Three months later
I’ve only been at my desk for a few minutes when Markov shadows the door, a little earlier than usual.
“Good morning!” I greet him.
Something dark and knowing in his expression makes butterflies take off low in my tummy. Or maybe tiny dragons would be more appropriate.
But then he smiles, just a small quirk of his lips.
I get a surprising number of smiles out of the big, scary, silent kingpin. Not toothy grins, he’s a Russian mobster, after all. But one would be a shock, and what I can’t believe is that he’s begun to regularly smile at me in the last few months. He even laughs sometimes when I tell him the summary of the parts of the book he missed because I listened on my commute.
It’s my dirty little secret that I’ve started only listening on the way home, so I have the time on the bus in the morning to think up how best to phrase the action. To make it witty and cute.
Because “I fell in love with a penniless girl half my age because of how she summarised a story” is totally plausible.
There’s something about Markov though. He’s such a contrast to everyone else, who never listen to me at all. And the fact he doesn’t seem to care about my menial archiving work, total lack of life experience and witty banter, and what a bad daughter I am makes me cherish these moments every morning.
Live for them, even.
I might have a teeny crush on my boss.
He saunters into the small office, and I’m struck all over again by his gorgeousness. He’s wearing a dark suit that’s somehow more flattering than his usual, and he’s normally six out of five chillies.
Nothing can spoil this. Not even an icky feeling that Denis will make it awkward after I’ve ignored his suggestive comments for weeks now, and politely declined his offer on Friday afternoon for us to get to know each other better.
He’s not my type. Partly because my type is strong and silent, tall, dark and handsome, and grumpy except when he laughs with me at the audiobooks we listen to together.
The latest book in the Game of Thorns and Dragons series has just been released, and while we’ve enjoyed other books in between times, Markov made his preferences very clear. When I told him I had the new audiobook and asked if he wanted to swap, he had it playing within half a second.
“Solene and Rovaj are stuck in a cave together because of a storm. They’re driving each other batty.”
His eyes sparkle at my terrible pun.
“They’re between a rock and a hard place, and Rovaj better watch out in the dark because Solene might be more deadly than the lightning outside.”
His smile is wry, and I feel my mouth tug up in return. They’re still enemies, but since they’ve been on this mission to find the chalice of life to save the dragon they both want, it has seemed less and less like arguing and more like foreplay.
“It’s cold, and they’ve lit a fire.” I try to control my blush. I’ve been thinking all weekend about this book. I’m desperate to know what happens next, but I’m also worried.
I didn’t listen further, though. That would be cheating.
“And they’re talking as they try to sleep.”
He swallows, and doesn’t quite meet my eyes, the bump of his throat drawing my attention to his stubble-covered jaw.
Probably a good thing, since he won’t see I’m turning pink.
This is going to be fine!
“Ready?” I ask, as I always do before I press play on my phone.
Where Markov usually gives me a sardonic eyebrow raise, this time, there’s an intensity in his expression as he nods curtly.
“Your shivers are stopping me sleeping,” Rovaj grumbles.
The first line of this section of the audiobook confirms all my fears and hopes. I can’t even look at Markov. There haven’t been any more kisses—or more—since that original one, but the anticipation makes me squirmy. “Snuggling for warmth” is a common romance trope, and this sounds a lot like a setup.
“I’m sorry my discomfort is inconveniencing you,” I reply sarcastically. The audiobook continues.
There’s a soft sound of fabric, and I instinctively look up, to find Markov standing on the other side of my desk, leaning over to adjust the settings on my phone.
“Come here,” Rovaj says in a tone of reluctant irritation, grabbing my sleeping mat and yanking it—and me on it—right next to his. Then he pulls me into his arms, the blankets bunched between us.
The firelight dances over Rovaj’s face.
This line is delivered slower. He turned the speed down on the audiobook? But why? My gaze meets Markov’s and I’m caught, trapped by his silver eyes.
“Solene,” he rasps, and longing fills me.
There’s a tingling on my thigh as he shifts his hand up my back, and his palm touches my nape. As I gasp, I see him jolt too.
Just like when we brushed fingers as we fought.
But this time, it’s sustained, and his dark gaze searches my face, keeping the contact between us.
I’m not cold anymore. I’m flaming with heat.
This is all my nightmares and dreams mixed together. I squirm. Listening to a romantic scene, with my silent boss.
Straightening slowly, Markov beckons me with one finger.
“Are there bitey creatures in this cave?” I ask in a rush.
That would explain the sensation on my thigh.
Rovaj chokes a laugh, and strokes my neck, curling his fingers over it. “Not yet, no.”
I don’t stop him. I can’t. The tingle enhances. Spreads.
I’m helpless to resist. I’m sleepwalking, led by instinct alone as I rise from my chair, and step around the desk. Markov tugs his tie off and discards it, then flicks his top button open, revealing tattoos over the base of his throat.
I’ve no idea what this is, but it’s getting stronger the more he touches me, and I crave it.
Bringing my hand to his chest, my fingertips brush his bare skin where his tunic collar is open, and he groans, the audiobook continues.
I think I’m drugged, because I obey, doing the same, touching my fingers to Markov.
Whipping my hand away, I’m instantly bereft.
I echo the action, and it makes perfect sense, because Markov’s chest is warm and smooth and alive in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt.
“No, don’t deny it.” Rovaj takes my hand—the sparks are all around my legs and hips now—and firmly places it onto his sternum, over his heart, and moans.
And Markov follows the audiobook too, trapping my fingers between his palm and his skin, where the rapid beat of his pulse echoes mine.
And I do too. Because this feels amazing.
But the air is thick with magic, so I force the question, a note of panic in my voice. “What’s happening?”
His purple gaze is softer than I’ve ever seen it when he strokes his fingers up and down my neck. “You feel it too, don’t you? Where’s yours? I didn’t see it on your arms the other day.”
The narrator’s tone is deep and as sweet as syrup.
Markov and I are staring at each other, our hands layered over his chest, my head tipped back because he’s so much taller than me, his dipped, and his expression serious. All that delicious focus on me. On my face.
Markov is a hot, dangerous Russian mafia boss. This is insane. I’m vibrating with fear, but I’m held in place by the audiobook and Markov’s grey eyes.
“Where’s my what?” It’s getting difficult to concentrate.
“Your mate mark,” Rovaj says slowly.
“My what?” He can’t have said what I think he did. My heart pounds erratically, a drum of war.
“Didn’t you know?” He skims his hand down my shoulder, over my clothes and the sensation eases.
This must be a dream.
Markov shifts at the same time as the narrator says the line, as though choreographed, and I have the contradictory impulse to lean into his touch, and also to hide.
Because I have a mark too.
“Didn’t I know what?” But that’s a lie. There’s understanding at the edge of my mind. And witches’ curse, he’s in my head. In my blood. On my skin.
“You’re my mate.” But his lips remain still. I hear his words as a low purr that echoes in my mind, and his hand drags at the fabric at my waist.
Arousal washes into me as Markov does the same, curling at my cotton top, not looking away from my face.
And that’s fine. He won’t see the birthmark on my thigh and tease me like the girls at school used to. Nothing to worry about.
“Get out of my head,” I snap, aloud. I don’t mean it. Rovaj’s voice is as seductive as honey and rose petals. And he does. But, it’s only to lean in—
Oh my god. Markov gradually closes the distance between us, easily slow enough that if I wanted to, I could duck out of the way. I don’t want to.
He gathers me into his chest until we share breath, his a warm teasing whisper of mountain breeze against my lips. Then he leans towards me, holding my head in place as his lips capture mine.
Our mouths meet, and Markov’s lips are soft and full. He’s almost tentative as he kisses me in brushes that set me alight. I didn’t know kissing could feel so good. I’ve never kissed a man before, and Markov seems intent on luring me with his big, protective body over mine and his lips that are made for this.
But instead of feeling like he’s teaching me, it’s as though this is a mutual exploration, even as I’m freaking out that I am kissing a deadly mafia boss who has never spoken to me.
Our tongues dance together, an equal give and take. His kiss makes my head spin with how right it is.
I realise I haven’t been listening to the audiobook, and they’ve kissed too.
And I just kissed my boss. My stomach dissolves. I’ve lost my mind, but they kissed in the book, so this is okay. It’s just playing along. It means nothing.
As Markov pauses our kiss, his breath warm on my cheek as he slides his mouth away, I want to chase him. Kiss the scary Bratva Pakhan twice my age again.
The logical part of my brain is yelling and freaking out, but it’s almost impossible to hear over the audiobook and the riot of sensation from being held and kissed by Markov.
“Where is it, Solene?” Rovaj pulls back only an inch, his face shadowed in the firelight. “Show me your mate mark.” Lidded eyes spear mine, hazy with desire.
Heat blooms over my limbs. Then his questing hand discovers skin, and I can’t restrain the moan of pleasure as he caresses my hip.
At the same time, Markov touches my tummy, his fingers gentle, as though he can hardly believe I’m allowing this. I’m not capable of anything but continuing to melt. I think I’m held up by the magnetic force between us, and my inability to move for fear that this could all be a fever dream.
“I don’t have a mate mark.” I’m panting, almost incoherent. “Because you’re not my mate.”
Rovaj is my enemy, he can’t be my mate.
I’d know, wouldn’t I?
But this fae world I’ve stumbled into has far deeper magic than I understand.
“You think I’m not your mate?” Rovaj draws our hands down, dragging his tunic further open and revealing a pulsing mark on his chest, black lines in swirls that seem to get darker with every beat of my heart.
The audiobook narrator’s voice has gone soft and breathy. Sweeping his hands over my body, Markov gives a groan and pulls me close. I gasp as the outline of his cock presses into my tummy. Then he lifts me onto my desk, his thigh immediately pushing my knees apart.
“This is the mate mark you put on me, Solene. For now, it’s only here when our skin makes contact. But the more we touch, the more permanent it is. Where’s yours?”
“I’m not telling you.” I’m so childish.
His hands move slowly, teasingly. Rovaj hums against my throat. “When I find it, I’m going to lick every line. I’ve been longing to taste you.”
I shudder with desire.
“Everywhere,” he says, sounding undone. “Your mate mark, but all the rest too. Particularly between your legs.”
He pushes my pants from my hips, and I don’t object. I just keep staring at that delicate black pattern, marvelling at the way it responds to my touch.
Markov’s fingers bunch up my sensible grey skirt, and I’m panting with desire. And when he drags down my knickers, I let him, despite the tremor of fear that the mark on my thigh will disgust him.
I’m somehow hyperaware of his skin on mine and also observing from outside of myself. I think I’d go along with anything this man did, whatever the risk.
Rovaj slides down the sleeping mats, rucking up the blankets and settling his wide shoulders over my hips.
Watching my face intently, Markov kneels, nudging my legs wider to accommodate his big body. Then his gaze dips to where he’s bared me, white cotton knickers dangling off the toe of one foot.
Anxiety grips my throat.
“There it is,” he says reverently, smoothing his palm over the black lines on my thigh. My inner thigh. “So pretty with my marks.”
High on my leg is a Café au lait mark the size of a coin. Light-brown, like a wash of spilt milky coffee on my skin. The girls in my hometown used to call me dirty and lazy that I didn’t clean it off.
I’m frozen, watching Markov’s face for his response.
His mouth goes slack as he examines my open pussy, that birthmark, and the creamy skin around it with hooded eyes.
A quick glance up, then he drags his full lips from my knee to between my legs, slowing over the birthmark to press a kiss into that spot. He makes a raw, hoarse sound from the back of his throat, his tongue slipping over my sensitised skin.
A shiver of excitement goes up my spine.
The first press of Rovaj’s mouth is so unexpected, I jump.
He chuckles, and continues. His beard—from many days of travel—rubs over the pulsing patterns. He flicks out his tongue and I nearly scream, clapping my hand over my mouth.
Markov is peppering the area around my pussy lips with kisses that trail inwards, until his tongue sweeps over my folds and flares pleasure right into me.
At the back of my mind there’s shock that he isn’t disgusted by the birthmark, but I can’t focus on anything but Markov. My body is vibrating with a craving I’ve never felt before. I don’t know where to put my hands, and my torso is disintegrating like I’m made of sugar and Markov is licking it all up.
“I’m starving for you. So sweet, so unbelievably delicious.”
Markov makes a contented purring sound that I feel more than hear, then he covers my pussy with his mouth and thrusts his tongue right into my passage. I squeak, and he does it again, but harder, with a harsh groan. His top lip rubs over my clit and I’m trembling, on the edge of orgasm already.
“You’re soaking wet for me, mate, and I love your taste.”
I grip the table helplessly. Markov is holding my thighs now, pushing them out to give him more access to where he’s ruining me. His tongue is insistent, slippery and hot, fucking into me like he can’t get enough.
Then he shifts to eating me greedily, every part of my pussy getting his attention. Firm licks and soft bites, as though he wants to devour me. And it’s heavenly everywhere, but when he sucks my clit, it’s bright lights and electric energy. I can’t help but buck and cry out.
“That’s it. Take what you need, mate. Come for me. Come on my face.”
Markov braces his arm over my hips, holding me down and swiping his tongue over my clit, over and over without stopping. I’m sobbing. Everything inside me pulls tight, then snaps, sending pleasure spinning out down my arms and legs.
I drag Rovaj up my body with the last of my bliss-sapped strength, and he obeys with a throaty chuckle, covering me.
Markov pushes to his feet. His face is slick, with what I realise with a start is not saliva, but my juices. My cheeks flame.
He’s still in his suit, but his shirt is open, and his hair is rumpled. My gaze dips to Markov’s waist.
With impatient fingers, I rip at Rovaj’s pants and tunic. They’re in the way.
Markov’s erection is huge, pushing against the charcoal fabric of his trousers, but the aftershocks of my orgasm have me flying high on courage and horniness. He might be an intimidating mafia boss, but I want him. In my hands, my mouth, my pussy. Deep inside me, losing himself in my body.
My legs are spread and between them is an embarrassingly wet mess. I don’t care. I need all of that slipperiness to take this man, whose cock is as big as my arm.
I shake as I reach for his belt. It’s black leather, and chunky. So unfamiliar. Then his fingers are over mine. I continue to fumble with his clothes that seem intent on being inconvenient.
“I love you, mate. You’re the stars in the sky for me. In the dark, you’re a miracle.”
Then Markov is helping me, making quick work of the buttons and claps and shoving down the soft, clinging black fabric of his boxers to reveal his length. I gasp, and go lightheaded.
He’s beautiful. There’s no other word. Proud, elegant, jutting, masculine. The head is smooth, almost shiny and there’s a smeared drop of liquid that as I stare at, I want to lick. My mouth waters.
It’s also massive.
That can’t possibly fit as it’s meant to, he’ll break me for sure. But hey, it was a good life, and this is a great way to die.
Markov grips it in his big, tattooed hand, and strokes up and down.
“You want my cock, my cruel, beautiful mate?”
“Yes.” There’s no lying now. All our defences are gone. The fire that has smouldered between us from the beginning is an all-consuming inferno. It’s as though the mate bond has flicked a spark onto oil, and it’s burning out of control.
Markov’s enormous cock presses between my legs, the length of it against my slit, rocking slightly back and forward with his hips, sparking new pleasure in me. He holds my hip with one hand and runs the fingers of the other down my hair and looks into my eyes.
“You’re my mate. I’ll get you pregnant.”
“Might,” I reply. It’s not a certain thing, even between fated couples. “Now, Rovaj.”
“Call me, mate,” he demands huskily.
I let my eyelids flutter closed and drag his head down to mine, swallowing the word in a kiss. As though if I don’t see and the words pass straight from my mouth to his without ever reaching the cold night air, I don’t have to admit this is really happening.
“Mate. Please. Now.”
Rovaj groans and slides into me with one powerful thrust.
Markov pauses with his crown at the place where I’m soaked and aching and empty, clenching around nothing. I need him so badly.
And despite the way the audiobook has moved on, we’re frozen, as though he understands this is my first time and it’s a big deal for me.
But I want this.
He fills me deep, the narrator says.
We’re a bit behind the audiobook’s events, and I crave what the heroine in the story has.
The man she needs, the one she doesn’t think she likes, but probably already loves at a soul level, inside her.
“Markov,” I whisper. “Please.” It’s no more than a breath. “Take me.”
His grey eyes go wide, and I gasp as he pushes in.
