to take hold of the other end of the wooden beam to help shift it aside.

  Marisha instantly fell onto her knees and used her hands to begin sweeping away the covering of toxic ash.

  “Marisha, what are you—” Jericho ceased talking when he saw what Marisha’s efforts had now revealed.