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“Okay,” Demitri lets out a sigh. “Let’s say she falls for you, and you marry her. What the fuck are you going to do when her memory returns?” I shrug. “I’ll let her take a swing at me, and then we can have angry sex.”
“Isabella won’t hurt you unless you’re a danger to her. She’s similar to me in a lot of ways.” Ariana rolls her eyes. “I don’t think I can handle two of you. You’re difficult enough.” I let out a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll get along with Isabella.”
“You better eat everything,” Demitri mutters. “Yes, Daddy,” I taunt him, making Ariana chuckle. I look at Isabella and notice a smile is tugging at her mouth.
My body melts against his, and I move my right hand up to his jaw, my fingers drinking in the feel of the dark stubble dusting his skin. Alexei breaks away from my mouth and presses hungry kisses over my jaw and down my neck, whispering, “Fuck.” His teeth nip at my skin. “Fuck.” And then he yanks away from me, hissing, “Fuck.”
I’ve teased my friends and brother when they fell in love. I helped them get the girl. I’ve watched them build lives with the women they love. But not for a second did I think there’s a woman out there who will make me want my own happily ever after. I let out a burst of cynical laughter. Fuck, how the mighty fall. Isabella Terrero. The fucking daughter of my enemy. I did not see that coming.
“Mine. A fucking goddess belongs to me.” My lips curve up as I shake my head, and framing his jaw with my palms, I say, “No, a god belongs to me.”
“What do you want as an engagement present?” he murmurs, his breath fanning over my lips. “A motorcycle,” the answer comes easily. Alexei grins at me. “And?” I think for a moment. “A gun.” He lets out a chuckle as he moves a hand to my front, and then his middle finger slowly starts to tease my clit. “What do you want?” I ask, intimacy weaving a spell around us. “You naked every night.” He pushes a finger inside me, and a moan spills over my lips, then I breathe, “And?” “You by my side forever.”
The corner of Demitri’s mouth lifts. “Good luck.” As Demitri walks away to tend to the wounded, Isabella asks, “Was that meant for me or you?” “Me. I’ve seen what it looks like after you’ve removed a bullet,” I joke. She slants her eyes at me. “One more comment like that, and I won’t give you any painkillers.”
