Home > White Nights (White Nights #1)(11)

White Nights (White Nights #1)(11)
Author: Anna Zaires

I grip his shoulders, my breath catching from the blunt, firm pressure. Despite my wetness, he doesn’t slide inside. His shaft is too thick for me to accept with ease. Instead, he rocks gently, working himself in inch by slow inch. As his inexorable advance continues, my inner muscles stretch uncomfortably, and a whimper of distress escapes my throat.

Pausing, he asks in a low, hoarse voice, “Am I hurting you?” His body is tense, his jaw tightly clenched, but he holds himself still, giving me time to adjust.

I draw in a breath, forcing myself to relax. “Just give me a second,” I whisper, grateful for his restraint. Lying underneath him with his cock halfway inside me makes me feel vulnerable, at his mercy, and I’m grateful he has enough control to pay attention to the cues of my body.

“Of course,” he murmurs, holding himself up with one arm and using the other to reach between our bodies. Finding my clit, he rubs around it, spreading my arousal there before gently pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Gasping, I arch against him. The pleasure is so sharp it’s almost painful. My action pulls him deeper inside me, stretching me further, filling me in a way I’ve never experienced. Another pinch, another arch, and he’s all the way in, the coarseness of his pubic hair brushing against the smoothness of my sex.

Breathing heavily, he stares at me, holding still to let me get used to the feel of him buried inside my body. He continues petting my folds and toying with my clit until I soften around his hardness. I’m still not completely comfortable with his size, but the extreme fullness is no longer unpleasant. Instead, it adds to the powerful tension growing inside me.

Sensing my increasing desire, he begins to move, rubbing my slick folds and pressing on my clit with a rhythm that makes me spiral higher until I’m teetering on the exquisite edge of release. Letting out a choked cry, I dig my nails into his shoulders, needing him to move faster, harder, to hurl me over the brink. Suddenly, I’m there, my entire body convulsing as a wave of pleasure radiates outward from my core.

At my pulsations, he groans and starts thrusting more powerfully, pushing me into the mattress with each stroke. To my disbelief, the tension coils inside me again, my sensitized flesh responding as he drives into me with increasing force. He swells inside me, growing impossibly longer and thicker, and another orgasm rips through me, shocking me with its suddenness. At the same time, he reaches his peak, throwing his head back with a hoarse cry and grinding his pelvis against mine.

We stay like this for a moment, our foreheads pressed together as we catch our breath. Then he withdraws from me and discards the condom. Gathering me into his arms, he curves his body around mine from behind. The heat of his flesh penetrates my skin as his heavy breathing slows. My heartbeat, however, is still elevated, as if I’ve run up ten flights of stairs. I don’t know if it’ll ever beat normally again.

There’s sex, and there’s what I’ve just experienced.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly, draping a heavy arm across my hip. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

I let out a shaky laugh, glad he can’t see the dazed expression on my face. “You were very careful, and I enjoyed it very much. Obviously.”

“Good,” he says quietly, tracing circles on my stomach. “Because I’d like to see you again, Katyusha.”

I give an internal start and turn in his arms. “Are you asking me out after we just had sex?”

“Whatever you want to call it.” His lips curl into a sensual smile. “I told you, I don’t do traditional dating, but I’d like to explore this further.”

“You want to have sex with me again?”

He nods, his eyes gleaming. “Absolutely. Unless you have objections?”

Objections? What kind of objections can I have after the best sex of my life? “No objections here.”

“Good,” he says, a wealth of satisfaction in his tone. “Then it’s settled.”

I bite my lip. “Should we shake on it?”

“I have a better idea,” he murmurs, shifting so his hardening cock brushes against my thigh.

Really? “Again?”

“Unless you have objections?”

“No objections,” I repeat dazedly as he reaches across the bed for another condom.






St. Petersburg



“What do you fucking mean it failed?”

“His bodyguard took the bullet instead.” The assassin’s voice is expressionless. “I don’t know how he sensed it, but he did. Another second, and I would’ve had him.”

“Fuck.” Oleg Pavlov takes a deep breath, gripping the phone so hard the metal edges dig into his palm. “Are you losing your touch, Bes?”

“If you think so, you’re welcome to get someone else.”

The motherfucking—

Oleg takes another breath, reminding himself why it’s not a good idea to piss off Bes. “Look,” he says in a more conciliatory tone, “I just need to know if you can get it done or not. You know our agreement—”

“I can get it done.”

“Then do it.” Putting the phone away, Oleg turns his attention back to the man sitting across the table from him. On the stage in front of them, three blond girls are gyrating to the latest Russian hip-hop imitation, their slim bodies perfectly tanned and surgically enhanced. Under different circumstances, Oleg would’ve used one—or all three of them—to relieve some of his tension, but now isn’t the time to indulge.

Not when he has to explain the situation to one of the most dangerous men in St. Petersburg.

“I take it Volkov is in good health,” Vladimir Stefanov says dryly, his fleshy jowls quivering with each movement. With his thick lips and neck rolls, he reminds Oleg of Jabba the Hutt. Inside that bloated frame, however, lurks a razor-sharp intelligence and cunning slyness, something Oleg is careful never to forget.

“For now,” Oleg says, nodding. “But Bes will take care of it.”

“You place a lot of faith in that cleaner.”

“He’s never let me down before.”

“He’s never gone up against Alexander Volkov before either.”

Oleg shrugs. “He knows about Volkov’s reputation. He’ll be careful.”

“Oh, really?” Vladimir’s lips stretch into something resembling a smile. “You think he knows what Volkov is capable of?”

“He’s got the file on him,” Oleg says. “The same one you gave me.”

Vladimir lets out a harsh laugh, his entire body seeming to oscillate from the movement. “Well, then, let’s hope your boy is up to the task. Because if Volkov gets wind of who’s behind it all and why, you and I will both wish we’d never been born.”






I wake up to the unusual aroma of eggs and coffee. Opening my eyes, I stare at the shocking sight of a Russian tycoon standing next to the bed dressed in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts. He’s holding a tray filled with a variety of dishes, apparently the source of the delicious smell.

Blinking, I sit up, holding the blanket up to cover my breasts as I try to orient myself. I must’ve fallen asleep in Alex’s bed, although I don’t remember doing so. As I shift to rest my back against the headboard, I become aware of a deep inner soreness, a reminder of last night’s sexual marathon.

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