Two Hours Later
Medlov Estate
Memphis, TN
W hen the giant iron gates of the Medlov Memphis estate creaked opened, Anatoly Medlov’s convoy of armored SUVs proceeded quickly down the winding driveway, bringing the prince of the Russian underworld to the front of the white plantation-styled mansion that he and his entire family called home.
Ahh…it was good to be back, despite what had brought him here so abruptly. Glancing out of the tinted windows of the black-on-black Land Rover, he spotted an unusual sight.
His cousin, Gabriel Medlov, was sitting on the concrete steps that led up to the mansion’s porch in a tailored, black suit pants and a crisp, white button down, talking to Vasily Kavlov, the other member of their tight-knit council.
It seemed he was the last to arrive, which normally meant he would be the last to know what was going on. The family, not the council, had a strange way of communicating with each other about a crisis, which normally consisted of word-of-mouth from one woman to another until the entire house, including the staff, knew everyone’s business.
Based upon how chummy Vasily and Gabriel were as they spoke now, it appeared the women had struck again.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said aloud as he grabbed the shiny handle of his back-seat door before his guard could jump out and do it for him. Damn, he hated being waited on hand and foot. As a perfectly capable 29-year-old man, it felt ridiculous to have guards trying to do everything for him. Just opening the door for himself felt liberating, but he didn’t bitch aloud or even direct them to back off because everyone needed to make a living.
Anatoly stepped out in his normal “work” uniform of dark denim jeans, brown leather boots and simple black T-shirt. Since coming back from Miami, where he was forced to wear three-piece suits and color his hair, he had happily grown out a blonde buzz cut, a matching, lengthy blonde beard and shed all clothing that could not be washed and worn straight out of the dryer. After all, what was the point of being rich, if he couldn’t dress as he pleased.
“Well, look who finally showed up late to the party,” Gabriel quipped. “I guess we can officially start the evening now that his Highness has graced us with his annoying presence.” His voice boomed in the quietness of the evening, wreaking of his New York City accent and his arrogant, aristocratic air.
Even in the dark cover of night, Gabriel Medlov was a striking man. Over the years, his allure had become known across many countries as he closed deals on behalf of the Medlov Crime Family. He was the suave young Medlov equipped with an exhaustive vocabulary, who always came with concrete numbers bound in blood, guile and style that could court even the most dangerous or clever arms buyer. Women swooned. Men hated him but wanted to be him. But no matter what, he always got the job done.
His ink black hair cut perfectly to show thick, winged brows inherited by his psychopathic late father, intense mossy green eyes that broke women with his first glance, unnaturally long eyelashes and a chiseled, menacing face that made the new father and husband appear to be elegant and regal, were all a ruse designed to make feel people feel comfortable around him.
However, if one looked closer at the angelic creature, they would see a cut-throat business man and consummate killer, who valued very little outside of the Medlov name. The thick, intricate muscles bulging under his white shirt, veiny and tanned, were more a testament to his lion-like grace than his elegance. Mafia tattoos earned through trial by fire hid under his stylish uniform only threatening to show themselves when his work became messy. He was a cruel man, made so by the world around him. He was a hard man, made so by his experiences. But he loved his family – Anatoly Medlov especially. They were brothers instead of cousins, sharing in the glory and the pain of their assigned station by the great and powerful Dmitry Medlov.
The corners of his mouth curled up suddenly. “What the fuck,” Anatoly growled, pushing a breath out of his mouth. He sat down beside Gabriel, who was cleaning the dirt out of his manicured nails with the tip of a long, serrated blade, and threw off the leather satchel he had worn across his chest.
The clink of the custom-made Glock in his bag made a distinct sound as it hit the concrete and fell clumsily over his foot. “It took me weeks to set up that meeting, and then at the very end…this shit.” He pursed his lush lips together and grimaced. He truly hated surprises. In their line of work, everything either went as planned or ended up going to hell. And he had learned that through the very man who was currently throwing a fucking wrench in his job.
Casually, Gabriel closed his knife and slipped it back in his pants pocket. “Yeah, same thing I said. I was in the middle of closing a deal with the Benelli brothers when I got the text from the old man.” He wouldn’t say so, but very much like the Medlov women, he couldn’t wait to gossip. With such a close circle of people who had to double as business partners and family, there was no one else to converse with about his day.
Anatoly glanced across the manicured lawn and extended his thick arms over his knees. “I was with Alverez. You know how cheap that bastard is. I damn near had to shoot him to get the numbers papa wanted.”
“Did you close?” Gabriel asked, rubbing the lid his left eye with the tip of his finger. He remembered a time when he would have just been getting started for the evening, but with the new babies, he was always spent.
“Barely,” Anatoly answered, yawning as he stretched his legs. It had been a hectic trek back to Memphis from New Orleans, but the urgency and directness of his father’s text had pushed him to make haste. “Either one of you find out what’s going on with him?” He looked in between Gabriel and Vasily. He knew it had to be something really bad. Dmitry didn’t ever leave money on the table.
“Anil’s mother is on her last leg,” Gabriel explained sympathetically. “The doctor doesn’t expect her to make it through the next few days. I think he wanted us home to be with him.”
“Damn.” Anatoly dropped his head – sorry for his complaints. It was worse than he thought. The edge on his voice dissipated as he focused on the scuffs of his boots. “Anil said she was doing better.”
While Anil was his half-brother, he still couldn’t make himself go up to the hospice center to see her. It brought up too many bad memories of his own loss. It had been years since he’d gone to his mother’s funeral, but he still could smell the perfume they had sprayed on her body for the viewing. If he thought about it now, his stomach still knotted.
“We all thought the same,” Vasily said, rolling up the sleeves to his dress shirt. Still not used to the harsh late spring weather of Memphis after years of being here, he could feel his body perspiring under his clothes. “Lily and I went up there three days ago, and she looked like she was just resting.” But what did he know. He wasn’t a doctor. Neither was Lilly.
“That’s the way it always seems to happen.” Gabriel thought of his mother, Emma, at the end of her cancer struggle. One day, she appeared to be getting better and the next, she was gone. There was no warning, just a glimmer of hope before it was snatched away from him. A devastating reality rushed over him. “I hate cancer. All the money and resources being pumped into finding a cure and still no one can find one.”
“I don’t believe that,” Anatoly said quickly. “Someone knows something. It’s just too profitable to give a cure when the sickness makes everyone so much money. Think about it. It’s like world peace for men like us.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “We’d be broke, if that ever happened.”
Vasily smirked. “You are one morbid son of a bitch.”
Gabriel laughed, glad for a little levity. “He really is. Always with the conspiracy theories.” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he glanced over at Anatoly, secretly concerned for his cousin. “Are you going to be alright?”
Anatoly could instantly feel his cousin trying to mother him. He bristled to the attempt and changed the conversation. “Where is Anil now? I should probably go and talk to him.”
Vasily yawned. Placing a hand over his clean-shaven face, his large body trembled. It had officially been 24 hours since he felt the comfort of his bed or his wife. He was ready to break his fast on both. “Anil went back to spend a little more time with his mom. He said to text him when dinner was about to be ready.”
“Dinner?” Anatoly frowned. “Who is having dinner this late?” He glanced at his watch.
“The old man is preparing a feast,” Gabriel said, slapping his arm as a mosquito snacked on his forearm. Turning his elbow to look at the reddened spot on his skin, he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. “And he wants everyone there. No exceptions.” Standing up, he put his phone to his ear and walked down the steps, leaving Anatoly and Vasily alone.
“So, Papa’s here?” Anatoly asked Vasily.
“Da da, downstairs hitting the iron in the gym.” Vasily knew that when Dmitry was in the family gym in the basement, the best thing to do was to leave him alone.
“How long has he been down there?” Anatoly asked. A gentle breeze blew past them and rustled the oak trees above.
“For a while, he was there when we got here. Marat said he was in one of his moods.” Vasily stood up, ready to go and see his wife and son. “What’s your plan? You want to go and see him.”
Anatoly stood and rolled his neck. Even he knew that when Dmitry was hitting the iron, he didn’t like to ever be disturbed. “I know my father. Anil’s mother dying is a family issue. He would never pull us off three different deals just because she was on the way out, eh.” He looked over his shoulder at the porch to make sure only the guards were standing over them listening. “What could we do to make her better? What the fuck could we do period?”
Vasily raised a brow. “I thought the same thing.”
“Yeah, well. We’re all thinking the same thing. Something else is going on. We need to find out what.”
An hour later, the entire Medlov family gathered in the formal dining room in front of a late-night feast fit for kings. Royal had ordered the staff to mix a combination of southern fare with Russian cuisine and to load up heavily on appetizers and alcohol.
The older kids were assigned to the children’s table in the corner, left alone to their own devices, and the adults convened their impromptu gathering at the large table in the center of the room.
Royal and Dmitry sat at the head of either side of the table. Gabriel sat beside Valeriya, Anatoly beside Renee, Vasily beside Lilly. Marat, Boris and Peaches always sat at the end of the table towards the door, and Anil sat quietly on the left side of his father.
A new development that had sprung up since the debacle in Miami eight months ago was that Nadei always sat beside Anastaysia, but Anatoly never acknowledged that something could possibly be going on between his sister and his guard. Instead, he chose to act like it was common place that they never left each other’s side. He rationalized it as loyalty, but everyone quietly saw it as a possible love connection.
Even though dinner was much later than normal, the general feeling was that of good cheer or at least grateful to be with each other.
The large party ate and talked among themselves while Dmitry surveyed the room in approval. There was a small table full of beautiful children. The adult table was filled with his closest confidants. And his home was happy, despite the pain he was sure Anil was feeling now. But given time, the boy would heal, just as they all had.
He remembered a time when he used to sit in this drafty room alone, eating his expensive meals and fine vodka under candlelight, imagining what it would be like to have a real family. Those days were lonely – not for a woman in his bed, but a woman who shared his soul, not for the people around him – but sons and blood who understood what it was like to be a Medlov – not for those depending on him, but for children who deserved to bask under the shade only he could provide them.
Now, he didn’t have to imagine, because he had an extensive family. And he would do anything to keep them safe, happy and fulfilled. It was the least he could do after all they had provided him.
Glancing down the table, he caught Royal’s covert glance. She was a lioness stalking her prey. Her brown eyes were affixed to his, as though she was attempting to read his dark mind word for word.
The abrupt departure from the kitchen flashed through his mind, and he wondered what he had done to trouble her.
Trailing his eyes over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, he noted the time and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to probe her later tonight when they were finally alone for answers about today among other things. Royal always needed a good probing. It helped keep her in line.
Watching her glossy lips as she slipped them down the gold-plated knife, he felt his manhood stir awake under the table. An exhilarated grin crossed his regal features. If she only knew what he was thinking right now, she might have very well choked on her dinner.
“If you don’t mind father, I’d like to make a toast,” Anatoly said standing.
Everyone looked over at him, surprised by his sudden gesture. Anatoly was never the formal type and never sentimental in plain view. So, to see him try to be such right now was quite curious.
Anatoly turned toward his brother, Anil, and raised his glass. “This isn’t something to celebrate, the loss of your mother. Trust me. I know. I lost my mother to cancer and so did Gabriel. And I think Vasily was born from a pack of wolves, so there is no way to know.”
Everyone laughed, including Vasily.
“What I want to express to you is that I’m not celebrating her pain or her impending passing, I’m celebrating the fact that she held on to this life, regardless of how painful to make sure that you had someone here for you after she was gone. I’m celebrating her victory, her strength and her courage in her absence…if you don’t mind.”
Anil nodded at Anatoly’s brotherly affability and smiled. While he had not known his big brother long, he understood this to be a very genuine gesture. Clearing his throat, he pushed back salty tears. “Thank you, brother. I’m sure she would appreciate you. I know that I do.”
“To family,” Anatoly said, raising his glass and Renee grabbed his free hand from where she sat. She looked up at him, glowing already from their pregnancy, due to end next week and felt herself tear up.
“To family!” everyone said in unison while they toasted.
“To my family,” Dmitry emphasized just a few seconds later as he toasted again before drinking his champagne.
There was no doubt. He was proud of his boys. They had become everything that he had wanted between he and his own brother, Ivan. But that had not been their path. In the end, one of them had to live and one of them had to die. And be that as it may, he prayed daily that the same tragedy never be revisited on his own children – those he had borne and those he had simply taken in.
Being a billionaire meant that he could buy nearly anything he wanted, but there were still some things that were not for sale. Family was one of them.
When the children had been put to sleep in their bedrooms and the adults retreated to their suites to lick each other’s wounds or rest, Royal found herself face-to-face with Dmitry in the darkness of their master bedroom.
Standing over her with his lording presence, he was more like a benevolent despot than a doting husband. Still, the way he looked at her, like he wanted to lick her skin off with his tongue sent chills up her spine and wetness down between her legs.
Dmitry lifted his thumb to her chin and brought it up where he could see her eyes. “Earlier today in the kitchen, what was wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
God, don’t ask me that right now, Royal said to herself quietly. She swallowed hard and tried to keep a straight face. “Nothing. I just…”
Dmitry exhaled a breath out of his nostrils in protest of her lie. He was not a stupid man and hated to be treated as one. “What was wrong with you?” he asked again, this time more forcefully. His blue eyes, sparkling like prisms, glared at her, demanding a real answer.
Royal rolled her eyes and dropped her shoulders. “It’s ridiculous.” Now that she had been allowed the opportunity to get her feelings out with Valeriya, she truly didn’t want to revisit them with her husband. He had enough on his plate. There was no room for squabbles.
But Dmitry wouldn’t leave the issue alone. Royal was far too important to him to be ignored in any way. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is ridiculous,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “Go on…”
Royal had learned over the years to be a pretty good negotiator herself, especially when it came to her husband who lived his daily life in a state of quid pro quo. If he wanted something from her, then she wanted something from him as well, but as she glared into his hypnotizing eyes, she realized something else, something far more sinister. “Are you really trying to handle me right now?”
“No,” he denied vehemently. Refusing to blink for fear of giving himself away, he furrowed his brows. “I’m trying to find out what is going on with my wife.” Of course, he was trying to handle her. Happy wife. Happy life. If she went on for days with an attitude from hell, he’d never be able to focus, but he couldn’t tell her that. She’d just find a way to blame him for being selfish. Yet one more thing that money did little to fix in his life.
She ignored his faux outrage, keeping her face tight with contempt as she raised a pointed finger toward him. “You know I don’t like to be handled, Dmitry.”
Did he ever. Dmitry softened his face, refusing to lose this small battle. “Baby, this is me,” he crooned. “I just want to know if I did anything wrong, or I said something wrong. Just like you don’t like to be handled, I don’t like to be in the dark.”
Royal put her hand on her hip. He was convincing, even when he was full of shit, but she also knew that she had nothing to gain by trying to prove he was lying. So she tried something else. “Okay, I’ll tell you what was wrong with me only if you tell me what’s got you locked in your office playing the violin in the middle of the evening.”
Dmitry cracked a grin. Stealthy little thing, she was just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on him. This was why one should never underestimate the cunning of a smart woman. “Fine. You tell me first, and then I’ll tell you.”
“FINE.” Stepping back, she cocked a finely arched brow. It was very possible that after she told him the truth, he would just make up something to keep from telling her what was wrong with him, but she had given it a try. “I was jealous that you promised Anya the meeting with Meghan Markle. That was something I wanted to try to do. When you offered to take her to the chateau that you and your late wife lived in to set up some meeting with our baby’s new icon, I was upset. I felt like you were usurping me.”
Dmitry had never even considered how that might have made Royal feel. He blinked fast, accidentally showing his surprise. Shoulder’s relaxed, he walked over to the bed and sat down. “Well, I could see how that might…upset you now that I think about it.” Slowly, he pulled at the top button of his shirt.
Royal shook her head. Like she said, it was stupid. And now, seeing how regretful he appeared, she hated that she’d made a big deal of it, especially in front of Anya. But what was done, was done. “Let’s just forget about it.”
“No, no, you’re right. That was thoughtless of me. I should have never suggested it.” He kicked off his dress shoes. “I’m sorry.”
Royal’s head snapped in his direction. “You’re forgiven,” she said suspiciously. Closing the distance between them, she stepped between his long legs. “Now, your turn.”
Dmitry’s fingers lingered at the buttons just above his belt. Should I really tell you? he asked of her in his mind. Raising his head slowly, he met her eyes. A humorless grin crossed his lips. “It’s a funny story, really.”
“Well, tell me so that I can laugh too.” She was not convinced that what she was about to hear was going to be comical in the least.
Dmitry placed his hands on her hips and slid them down her sides. Releasing a sigh, he decided the best decision was to be completely honest. “I’ve got that feeling again, like something bad is going to happen. It’s been bothering me for a few weeks now, making me paranoid.” He pulled her to him and made her sit on his lap. “Do you remember the man who I told you was like a mentor to me while I was in prison, the man responsible for getting me out.”
“Yeah, Popov.” Royal had heard the story several times over the years and committed it to memory. After all, this mysterious man had been the only reason she had met her husband. If she ever met Alexander, though she doubted she would because of his age, she would make sure to thank him for all he had indirectly done for her. A thought crossed her mind and she put a hand on her chest. “Oh, no. Did he die? Did someone kill him?”
Dmitry was deflated before he could even explain, seeing the admiration in his wife’s eyes. There were no two ways about it. She was going to be disappointed in him, even though he was certain he had done the right thing. “Ryan Colt reported to Alexei Popov. He was one of his underlings.”
Ryan fucking Colt. She rolled her eyes in irritation. Why was she not surprised to hear it had something to do with that asshole? His name still made her nauseous. Ryan had single-handedly taken years off her stepson, Anatoly’s life when he abducted his sister and turned her into a prostitute down in Miami. Thank God he was finally dead.
Absently, she raked her nails through his blonde locks as she recalled. “I remember his name from Miami. When we were planning Anastaysia’s rescue, you told us that he was Ryan’s boss.” She frowned. “But I just assumed the two families were not connected, especially since you didn’t make any mention of it. Popov is as common in Russia as Smith here in the states.” She slowly started to put the pieces together. Suddenly, she stopped stroking her hair. “Who was he to Alexander?”
“His son,” Dmitry answered.
Royal’s eyes bucked. “His…” Her words drifted off. “No, Dmitry.” Her back went erect. While she wasn’t an official member of the Vory v Zakone in any way, she was familiar with the laws. Killing one of the five families of the international council was a form of high treason. Standing up, she paced the floor. “When did you have Alexei killed?”
Dmitry started to unbutton his shirt again. “Shortly after we got back. I knew it had to be done, Royal. It was either him or us. I chose him before he could choose my family.”
Her voice strained as she fought to keep her cool. How in the hell did they get back here! It hadn’t even been nine months since the last war. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not crying over spilled milk or questioning your decisions as the Czar. I know you have to do what is necessary to keep this family safe, but…”
“Why didn’t I tell you?” Dmitry finished her sentence as he pealed out of his shirt, revealing a wall of chiseled muscle and intricate tattoos on his meaty chest. He was about to explain but she cut him off with an impatient, dismissive wave of her hand.
“I know why you didn’t tell me. You didn’t want me on high alert for the rest of my natural life.” She stopped pacing and turned to face him again. “Why did you just kill him? If you were worried that they might retaliate, why didn’t you kill them all?”
The question shocked Dmitry. There was a time when Royal would have fought him tooth and nail to save a life, but now it seemed she was possibly deadlier than he was. God, I have created a monster, he thought to himself.
“That’s what you’re worried about, right? Retaliation?” She urged an answer from him.
“I wasn’t concerned until a few weeks ago. None were the wiser about my actions. The body had been handled. The deed was done. I thought it would just be another skeleton in my closet. Then, one of the triads who had assisted me in getting rid of Alexei while he was in China came up dead. His body was discovered in a Russian container outside of Beijing. Evidently, he had been tortured, more than likely for information regarding Popov’s whereabouts.”
“It could be a coincidence,” Royal reasoned. “Just because your guy showed up dead doesn’t mean that it had anything to do with Popov. He could have pissed someone else off.”
Dmitry smirked. “There are no coincidences in this world, Royal. You know that. And you don’t just kill a triad, even a low-level one without having some real power behind you.”
“Have you heard anything?” Royal asked. “By now, someone would have talked if you were connected.” She walked back over to him and sat on the bed. “You are the Czar. This is the Medlov family. If one of the five families wanted to start a war with you, this wouldn’t be a quiet thing.”
Dmitry put his hand on his wife’s back. He appreciated her support and her desire to calm his paranoia, but there was little that anyone could do until he got some real answers. “I have people I trust making inquiries, but they cannot be formal ones. If I am found to be asking around and no one had already connected the pieces…”
Royal nodded. “They would after.” It made perfect sense.
“To answer your first question. I didn’t want to kill the entire family. Alexander Popov was like a father in some ways, when I was a boy. Having him murdered as he lays dying in prison is unimaginable. Peter Popov has always been dear to me. He’s old now too. He survived prison, the fall of our country and the reign of his idiot nephews. To strike them down would have been a stain on my reputation and my character.”
“Will they feel that way about you should they find out?” Royal asked.
“Neither man condoned human trafficking, prostitution, drugs… they were old school. We dealt in the real Vor principles. If they knew that I killed Alexei because he was holding my son’s sister hostage instead of simply ordering his underling to turn her over, then I think they would understand.” He shook his head and backtracked. Wishful thinking had no place in this conversation. “No, no. They would not. I made that mistake with Khalid. I thought he would have chosen our brotherhood over his son, but he didn’t. It almost cost me Anya.”
“You mean like you chose your brotherhood over your father?” Royal sympathized. Once, long ago, Dmitry had been a purist, but no one can be an island forever. Eventually, he took a wife and made a life. When a man in his position did that, he would forever be vulnerable.
“That was a long time ago, and in truth, I think I chose my brother over my father, not my brotherhood.” But Dmitry didn’t want to talk about Ivan now or ever in Royal’s presence. He had caused her enough pain. “People have tried to hurt my boys, and I’ve made them pay. You can’t expect treatment different from what you give in this life. I’m working on getting inside of Alexei’s brother’s camp. If I can get my person close to him, I’ll know more about his movements. For now, we wait.”
“Then we wait.” Royal leaned her head into his chest. “No matter what, Dmitry, we’ll handle this together.”
Dmitry smiled despite his current predicament. His wife was sweet, loving and understanding. He didn’t deserve her, but he loved her. “It’s my job to protect you from this world, little Czarina.”
“True, but it’s my job to protect you from yourself.” Royal felt him kiss the top of her head with an innocent peck. Looking up at him, she raised a hand to his cheek and pulled him closer. “Kiss me like you mean it,” she whispered.
Dmitry’s right eye twitched. He bent to her slowly, realizing the mood had gone from anxious to erotic. Pressing his mouth to hers, he speared his tongue into her velvety orifice. She was warm and sweet like walking into a cottage after fleeing a blizzard and being offered a cup of hot tea. Her kiss thawed his senses and dissolved the chill on his mind.
“If you want me to show you what I mean, it will take a lot more than kissing,” he countered as he pulled her from her seated position on the bed to straddle him. Running a finger under the edge of her blouse, he traced his tips over her bare skin and marveled at her brown nipples.
Royal leaned into him and kissed his lush mouth again, this time teasing him with her tongue, flicking it against his as she rotated her round hips on his growing manhood between them. She wanted this…right now. She needed it.
Dmitry pulled her blouse off in one fluid motion, tossing it to the floor, and then cupped her ample bosom, pulling her into his erection as he planted his lips on the top of her breasts and started to slowly kiss them. His tongue traced over the top of her lace bra. His teeth raked over her skin. His hands gripped her and held her in place while he toyed with her.
Royal arched her back, pushing her breasts further into his face, hoping his tongue would find its way below the lace where her aching nipples begged to be sucked. Grabbing the back of her head, she jutted herself forward and felt him latch on to her brown pebbles. Her body constricted and a current of electricity shot straight between her thighs making her clitoris swell with anticipation.
“Yes,” she whimpered, hearing him suckle her hungrily. His large hand reached behind her and popped the snap on her bra. Freeing her from her lingerie, he cupped one breast while still attached to the other.
Picking her up as he stood from the bed, he felt her legs wrap around him as he turned and laid her down. “You’re badly in need of a proper fucking, Mrs. Medlov.” The glimmer in his eyes was unnerving as he unbuckled his pants. Dropping them to the floor, he stepped out of his slacks to reveal long, carved legs as wide as tree trunks, covered in a sheet of blonde hair. His penis, a foot-long veiny creature that rose from the depths of his leg out toward her awaited entry.
Royal lifted her butt to pull off her pants, but he grabbed them when she reached her thighs and took them off himself. A simple pair of black thongs stood between him and his prize. He ran his hand from her calf up to her knee, then pushed her legs open wide enough to see the slick wetness forming at her center, pooling out around the delicate edges of her underwear.
“Are you wet for me, baby?” he asked, voice so sensual it made her sex clench.
“Pouring,” Royal answered, watching his every move.
Dmitry moved his hand slowly down the inside of her thigh, stopping when his palm was planted on the top of her mound. He rubbed his thumb in the crease of her panties, separating her lips as he applied just enough pressure to make her moan. She was so horny right now, he was sure he could bring her climax with just one digit, but what would be the fun in that? Deciding against teasing her too long, he yanked her underwear down her legs, relishing in her thick thighs and the way the fabric stressed against them.
Crawling over the top of Royal, back muscles flexing as he advanced, he grabbed the top of their headboard and angled his rock-hard penis directly toward her throbbing center. Eyes closing, she felt the tip of him. The smooth round head pressed through her delicate flesh gently, inching inside of her with the greatest care. Grabbing his back to hold on, she shuttered in ecstasy as the all-too-familiar exhilaration of being taken by Dmitry returned. He filled her to the brim, stretching her sensitive skin as he worked his hips. The sound of her wetness harmonized with the smack of his sex hitting her own. Like a drum, he played their instruments creating music of a very particular kind.
Dmitry could feel himself hardening more as soon as he glanced down at Royal. Her breasts bobbed in the air as she lay pressed to the bed by his larger-than-life form. Something about her submission was driving him insane. Her pheromones gripped him into a madness that had him thrusting into her with so much power until it caused the lamp on the night stand to flicker.
Breathless, she opened her legs wider, shifting her butt upward so that he could enjoy all of her. She took the blows from his hips, took the weight of his body, took the thrusts of his steel-like penis all while holding a climax at bay.
Just a little while longer, she begged herself. Don’t climax too quickly.
Gripping the headboard to the point of his knuckles going white, Dmitry grunted loudly – relieving himself of all his former easy charm and allowing the animal to emerge. His deep voice echoed in the room against her feminine moans. Every cell in his body was attuned to his wife’s pleasure. His broad, hard chest, corded with muscle, now dripped with sweat and strained with veins that stretched across his tanned skin and under his tattoos up to his neck. Dark, hungry eyes glared at her. Biting down on his lip, he slammed into her body fully, making her take all of him. All seven feet, 307 pounds of Russian hardware.
“That’s it,” she chided, clenching her pearly white teeth. “Give it to me.” Sweat dripped from his body onto hers.
Face reddening, he felt himself slipping into that place of joy where he zoned out and allowed their bodies to shed all civility. Letting go of the headboard, he pulled her legs up and placed them on his chest while he sat on his knees and pinned her in place.
“No, Royal Stone, you give it to me,” he growled, filling her again, this time much rougher.
She might have been demure outside of the bedroom but in here she was something far more dangerous.
Grabbing a hand full of her hair, he pulled her head up where she had no choice but watch him pump in and out of her body over and over again.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Is this?” he thrusted harder.
“God! Yes!” she screamed. The excitement in her brown eyes began to build.
He drew ragged breath, panting as he grabbed her by her calves and nearly had her dangling upside down in the air.
Pushing her palms against the headboard, Royal could no longer hold on to her orgasm. Her mouth flew open, first unable to form sound as an intense wave that started deep in her belly and drew itself down to her clitoris. Trembling violently against Dmitry’s bucking hips, she heard her voice carry as she climaxed.
Dropping her to the bed, Dmitry flipped her over to the side and pulled her back to him. Her sex was soaking wet now, slick with her own released pleasure. Slapping her sweaty, silky brown buttocks, he guided his penis back inside of her and grabbed her by her hips.
Throwing her head back, her hair spilling over on the gray comforter, she looked back at him and bit her lip. She could tell by the intensity in his eyes and the laser focus of his movements that he was close. Pushing against him, she pressed her hands into the comforter. It could have been the four glasses of wine she had with dinner or the emotional roller-coaster she had just been on with him about Popov, but whatever it was, she allowed herself to ask for what she really wanted. “Give me a baby,” she said, just as his eyes closed and his hips started to move faster.
Dmitry could feel the surge of semen getting ready to leap forth. His eyes flashed open, growing impossibly wide when he heard her words. Already shuttering, locked to the hilt inside of his wife, it registered what his wife wanted almost too late.
Pulling out right before hot seed exited his body, he slapped his snake-like member on her hip and pushed down against her. Thick, white orgasmic residue ran down her side like a river, pooling on the comforter and dripping over her belly.
Royal looked on with disbelief and fury. He had never done that! She pushed him off of her and grabbed his $500 shirt to wipe his mess from her body. “What the hell was that?”
Dmitry tried to catch his breath. Rolling over on his stomach, he looked up at her in confusion. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
Naked, Royal stood beside the bed. “I want a baby.”
Dmitry wiped a hand over his face. “After everything we just talked about, you want a baby now?” He swallowed hard and grabbed a pillow. Pushing it under his head, he dismissed the idea. “Now is not a good time.”
“Did you just ask me when was a good time when I had your last three?” Royal argued.
“Baby, we might be in the middle of a war. I can’t…” He huffed. “I do not want a child right now.” His voice was colder and sterner than he meant for it to be and instantly he wished he had not said it.
Royal felt like he had just spit in her face. Throwing his shirt in his face, she wiped a tear that threatened to fall to her cheek. “Get out!” she screamed.
Dmitry got out of bed without another word. “Can I get something to wear first?”
Bending down, Royal snatched his slacks and threw them across the bed to him. “Get out NOW!”
“I’m sorry,” Dmitry said, slipping his pants on. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” The jingle of his belt buckle interrupted him. “Please, be reasonable, Royal.”
With her arms now across her chest, Royal stood in silence, refusing to even look at him. “I will not say it again.”
“I won’t force you to,” Dmitry said, ducking his head. Great. He was in the dog house again. Grabbing his phone from the floor, he walked barefoot to the door. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
Royal kept her back to him until the door was closed shut. Hearing his heavy footfalls moving down the hallway, she fell on the bed and cried.
Women! Dmitry thought to himself. One minute they were ready to die for you, the next they were ready to kill you. In a walk of shame, he headed down the back stairs of their wing of the house to the first floor. As he came around the corner, he ran into Marat while he was making his rounds.
“Don’t say a fucking word,” Dmitry growled, whizzing past him.
Marat dropped his head and kept moving. It didn’t take a genius to know his boss had just gotten tossed out on his ass by Royal at 2:00 in the morning. And while he was the head of security, certain things just were not his business.
Looking through his phone, Dmitry had come to one conclusion. At least one thing about today needed to be under his control. He would start with the Popov situation. Instead of hoping that Alexander Popov didn’t find out that he had killed his son, it seemed the best course of action was simply to tell him and let him decide how he wanted to proceed. Fuck it. He was looking for a fight after being mind-raped by Royal.
Hitting a contact number, he waited for Alexander’s overseer to answer as he stalked down the limestone hallway past the guards, who ducked their heads to keep from making eye contact.
“Yes, Mr. Medlov,” Kuznetsov answered as he sipped on a cup of coffee and read the newspaper in his office. It was 10:00 a.m. in Moscow and already the day was off to a hectic start.
“I need to arrange a word with Alexander Popov,” Dmitry said, arriving at the doors of his office where his guards stood. He pressed his thumb against the reader and then grabbed the brass handle to open the doors as soon as he heard the lock open.
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” Kuznetsov said rather smugly. He put down his paper and pressed his pointy elbows against the wooden desk.
Dmitry really wasn’t in the mood for games right now. “Why is that not fucking possible?” he asked, slamming the door behind him.
“Because Mr. Popov died a week ago. I would have thought someone would have told you.”
“Did someone kill him?” Dmitry asked, stopping in the middle of the floor.
“No,” Kuznetsov answered. “He succumbed to his illness.” There was no way in hell the man would tell Dmitry Medlov the truth. He had been paid handsomely to keep the secret that the man’s dying words were used to place a hit on Dmitry’s life.
“Fuck!” Dmitry screamed, hurling the phone across the room. It shattered as it hit the wall, splattering into pieces across the floor. Wiping a hand over his face, he walked over to the sofa in front of the fireplace and plopped down. All he wanted to do was get some damn rest. After that, he’d figured the rest of this out.