Silence snaps tight around us, heavier than the fog. We all turn toward the car.

  Babushka stands by the open door, calm as stone. She doesn't look at the body. “Come home soon, boys,” she says, her voice reaching us clearly over the wind. “I miss you.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  VIKTOR

  “That was… intense. Is this your life? Always?”

  “Always.”

  Steam still clings to my skin when we make it back to bed. I washed the docks off Jonah in the shower. I moved slow, like if I went too fast he might vanish under the spray. He barely spoke. He just stood there while I worked the night out of his hair and off his hands and down the backs of his arms. I watched the water run dark around his feet until the tiles were clean again. I didn't stop until the harbor was down the drain and he was warm again.

  Now he’s curled against me, his cheek tucked under my jaw. His breathing has evened out. Mine hasn't. The adrenaline is still a low hum in my blood.

  “How did she know?” he asks softly. “Babushka.”

  “She knows everything,” I say. I don’t make it sound like a joke. My mouth finds the place where his neck meets his shoulder. He shivers, but he doesn’t pull away. I can feel the pulse in his throat—a steady reminder that we both made it off that pier.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I have.” My hand slides over his ribs, feeling the movement of his breath. “You’re protected now. By me. By my men. By her. By the name you’re sleeping under.”

  He goes still at that. Then his fingers curl into my shirt, like he needs proof I’m real. I answer him without meaning to, pulling him closer. He’s still here after tonight’s execution, and that is what matters. My chest finally drops, the tightness easing just enough for me to breathe.

  “I still have questions.” His lips wobble.

  “Go on and ask.”

  I lean down and take him into my mouth. Jonah cries out, the sound sharp and immediate while his hands tangle in my hair. I take my time, licking and sucking, swallowing the precum he gives me as I keep him right on the edge. I want him focused on the friction. I want him to forget the sound of the gunshots.

  “You… will you move back to the mansion?” His voice barely holds.

  I pull off him and look up through my lashes. “Yes. We’ll all move there, and you are coming too.”

  Relief breaks across his face before he can hide it—a smile breaking over his lips. “Okay. Okay.”

  I take him back into my mouth, making his next cry come out muffled. “Viktor, I’m… I’m really horny. I didn't think, after tonight, but—I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  He’s close now. I can feel it in the way his hips lift without permission, his breath breaking. Just before he tips over, I pull away. He whines at the loss of heat, but I ignore it as I crawl up his body to reach for the lube on the nightstand. His skin is hot under my hands. I coat my fingers and slide them between his legs, watching him whimper when I press one finger inside, then a second.

  “Feel good?”

  He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. Don’t stop… Please.”

  I don't answer him. I add a third finger instead, taking my time as I watch his sensitive skin stretch. His legs fall wider on their own. I know he’s ready. I can’t wait another second. Sliding my fingers out, I line myself up. “Look at me.”

  He does, and for a heartbeat, I still my fingers. His ass clenches around them, impatiently, but I want him to understand what is about to happen in the heavy silence of this room. “You got any more questions? Because babble or not, I’m going to fill you up until you can't remember anything but my name. Are you ready?”

  He swallows hard, his hands fisting in the sheets. “No questions,” he says. “I think.”

  “Good.”

  Removing my fingers, I push in, inch by inch, keeping the movement slow and controlled. He takes me with a broken sound, his body tightening before yielding to the stretch. When I’m fully seated, I groan low against his neck. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”

  His back arches, offering himself without being asked. I start moving, watching his gorgeous face as the pleasure takes hold. His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open, his sounds turning rough. Catching his wrists, I pin them above his head, and he goes pliant at once. With my free hand, I stroke his cock in time with my thrusts. His hips buck, desperate for friction. I lean close to his ear.

  “You feel that? How good you are wrapped around me. Tell me.”

  “So good,” he gasps.

  I drive into him harder, watching his breath shatter. Another thrust makes his legs shake. Another, deep enough that his cry turns raw. His cock jerks in my hand. I tighten my grip on his hips. “Look at you, still begging.”

  He forces his eyes open, meeting mine through the haze. “I want to ride you,” he pants, the request carrying nerves and choice. “Is that… is that okay?”

  A growl tears out of my chest, my hands clamping on his hips hard enough to leave marks. I want my fingerprints to stay on him for days. “More than okay. Show me what you want, krasavchik, and take what’s yours.”

  He shivers at that, his cock jumping against his stomach. He shifts over me and reaches back to guide me to his entrance. The blunt head presses against him, meeting resistance before his body yields and opens for me. Jonah sinks down with a sharp gasp, taking me inch by inch. His face tightens with the stretch, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. I hold still, letting him set the pace. The room is so quiet I can hear skin slide against skin. “You okay?”

  His eyes flutter open, dark and blown wide. “Yes… so good.”

  When he’s fully seated, we both groan. This angle lets me reach deeper, the pressure making his whole body shudder around me. I slide my hands to his waist and keep him upright. “When you’re ready.”

  Jonah braces his hands on my shoulders and lifts himself, then sinks back down with a soft cry. The drag of him around me is torture. He does it again. Then again, finding a rhythm that has us both panting. He moves with a new kind of intent, taking exactly what he needs from me.

  “Look at you.” I watch him move above me, my voice rough. Candlelight catches the sweat on his back, tracing the line of his spine. “Riding me like you were made for it.”

  He flushes at the praise—a sure smile breaking over his lips. His hips start moving with more certainty. He’s using my body for his pleasure, and I’ve never felt more owned.

  “Vik,” he gasps, his pace faltering as he edges closer, his eyes unfocused. “I need… I can't⁠—”

  “I’ve got you.” I wrap my hand around his cock, slick with precum. His cry breaks free as his body bucks. “Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

  His rhythm stutters, his thighs trembling. I take over, my hips driving up as I stroke him in time with my movements, pushing him higher.

  “Viktor, please, I’m gonna⁠—”

  His cock jerks in my palm. “Come for me.” I thrust harder, faster. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

  He screams my name as he comes, his release coating my fingers and his stomach. His body spasms around me, clenching so hard my vision whites out. That’s all I need. I let go with a low sound, burying myself deep and emptying into him. I want him to feel every pulse of it. I want him to know where he belongs.

  Jonah’s mine. He’s fucking mine, and I’m his. He took care of me when I couldn’t defend myself. He stayed when he was scared. After tonight, something has shifted. He helped me take back my throne.

  We stay like that, bodies locked together, breath slowing. I release his wrists and rub the faint marks my grip left. Then I pull out, both of us groaning at the loss. He softens at once under my hand. I settle beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch. I take his hand, feeling the smoothness of it, the softness of a man who hasn't had to fight until now.

  “You know,” he says quietly, “I spent most of my life mourning Mom. Blaming life for being unfair.” His voice wobbles, then steadies. “I don’t know how you did it, but you took that away. The emptiness. You gave me purpose again.”

  His blue eyes lift to mine. “I don’t want to stay in the shadows. I want to belong to you. Take care of you. Learn how to throw daggers.”

  “Learn Russian,” I add.

  Jonah smiles. “Da.”

  “We’ll work on that. With only ‘yes,’ you won’t get far. In my bed, sure. Not in the real world.”

  He giggles against my throat, warm breath brushing my skin.

  “We need to get you a matching tattoo,” I murmur.

  “Hm. I’d love one.”

  “And a cookbook with Russian recipes.”

  “I’ve got Lev for that.”

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  His laugh breaks loose. “Say it again, krasavchik,” I murmur. “What you said at the bar.”

  He hesitates. “Malysh?”

  “Hm. Yes.” I stretch out, pulling him with me and tucking him under my arm. “Again.”

  “Malysh,” he whispers.

  “That’s it. My eyes close.

  What a fucking night.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  JONAH

  I never realized how beautiful the Morozov mansion really is. The first time I saw it, not counting the night we ran for our lives, it only looked terrifying. Now it looks like home. It is just as grand as the old house, yet there’s something different here. Something settled. It feels like I’m finally going to stay. I stand in the foyer for a moment, watching the way the late afternoon sun hits the marble floors.

  “Careful,” I tell the guards maneuvering my piano through the doorway. It looks small in this space, a relic of my old life being swallowed by the scale of the Morozovs.

  “Yes, sir,” one of them replies.

  Heat rushes to my face and I turn away too fast. Viktor catches the movement immediately, grinning at my discomfort. “You had better get used to that, krasavchik. They know who you are. Come on, let’s move our stuff into the bedroom before Lev decides to 'help' us unpack.”

  When he swings the door open to the master suite, I stop short. I thought coming back here would scare me, that the memories of being locked in would linger like a bad smell, but the room is transformed. Fresh sheets stretch smooth across the bed and a new duvet catches the light. On the dresser, a vase of white lilies opens in the sun. The air smells like vanilla and expensive wood.

  “Look.” I point to the floor-to-ceiling window. “It’s snowing again.” Thick flakes drift down, one after another, clinging to the glass. It feels like a loop is closing. “Remember the last time we were here? When everything was falling apart?”

  Viktor steps in behind me, his chin resting on my head. I can feel the solid heat of his chest against my back, a grounding force that makes the rest of the world fade. “You said I could sit here and watch it.”

  “Hm. I did.”

  His breath brushes my hair. His voice drops into that low rasp that usually means trouble. “After I’d fucked you hard.”

  “Viktor.” I shove him back, flustered despite myself. My heart rate is climbing, a steady 90 beats per minute that I can feel in my throat. Clinical. I’m always trying to put a number on it, but he makes it impossible to stay objective.

  “What? It’s the truth.” He grins, the predatory light returning to his eyes. He pulls me back in front of him and presses me against the window. The glass is cold, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body.

  “S—stop. The door is still open. Anyone could walk past.” I’m already panting. The idea of being caught feeling both thrilling and terrifying in the absolute silence of the wing.

  He reaches back and nudges it shut with his foot. The soft click of the lock makes my heart jump. “Not until I get what I want.” His mouth drops to my ear, guiding me forward until my palms press to the cool, polished wood of the windowsill. “Spread your feet, Jonah.”

  I widen my stance, my ass pushing back toward him as my cock hardens in my sweats. Viktor’s hand slides under the waistband. His fingers feel cold against my overheated skin. My breath catches when he wraps his hand around me to stroke slowly. “You’re perfect like this.” His grip tightens, certain and possessive. “Do you want more, krasavchik? Because I sure as fuck do.”

  My hips push into his fist, my body making the choice for me. “Viktor⁠—”

  “I know.” He drops lower behind me. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

  He sinks to his knees. The expensive carpet swallows the sound of his movement. “You’ve got me hard as hell, krasavchik. You and your sexy ass. Let me taste you.”

  He rolls down my pants. The cool air hits my skin, and before I realize what he is about to do, his hands spread my cheeks. He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth presses against my rim, the heat of his tongue shocking against the sensitive skin. “Hands on the windowsill,” he commands, his voice sending a low vibration through my body. “You stay where I put you until I say otherwise.”

  “Y—yes.”

  Viktor spreads me further. I feel his tongue lick across my hole. My head drops forward against the window. The glass feels cool and frictionless against my forehead. The fog from my breath begins to cloud the view of the snow. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  A low sound rolls out of him, the vibration carrying through my frame. His tongue moves in slow passes at first, long strokes that follow the line of my crack before he comes back up firmer, dragging the flat of his tongue over me like he is mapping the territory. Each lick lands lower, edging closer until he is circling me in tight, teasing laps that make my knees shake.

  He answers my unspoken plea by pressing closer, his warmth grounding me as his tongue pushes just lightly enough that my whole body tries to push back for more. His hands grip my hips to keep them still. “Do you want more?”

  “Fuck—yes, god, that feels⁠—”

  Heat floods my chest while the fog on the window thickens, blurring my reflection with every shaky breath. Viktor reaches under me and wraps his hand around my cock, matching his strokes to his mouth until my body rocks between his grip and the windowsill. My legs shake with the effort of staying upright. I can feel the build, that agonizing pressure at the base of my spine. “I’m close,” I warn.

  He pulls back before I can come and smacks my ass once. The sound cracks sharp in the quiet room. “Not yet.”

  He rises and crowds me from behind, his chest pressing to my back. My chest heaves. The aftershocks of almost coming leave me lightheaded. His hands slide to my hips and don’t let me move as his mouth brushes my neck. “Stay here. I’m not done with you.”

  I nod, bracing my palms on the sill. He reaches for the lube on the nightstand. The snap of the lid sounds loud in the silence. He slicks his fingers, the touch returning warm as he presses one finger inside me. The stretch pulls a sound out of me I can’t swallow down. He adds a second finger and works me open until my knees threaten to give. My internal walls clench around him, pulling instinctively. When he drags his fingers out, I make a broken sound of protest. “Turn around.”

  I do, my chest rising hard while my cock remains flushed and leaking. Viktor grips my hips and suddenly lifts me, hoisting me clean off the floor to set me on the dresser’s edge. The cool surface hits my back and the mirror reflects the ruined look of my face. He looks at me for a long beat, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes my skin prickle.

  “You’re ready for me,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’re doing to that mirror.”

  My legs wrap around his waist without him asking. He pushes them wider until I feel split open for him. The blunt heat of his cock presses to my entrance, firm and patient. He doesn’t hesitate, but waits for me to adjust to the pressure. “Tell me if anything changes.”

  “I won’t.”

  He pushes in. A choked cry breaks out of me as he sinks deep. My hands fly to his shoulders because there’s nowhere else for the shock to go. I can feel him stretching me, filling every bit of the emptiness I’ve felt for years. “Fuck, Jonah.” His mouth presses to my jaw. “You’re tight. Hold on.”

  He pulls out halfway and drives back in hard. The force knocks the breath from my lungs while the dresser shudders under us. He fucks me in quick, sharp thrusts, his hips snapping forward and his grip bruising my thighs in the best way.

  “Look at you.” His grip tightens. “Already losing it.”

  I am. My legs try to tighten around him, but he forces them wider to hold me open for every stroke. It’s a total takeover. “Harder…please⁠—”

  He answers by driving into me faster and deeper, each thrust landing hard enough that it lights something white-hot along my spine. My head falls back against the mirror above the dresser, the glass humming with the impact. “Eyes on me.”

  I drag my gaze down to meet his. His pupils are blown and his jaw is tight with the effort of holding himself together. He looks like a man possessed. “You feel how deep I am?” Another thrust forces a broken sound from my throat. “You take me like you were made for it.”

  “Viktor… I’m—I’m close⁠—”

  His hand closes around my cock, stroking me in a rough, perfect rhythm with his thrusts. His breath ghosts my mouth, tasting like vodka and heat. “Come for me… now.”

  I break, the orgasm ripping through me in a violent rush while my body clenches around him. I cry out, my fingers digging into his shoulders. The second I clamp down, Viktor loses control. He slams into me one last time and spills inside me with a gutted sound, his hips jerking through it until he finally drags in air. “Mine,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every fucking part.”

  When our breathing slows, Viktor eases out of me with a quiet groan. I shiver at the loss of the heat. “Stay there.”