Page 16 of Blazing Embers

He has a small brown bag in his hand. “These came for Tara.” He puts the bag on my desk. “It’s from General Morozov with instructions that he’s been made aware that Tara hasn’t taken her medication for a while, and it’s best for everyone if she does.”

“Thank you.” I nod. “Have the car ready early tomorrow. We will leave just before dawn for Dragunov Village.”

“Of course,” Pavel nods and leaves.

I look at the bag on the desk, then dig into it, pulling out a bottle of pills marked Tara Craft. Take two tablets twice daily.

There is no name of the medication. I open the bottle and look at the tablets inside.

They are white and look like vitamins, but I’m sure they are not. They are some drugs developed to stabilize her. Closing the bottle, I sit back and stare at them for a while, and a small surge of guilt hits me over what I’m doing to her, but I brush it aside.

For what Tara did, she’s lucky she’s still alive. But while I’m doling out her punishment, I would like to ensure she doesn’t become some uncontrolled killing machine or whatever it is these pills stabilize her for.

Standing, I shove the pills back into the bag and storm down the hallway, unlock her door, and push my way into her room, not bothering to knock. It’s time to stop treating her like a guest. She’s my wife and my prisoner now.

As I step into the room, I halt abruptly. The room is vacant, and for a moment, ice-cold dread grips my heart. Then, the sound of rushing water meets my ears. My cock stirs as I envision her naked in the shower. Steam billows from the bathroom door,beckoning me. I place the pill on the dresser and stride into the bathroom, my cock hardening to full erection as I see her silhouette through the frosted glass.

I strip. My clothes fall in a heap on the marble floor. The heat of the water is already thick in the air as I step into the shower.

Tara spins, her back pressed against the slick wall, eyes wide. Her arms move instinctively to shield her breasts, but it’s too late. I see every inch of her. Skin flushed. Hair wet and curling against her collarbones. The steam makes her look like something not quite real.

“What the fuck,” she snaps. “Get out.”

Her voice is tight, sharp, but her body is betraying her. I step closer, crowding her space. She stiffens. I smile, slow and dangerous, letting her see what I’m thinking. “Oh, Tara. You’re still under the impression that you can give orders and I’ll obey.”

I drag a single finger along her cheek, down her throat, slow and deliberate. Her skin’s hot and damp beneath my touch. She shudders. I keep going, tracing the line of her collarbone, then curling over the swell of one breast. Her nipple is already hard. She flinches when I brush across it.

Her breath hitches. She doesn’t look aroused—more like startled. Wounded. But her eyes burn.

I cup her breast, firm and full, heavier than I remember. I frown for a second, storing that observation. Later.

She clenches her jaw. “I don’t want this,” she rasps. “I’m on my period.”

“I’ve never been squeamish about blood,ptichka.” My voice is low, rough. Her body tenses. I see the moment she realizes I’m not walking away.

I grab the back of her neck and crush my mouth against hers. She tries to twist free, her fists pounding at my chest. She claws at my shoulders. I catch her wrists, pin them both against the tile above her head with one hand.

I pin her there like prey.

My free hand skims down her ribs, over her belly, then lower. She gasps when I find her slit. Warm. Wet. I slide two fingers between her folds, pressing against her clit.

Her legs buckle slightly, her breath turns ragged.

“There it is,” I growl, teeth grazing her ear. “You’re dripping. Don’t lie to me, Tara. You fucking want this.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, eyes blazing.

“Oh, I’m going to.” I hook my fingers and feel her hips jerk. “But you don’t come yet. Not until I say.”

She tries to hold her head high, like she's still in control, but her thighs shake.

“On your knees.” I let go of her wrists and step back, watching her.

For a second, I think she’s going to slap me. Or run. But she doesn’t. She sinks slowly, defiantly. Her jaw locked, her glare fixed on me, hate pulsing off her like heat.

She looks up at me, then slides her mouth over the head of my cock.

I groan. My fingers tighten in her wet hair. “Take it,” I snarl. “Use that pretty mouth.”

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