Page 41 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

I peel the material down her backside to her thighs, and she sits back down on the counter and extends her legs.

I’m not used to taking orders from a woman during sex, but I do as she says. I slide the leggings off, revealing her lean, toned legs. Then I grab the lacy panties she has on and pull them down, too.

While I’m admiring her soft skin and the warmth of her thighs, Molly unbuttons my jeans and, with little to no fanfare, pulls me free of my boxers.

I gasp when her hand wraps around me and stand there dumb as she pulls my wallet from my back pocket and slips the condom out.

“You replenished your supply after last time,” she says, her eyes making some kind of assessment that I’m far too turned on to understand.

I put a new condom in my wallet the very night we used the previous one. Even as I told myself I had to stay away from her, I was planning to fuck Molly again.

Who am I becoming?

She rolls it onto my length with deft fingers and slides her naked body to the very edge of the counter. This started as a fight, but neither of us is resisting anymore. I slide into her in one movement, all the way to the hilt.

Molly throws her head back and moans, wrapping her legs around my back and hooking her ankles.

It’s fast and hard, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing off the marble floor.

I still have staff in the house. Guards nearby who are probably listening in, but I can’t be bothered. Certainly not enough to pull out of Molly and walk upstairs.

No, as much as I hate to admit it, I want this … and I have no idea what that means.

I press my face into the soft crook of her neck and breathe in the sunshine scent of her. I bite the muscle there, nipping at her gently with bared teeth like the domesticated animal I am, pretending to be something more. Pretending there is a chance I’ll still hurt her. Pretending this encounter doesn’t mean something much more than sex.

I’ve had a lot of sex with a lot of women. It’s not a fact I’m ashamed of. But it means I know what meaningless sex feels like. I know what fucking someone for the sheer pleasure of getting my rocks off feels like, and being inside Molly isn’t anything like that.

When we part, her legs still shaking from her orgasm, my body shining with sweat, I don’t feel relief. The fire inside of me seems to burn brighter. I want to tuck her under my arm and carry her naked up the stairs. I want to throw her down on my bed and pin her there with my body.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Molly pulls on her clothes and pads quietly up the stairs to check on Theo, and I go back to warming up my dinner, which has since gone cold in the microwave. I eat robotically, shoveling food in to replenish my energy, barely tasting it at all. Unable to focus on anything except the nagging feeling that I’ve gotten myself into a huge mess, and I have no fucking idea how to get out.

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