Page 10 of Fame
An embarrassment of riches. That’s what I have. Amaliya’s standing here in my bedroom. Mine. Not the pakhan’s. Not fucking Zinovy Bayev’s. Mine.
“Tell me, did Zinovy put his hands on you?” It’s a neanderthal question. One I have no right to ask.
“Rude.” Both hands slap to her hips as she steps forward into my space, leaning close to snarl.
“Duchess, I’m on a short leash here. Don’t push me. Did. He. Touch. What. Is. Mine?” I’ve been a bastard since the day I was born. There’s no unringing that bell.
Silence stretches as Amaliya takes my measure. Fierce blue eyes glare at me as her bitable lower lip pouts out. I almost feel the shift of energy in the air as she processes through the possibilities each response will lead to.
That’s one of the things I adore most about her. Nothing comes for free. She makes me work for every victory. Taming the bratin her is almost as heady as watching her flex the strength and cunning she learned at her father’s knee.
Long lashes sweep over the curve of her high cheekbones while she sweeps her narrow-eyed inspection from the scuffed toes of my boots up my legs, surprise overtaking the calculating gleam when she notes the basketweave fiberglass and metal cast that stretches from my ankle to the top of my leg.
“What happened?” she gasps.
“Little adventure on the mission. Falling tree limb took me off a snowmobile, broke my leg in a few places. A couple pins and everything’s fine.” I don’t want her to worry, so I give her as much detail as I can considering the whole operation was off books and unsanctioned.
“You’ve been carrying me around, injured?” Indignancy lifts her voice octaves, and those ice blue eyes shimmer with tears. “What if you made your injury worse?”
When was the last time anyone gave a rat’s ass about me the way Amaliya does? Her concern strikes a soft place in my soul, one I’d thought dead at the hands of my shitty childhood. The warmth that spreads through me douses some of my caveman compulsion to know every detail of her time spent as the Bratva Beast’s fiancée. Some, but not all.
“You’re dodging the question, Duchess. Now, answer me. Am I killing Bayev for laying hands on you?” Honestly, I’m unsure what I’ll do if she says yes.
Killing one of the pakhan’s brigade nearly brought us to war with Anatoly when Konrad slaughtered one of the man’s guards. To be fair, the man had deserved the kiss of Bender’s steel once Blu and Grey had recognized him as someonewho had taken pleasure in watching their abuse. I’m unsure these circumstances would result in the same forgiveness from Balakin if I were to go after Zinovy.
“Arguably, I wasn’t yours then, Daddy.” As though my return to the subject at hand acts as a light switch in a dark room, my worried darling transforms back into my sassy little brat.
“You’ve been mine since Jax and Blakely carried your drugged-out body into my clubhouse the night they rescued you. You’ll be mine until I draw my last breath. Even after that, you’ll be mine when I’m a ghost following you around.”
And she has been. Every thought, every second, every everything since the moment I laid eyes on her has been spent obsessing over the drive to claim her and the war within myself to deny my need.
“Prove it then.” She cocks her hip and stomps her little foot. It’s contrived bratting. This part of the game feels so natural between us. The play has my cock so hard each thumping heartbeat makes the ache grow.
“You’re awfully mouthy for a Little Girl who doesn’t want to answer a simple question. Maybe, you need to put that mouth to work while you think about being a good girl for me.” I step close enough to nip the plush lower lip she’s pouting at me.
My hands cup her elbows, pulling her fists from her hips and guiding her to her knees. It’s not as smooth as I’d like our first time together to be, but with the damage to my leg, it’ll be weeks if not months before I’m as agile as usual.
The sight of Amaliya Balakin kneeling for me is a heady one, and my dick gives a valiant effort at busting through my jean’s zipper to get at her. My hands slide from her elbows to capture eachwrist and press her hands to my thighs. Slender fingers clench against the soft fabric of the worn denim covering my left leg, and into the webbed openings of the fiberglass weave that makes a fancy cast over my right.
Clanking from my buckle being undone and the hiss of leather singing through beltloops as I pull it free is the only sound in the room. My fingers shake at the button of my pants, need making me clumsy. The fantasy of my baby girl on her knees for me has been my go-to jerk-off material for months, and now, it’s happening.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Duchess. You’re going to hold on like this and not let go while I fill your sassy mouth with cock. If you need a break or it’s too much at any point, you’re going to tap my leg three times. Understand me?”
Amaliya nods, her wide blue eyes staring up at me as if I’m a god. Her eyes never leave mine, even when I reach into the open zipper of my jeans to wrangle my erection free from its denim prison.
“When I think you’re ready to answer my questions like a good girl, I’ll give you one more chance.” I force myself to glare down at her. I don’t even care anymore whether she was with Zinovy while I was gone. Not really.
Neither of us are virgins, and it would be my own damn fault if that fucker Bayev touch her, considering I pushed her away the way I did. Still, the question is part of the game we’re playing, even if my heart’s unprepared to deal with the answer.
Precum drips from the slit at the head of my cock, the whole thing so engorged the skin feels stretched drum-tight. My fist grips tight around myself, holding back the cum that wants togeyser like a firehose all over her perfect face. With my other hand, I guide her head to my groin.
“That’s my good girl,” I praise as she parts her lips eagerly. Instinct urges me to bury myself deep, but until I know how well she takes me, I’m unwilling to risk harming her. Instead, I paint the weeping head like lip gloss, pulling back to watch the glittering string of cum stretch. Her tongue snaps the thread when it darts out to taste me.
I’ll never admit it, but the fiberglass of the damn cast is probably the only thing keeping my knees from buckling and taking me down. Even just the swipe of her tongue over me is more bliss than I’ve felt in my entire wretched life.
It may be my hand tangled in her hair, holding her there, but Amaliya makes it clear she’s the one in control when she tips her face forward, nuzzling my length before easing back to take me into the slick heat of her mouth. There’s a wet gurgle as she takes too much at once, the muscles at the back of the throat kissing around my head when she swallows me.
“Good girl. Such a good, good girl.” The praise earns me a deeper bob as she slobbers her way back and forth over my length. There’s no way she’ll be able to take all of me, but each pass nudges me deeper and deeper into her throat until I feel the ripple of her esophagus clenching. I have to pull her off me to avoid busting my nut and filling her tummy with every drop of me.
