Bravery’s Sin: Masters’ Admiralty, book 5, page 15
Nyx intended to start as they were, facing each other on the bed. Though they were so close their knees nearly touched, the distance felt too great.
So instead, she shifted forward, until she was sitting on his thighs, her ankles crossed behind his back. “This is called the lotus.” In this position, she could feel his heat. His cock was thick and hard against the valley of her pussy, the head nudging her stomach slightly.
She held his gaze. “Match your breathing to mine. And don’t look away.”
Nyx drew in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before releasing it. Grigoris was with her on the next intake, the two of them breathing in unison, his kind eyes focused on hers.
She could get lost in his eyes.
They remained there for several minutes, neither of them speaking. Words weren’t necessary. The tension she’d recognized in the set of Grigoris’ shoulders relaxed. She felt his body begin to loosen, the same tranquility she felt reflected in him.
Nyx moved first, lifting her hands to his shoulders, drawing them over the thick muscles, letting herself feel the texture of his skin, the coarseness of the hair covering his arms. She leaned closer on the next intake of breath, drawing in the smell of him, the faint scent of his soap, the piquant aroma of his body. Over and over, she slid her hands over his arms, leaving no part of them untouched.
Through it all, Grigoris remained still, his eyes locked with hers, his chest rising and falling in time with hers.
When her hands returned to her knees, Grigoris took his turn, though he didn’t start with her arms. Instead, he reached out to cup her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms before he started to knead them. His thumbs circled her tight nipples until it was nearly impossible for Nyx to keep her eyes on him. She wanted to close them, wanted to purr, wanted to arch her back to stretch closer to his touch.
Like her, he took his time, touched every part of her breasts. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
She caught the slight upturn of Grigoris’ lips a split second before his gentle ministrations turned wicked. He pinched her nipples. Hard.
Her easy breathing became labored in an instant.
Grigoris released her nipples, palming her breasts in his large, calloused hands. “Breathe,” he murmured, drawing her back to him, to them. It took several attempts until she managed to match her breathing to his once more.
Once she had, his hands returned to his knees.
It was her turn.
Though Grigoris claimed he’d never had tantric sex, he mastered it quickly. For the next hour, the two of them simply explored, leaving no part of the other untouched, neither of them forgetting it would take very little effort for him to lift her onto his rock-hard erection, to give in to the desires that had her body pulsing and throbbing almost painfully.
When Grigoris finally kissed her, Nyx thought she would explode, the pressure of his lips on hers, the taste of him so vivid, so inviting. Neither of them sought to break the kiss, both taking the time to learn each other’s mouths. She ran her tongue along the roof of his mouth, stroked his teeth, nipped at his lips, and Grigoris did the same.
When they parted, Grigoris placed a strong hand on her shoulder, pressing her until she lay on her back, her legs stretched wide as he knelt between them.
He held her gaze briefly as he parted her labia, then he looked down. Nyx fought to control her breathing once more as Grigoris studied her.
“Omorfi theá,” he whispered in Greek.
Beautiful goddess.
With him, she felt beautiful, celestial, holy.
Grigoris pressed two fingers deep inside her, curling them until he found the spot he was seeking.
Nyx arched, her eyes closing in bliss. One more stroke and she’d be there.
One more stroke and…
“Don’t give in to it,” Grigoris demanded. “Push your orgasm away.”
Her eyes flew open. She began to tell him that wasn’t possible, but she knew it was necessary. She’d been the one to initiate tantric sex. Orgasm control was part of that.
It had been easy for her to control her orgasms when she was masturbating alone. However, now, with Grigoris, she realized she’d never truly been tested.
He stroked her G-spot again. Nyx fought to clamp it down, every muscle in her body going stiff with the effort. She clenched her eyes closed, gritted her teeth, held her breath until she was able to stave off the orgasm.
She started to open her eyes, to smile victoriously, but Grigoris wasn’t finished. He grazed her G-spot once more before bending lower to suck her clitoris into his mouth.
She cried out loudly, her hips rising from the bed. Her body was forsaking her. Nyx trembled as she clenched her hands into the bed sheets.
“Please,” she begged breathlessly.
Grigoris pressed a third finger inside her, stretching her, but he was careful not to touch her G-spot again. Not that it helped.
Nyx had spent the last hour attempting to show Grigoris how to relax. He’d destroyed all that hard work in seconds. Every part of her was tense, fighting against something she wanted more than her next breath.
“Please,” she whispered again, weakly.
Grigoris loosened the suction on her clit, then slowly extracted his fingers from her body.
It took several moments before Nyx could find the strength to open her eyes, to look at him. When she did, she expected to see some semblance of satisfaction.
What she saw was naked desire tinged with the same overwhelming, intense, painful need she was suffering.
Nyx bolted upright, taking Grigoris by surprise. They weren’t finished here. Not by a long shot.
She twisted them until their positions were reversed. He was on his back, she was kneeling between his legs.
“Nyx.” Her name sounded like a plea…and a prayer.
She bent over him, running her tongue along the underside of his cock. It was the one part of him left to explore. She’d saved the best for last.
Nyx cupped his balls in her hand, playing with them as she continued to lick his cock. Grigoris attempted to lie still throughout her ministrations, but the way his fists were clenched by his sides, the tautness of his body, betrayed him, told her she was doing everything right.
“Don’t give in to it,” she said, repeating his demand, mere seconds before she took the head of his cock into her mouth.
He groaned.
Nyx took him deeper, smiling when he muttered, “irgalmazz” in Hungarian. She didn’t have a clue how he knew to beg for mercy in her native language, but it only made her want to drive him crazier.
She took him to the back of her throat, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick as the other cupped his balls.
She continued to move her lips along his shaft, increasing the suction until Grigoris gripped the side of her face, holding her still.
Nyx’s eyes lifted to his.
“I’m only human,” he said, his rueful grin touching her heart.
Nyx released him, pushing herself up in a sitting kneel. “I was hoping to massage your prostate as well. I have read that men find great pleasu—”
Before she could finish, Grigoris had flipped her to her back on the bed once more, his cock nudging at the entrance to her body, pressing forward, deeper.
Both of them released their held breath in unison when he was fully seated inside her.
Grigoris cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her passionately, hungrily.
Nyx lifted her legs, locking her ankles around his hips. When the kiss ended, she sensed Grigoris holding back.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.
“This isn’t about what I want.”
“I don’t understand.”
Grigoris’ voice was hoarse, as if he was in pain. “I want to be gentle. I want to protect you. But, Nyx, right now…”
Enlightenment dawned, and she smiled, ignoring the way her scarred face protested the expression. “Take me the way you want, íroa mou. I want the same. With you, I’m no longer so numb from the cold that I can’t feel anything but fear and loneliness. You make me ache and burn, but you do not hurt me.”
Grigoris kissed her once more, hard, possessive. Then he released the reins and gave in to his baser instincts. He withdrew from her body, returning with a hard, deep thrust that sent waves of electricity throughout her body.
Nyx didn’t even try to hold back her orgasm this time. Instead, she gave in to it, let it crash over her, drowning in the pleasure. Then she let him drag her to shore, only to shove her back into the rolling swells again. And again.
The third time she fell, he was there with her, her name on his lips, his come filling her.
It was rough and brutal.
And all she’d ever wanted.
Nyx opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Glancing at the clock, she realized she’d only slept an hour.
Grigoris lay next to her on his side, his hand resting on her breast. She smiled at the slight twinge between her thighs. She was sore, but she would never complain about it. In fact, if she didn’t realize how badly Grigoris needed the sleep, she would twist the man to his back, straddle his hips, and take him inside again.
Slowly extracting herself from the bed, she gathered her clothing and dressed. The house was quiet. She could only assume that the rest of the guests at the estate were dozing as well, after their sleepless night.
With Petro and Hanna at the hospital—Grigoris had decided forcing Hanna to leave Petro’s side was unwise, given the potential massive political fallout and potential perception issues—Nyx felt the need to do some investigating of her own. Walking to the bedroom door, she glanced back toward the bed. Grigoris was sound asleep and, given his state of exhaustion, she suspected he’d remain that way for at least an hour or two more.
Which gave her time.
Opening the door, she slipped into the hallway, returning to her room. Nyx wiped her damp palms on her pants as she leaned against the door. Her heart was racing, and while she tried, she failed to master the deep-breathing techniques she knew would help calm her.
Her eyes traveled around the room, stopping on the entrance to the secret passageway Petro had used last night, when he’d strangled her.
Nyx knew what she needed to do.
Shoving her panic aside, she ran her fingers along the edge until she found the latch. It opened silently, and she slipped inside the narrow, concealed hallway. She almost lost her nerve as she tried to look down the narrow corridor, lit only by the light from her bedroom. She wasn’t sure how long it was; there wasn’t enough light to reveal the other end.
She returned to her room and grabbed her cell phone, turning on the flashlight function. With the help of the light, she traversed the tight passageway, constantly looking behind her, unable to shake the fear of being followed.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the end—until she discovered she was in Petro’s bedroom. Petro had a secret passage that led to just one of the guest rooms. No doubt he placed anyone he wanted to spy on in that room.
She hadn’t been in this room since the day of her wedding. Petro had taken her and Hanna on a tour of their new home, and he’d been particularly pleased to show them the bedroom the three of them would share.
Even now, bile rose to her throat, just as it had that day, when she’d fought back images of Petro touching her, kissing her…raping her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her life would have been like if she hadn’t managed to escape. If Lazar hadn’t helped her.
What if Lazar was the mastermind?
Shoving the unwanted thoughts away, she fought to focus on her reasons for being here. Though the room was perfectly tidy, she couldn’t be certain none of the servants would venture in here for some reason or other.
Nyx wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find. Most likely nothing. The mastermind had proven to be a worthy adversary, one who had eluded capture time after time. If Petro was the mastermind, it was highly unlikely he’d have a manifesto or serial killer and bomber correspondences just lying around his bedroom.
Petro’s walk-in closet was immaculate, every article of clothing hanging according to type, tuxedos on one side, expensive suits on another. Casual attire—blazers, lightweight jackets, sweaters, polo shirts, everything was organized according to style and color. She began with the built-in drawers, opening each in turn, careful not to disturb anything that might reveal the room had been searched. Apart from clothing, there was nothing in the drawers.
She turned back to the closet and started going over the clothes, checking pockets and shifting things aside to look at the wall behind. Shoes lined shelves along the bottom, all in perfect condition. She checked them next, but besides shoe forms in a few of the leather pieces, they were empty.
She stepped back, turning in a slow circle. Nyx suspected she was looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing and shoes. And while that thought disgusted her, it certainly didn’t prove Petro was anything more than the narcissist she’d always known him to be.
Leaving the closet, she went through the main chamber, the bedroom itself, checking under the bed, glancing in decorative boxes, and perusing the books on the bookshelf. She sucked in a breath when she opened the nightstand drawer. She had saved that drawer for last, her gut instinct warning her she might find something she didn’t want to see.
She’d been right to avoid it.
Inside was a dog collar, whip, and a muzzle. Nyx, despite her recently lost status as a virgin, was not unaware of the role these items could play in consensual sex—one couldn’t study religion without also studying sex, after all.
However, she doubted Petro used these on Hanna as part of consensual role play.
Closing the drawer, she walked to Hanna’s “dressing room”—the walk-in closet with the small bed tucked in the corner—and searched it. Hanna’s wardrobe was as expensive as Petro’s. It was obvious the admiral liked dressing up his beautiful wife.
Hanna’s “room” revealed very little about the woman. There were no photos of family or friends, no books, no journals, no personal knickknacks that might reveal a hobby or interest. Nyx felt a cold ball of ice form in her stomach as she realized just how lonely Hanna’s life had been. What must it be like to live in this palatial place but have only this small space to call her own? The dressing room, which was large by the standards of any normal bedroom, let alone a closet, seemed to be shrinking, closing in. Had Hanna felt that, the sense of being trapped and alone?
But the other woman seemed to embrace her life with Petro, seemed to love the man, though Nyx couldn’t decide if those emotions were genuine or manufactured by a world-class actress.
When her search yielded nothing, Nyx returned to the main bedchamber, which was, in reality, Petro’s space, her gaze drawn to the door that led to what would have been her dressing room.
Nyx stood rooted, staring at it for several minutes, fighting back the irrational fear that told her if she walked into that room, she would be trapped there, forced into the life she’d run away from all those years ago.
“He isn’t here,” she whispered to herself.
With those words playing in her head, she steeled herself to make the journey across the room to open the door.
It was meticulously kept, with clean white bedding on the small mattress, the wood of the built-in drawers and cabinets glossy, and even a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the vanity, as if Petro had actually believed she would come home at any moment. On the nightstand was a photograph of her with Petro and Hanna, taken right after their binding ceremony. Nyx couldn’t recognize herself, couldn’t find herself in the terrified face of the eighteen-year-old girl looking back at her.
Walking to the nightstand, she picked up the framed photograph and threw it against the wall, the glass shattering.
It would be evidence that she’d been here, but Nyx didn’t care. The soulless man had placed the picture there for her to find, another reminder of whom she belonged to.
Her fears vanished, replaced by white-hot rage. It was time to finish the job.
She started opening drawers and unzipping the garment bags that hung from the racks. Hanna had told her that she occasionally bought dresses for her, and the proof of that was in the garment bags—beautiful, elegant gowns, most of them in shades of gold and silver. In the drawers, she found matching shoes, more than a few sets of lingerie, but for the most part, everything was empty. Or at least it felt empty, given its size, the dozen or so garment bags taking up a mere fraction of the hanging space.
She was about to leave when she decided to check under the bed. At first glance there was nothing there—but after letting her eyes adjust, she saw it.
Tucked in the back corner was a scuffed duffel bag that looked out of place.
Nyx reached for the oversized bag, pulling it out and placing it on the bed. It was heavier than she’d expected.
She unzipped it, curious about the contents.
Nyx frowned as she pulled out what appeared to be gun parts or accessories.
She and her fellow librarians had studied sniper equipment and tactics in an effort to understand how the American, Griffin Rutherford, had been able to do so much damage. There was a scope, a wind meter, binoculars, ammunition, a folded-up mat and a square sandbag, which accounted for the duffel’s weight.
Nyx searched the closet again, but there was no gun.
Her heart started to pound. This was a gun kit, with everything but the gun. Was the missing gun the one that had been used last night?
Petro had been shot through his office window, but she couldn’t recall Grigoris saying anything about the specifics of the weapon used. If he’d been shot from outside, did that mean it had to have been a long-range weapon? She looked at the pieces, sure that these went with a rifle, rather than a handgun.
She returned to the bed and sat down next to everything she’d found. She needed to pack it up and carry the duffel to Grigoris’ room. Perhaps he could glean additional information from what she’d discovered.
She picked up the sandbag, but it slipped slightly, as she’d misjudged the weight of it. The sound of paper crinkled under her fingers. Examining the bag more closely, she realized there was a zippered pocket in the side. Unzipping it, she pulled out several large sheets of paper, folded and tucked inside.
