Page 156 of Jewel of the Assassin
I flick my eyes to hers. And nod. It’s all she needs.
Fingers steady, gaze unwavering, Valentina slips the gown off her shoulders, baring herself to me. The gold pools upon the floor, and I hear the audible quick inhales of the men. And note their eyes falling on her gorgeous ass.
She is four months along, her body growing, stomach swelling with our child. Valentina Makarova is a masterpiece, breathtaking as she faces me, clasping the choker around her delicate throat. Black pearls with a diamond the size of a baby’s fist sparkling upon her skin. Skin glowing with a natural maternal incandescence. Clenching my hand into a fist, I maintain my sovereignty and alertness as she lets her hair down, sensual curls ravishing her chest and shoulders.
“Horosho devochka,” I say, like a prayer, low and reverent. A reminder of who she is. My sacred rite. My religious experience. My divine goddess.
And my queen, even now, when I direct her to turn around and present herself to the hungry eyes of the black market businessmen waiting for me to commence the meeting.
“Zapretnyy plod sladok,” I taunt the members.Forbidden fruit is the sweetest.My voice deepens like iron and flame. “Look at my wife. Look at the only thing in this world you will never own.”
Their eyes feast on her. I maintain one hand on my two fingers of vodka and the other upon her waist. As their breaths grow heavy and labored, my fingers tighten slightly around Valentina’s waist as she arches, poised, a goddess carved in light and shadow. She is not diminished here. She is elevated. And through her, so am I.
Most focus on her lush tits, growing fuller every day in her pregnancy. Her decadent gold curls fall down her chest, flirting with the outer swells. Others feast upon the faintest, softestcurls of dark gold clothing the triangle between her legs, the hint of rosy lips displayed, healthy and flushed. Only a few zero in on the crown brand, wrong to dismiss it. She needs none for her head when I’ve already coronated her very flesh.
She is sin and temptation. Eve and Lilith personified, brought to life.
Breathing deeply through her nose, she keeps her hands at her sides, soft, fingertips curved ever so slightly, an expression of her undying trust in me. Because she knows I’ll skewer any man who would try to touch her. Instead, she thrills in the adrenaline of exhibitionism. The arousal shows in the lovely flush spreading to her plump breasts, the rose-colored nipples stiff, growing taut, and the subtle glistening of her pubic lips.
She is my wicked fantasy turned to reality.
She doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t look down. Valentina is sharp, shrewd, and dauntless. Every inch of her radiates reality.
All it takes is one tap of my finger for her to lower herself onto my lap. My cock jerks, and I know she spends one second too long rubbing her sexy ass against me. But she doesn’t test me. During her pregnancy, and with utter understanding of my needs, Valentina is a wonder, having evolved into the sub I need. But she takes power in her surrender more than ever. Oh, there are times she still brats, and I’ve found clever ways to punish her, but she has transformed gloriously.
She also knows the rules for this meeting. We’ve had others. But this night is the most important, the one I spared no expense, in money or energy, to arrange. It will be her greatest test. She will only take her pleasure at my sole command. Until then, she will play my game.
My thumb circles her hip, a constant moving reminder of my claim.
I move the vodka glass between her thighs, smirking at her gasp from the chills along her nether region. I don’t just brush. I push it just enough for her tender lips to suck the glass.
One man tugs at his collar, undoing a button to breathe.
Valentina leans slightly into me, calm as a queen on her throne, while the others shift restlessly in their suits.
They’ve spent far too long squabbling, letting shipments go missing, pecking at each other like hens, forgetting who sits highest in the food chain. I lean back slightly and speak before they can find their excuses.
“We’ve danced this dance long enough,” I say, my voice low, lethal. “I’m done with excuses about missed shipments. I’ve brought you here to end it. Because I do not sit by and serve at your leisure. I rule. This is my arrangement.”
I pick up the glass again, drink, then rub it along her peaked nipple. She hisses. Every eye follows the motion of my hand. I want them to know she steadies me. She also sharpens me.
“One network. One rule set,” I inform them, setting the glass on the chair’s nearby cup holder. “A syndicate where every route, every shipment, every interest is shared—but under one banner. Mine. I am the commonality you all answer to. And any threat to one of you becomes a threat to all.”
A murmur ripples across the room. The tycoons shift in their seats, some surprised, some openly wary. I glide my fingers over her side. She’s alert and ready.. My subtle gesture to the ends of her hair—a nod only she understands. Time to rise.
She slides from my lap, her body glimmering, naked and luminous. Silk and shadow of pregnancy wrapped into a living sculpture. Arching her back gracefully and thrusting out those luscious breasts, she circles the table, eyes scanning every man, her voice like silk-wrapped venom. “Each of you has made a profit at the expense of the other,” she hisses softly. “That ends tonight. Are you willing to bleed for your greed, or do you wish to survive with your names intact?” Every word lands like a strike, and I feel the room’s energy shift.
She stops at the far end, hands poised on the table, eyes locked on mine for a heartbeat. Then, she sweeps them across every man, unflinching, commanding. They will know she ismy queen, my equal.. She returns to my lap with a measured grace, letting her heat press to mine.
Oleg, the slick oil tycoon, tries to hide his impatience. I had expected him to scheme. Greedy and short-sighted, he thought he could bend one of the tech tycoons to his side, skim the Siberian rare-earth shipments, and carve out a little empire under my nose.
A gun tucked into his coat, smug confidence in his eyes. He believed himself clever enough to cheat me. But I’ve known all along. I informed my security to turn a blind eye to his gun, letting the bastard think he can threaten me. He pulls it now, teeth gritted, shaking, barking threats.
I tilt my head back and laugh, slow, amused, swirling my vodka.
“Why in the hell are you laughing?” he snaps and curses in broken Russian.
I slide Valentina’s Makarov PM into her hand, concealed between her back and my pelvis. My eyes narrow, cold fire. “Because, Oleg,” I murmur, voice lethal calm, “you brought a gun to a room with the fastest crack shot I’ve ever known.”
