Claim Me(Capture Me: Book 3)(37)

Tears glisten in Yulia’s eyes as she shakes her head, but she doesn’t move away as I let go of her wrist and grasp her hips, molding her lower body against mine. My growing erection presses against her belly, and my breathing picks up as molten heat moves through my veins. Our unfinished dinner, UUR, her brother—none of that matters right now.

All I can focus on is the beautiful girl in my arms and the pain in her big blue eyes.

“Yulia…” I breathe in her scent, my hunger intensifying as her tongue flicks out to moisten her lips. I’m leaning in to taste the glossy softness of those lips when she presses her palms against my chest, pushing with all her strength to keep me at bay.

“Lucas, please, listen to me…” Her chest rises and falls in a shallow rhythm. “Most of the agents had nothing to do with the crash. It was Obenko’s idea, and he’s now dead. You don’t need to—”

“Forget about them,” I growl, my hands tightening on Yulia’s hips when she tries to pull away. My frustrated lust adds to my anger, and my tone sharpens as I say, “The agency is not your problem anymore. You’re with me now, understand?”

“But, Lucas, they’re—”

“Living on borrowed time,” I say harshly. “Those who are still living, that is. Your agency killed dozens of our men, and they’re going to pay for that. The only ones who’ll be spared are your brother and you.”

The tears are streaking down her cheeks now, but the sight doesn’t sway me. There’s nothing she can say that would convince me to forgive our enemies. They chose to strike at us, and now they’re reaping the consequences of their actions. It’s just that simple.

Still, I don’t like seeing Yulia upset.

Letting go of her hips, I raise my hand to brush away her tears. “Don’t cry for them,” I say in a slightly softer tone. “They don’t deserve it. You know that.”

“That’s not true.” Her voice is strained. “Some of them might not deserve it, but many are guilty of nothing more than wanting to serve their country and—”

“And the forty-five men who died on that plane were guilty of nothing more than working for Esguerra.” I drop my hand, my anger returning in full force. “Nobody is innocent in this business, beautiful—not even you.”

Yulia takes a step back, but I catch her arm before she can back away.

“You haven’t asked about Kirill,” I say coldly. My cock throbs in my jeans, but I push the lust aside, knowing I need to deal with this once and for all. “Don’t you want to know what measures we’re taking to find him?”

She blinks. “I assumed he died. His wounds—”

“There’s no body and no burial record of any sort. No sign of him, period. Dead men aren’t that good at covering up their tracks.”

Yulia draws in an unsteady breath. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying the bastard is most likely alive—and hiding with help from others in your agency.” I pause, trying to rein in my rage. When I speak again, my voice is moderately calmer. “The people whose lives you’re trying to save are the same ones who let that monster keep his job and lied to you about it. Our operation in Ukraine is not just about retaliation anymore. It’s also about tracking him down.”

Yulia stares at me, and I see the torturous conflict in her gaze. She wants Kirill dead just as much as I do, but she doesn’t want UUR agents to die in the process. I understand that on some level; she must’ve gotten to know many of them during her training, maybe even become friends with a few, so she doesn’t want their deaths on her conscience.

Unfortunately for those agents, my conscience can handle their deaths just fine.

“So what do I tell Misha?” Yulia finally asks. Her voice is still hoarse, but the tears are drying on her face. “Is he supposed to sit tight and wait while you exterminate everyone in UUR? Train with the guards and hope his parents survive the purge?”

“What you tell him is up to you,” I say, refusing to rise to her bait. “I’d be more diplomatic if I were in your shoes, but he’s your brother and you know best. Now”—I use my grip on her arm to tug her closer—“where were we?”

Yulia looks like she’s about to say something else, but I’m done with this discussion.

Wrapping my arms around her slender frame, I bend my head and slant my mouth across her lips.





40





Yulia



Lucas’s kiss holds an edge of anger, his lips and tongue punishing as he invades my mouth, and fear-tinged arousal heats my core, adding to my turmoil.

The man I love is killing my former colleagues, and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t let Lucas break me that time, if he hadn’t come after me, none of this would be happening. Rationally, I understand there were other factors at play—Obenko’s ill-advised attack on Esguerra’s plane, for one—but I still feel responsible for the current mess.

If my brother’s adoptive family dies, it’ll be on me.

It doesn’t help that underneath the crushing press of guilt, I’m not entirely sorry. Somewhere along the way, a root of hatred had taken hold within me, and I didn’t know it until Lucas brought up Kirill’s name. I’d suppressed all thoughts of my former trainer, telling myself that I’d already gotten my revenge, but as soon as Lucas mentioned him, I realized the damage I inflicted wasn’t enough.

I want Kirill dead, wiped off the face of the Earth—along with anyone who might be helping him.

Lucas deepens the kiss, his arms tightening around me, and my head falls back under the pressure of his mouth. His tongue explores me with a hunger that borders on brutality, his teeth tugging at my lower lip, and I moan helplessly, my hands moving up to clutch at his muscled shoulders as he backs me up against the kitchen wall, trapping me there. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m dressed too, but even through our layers of clothing, I can feel the heat of his large body and smell the clean musk of his skin. His erection is like a rock pressing into my stomach, and my nipples tighten, my body responding to his need.

“Fuck, Yulia, I want you,” he mutters, raising his head, and I gasp as one of his big hands slides down my body and cups my sex through my shorts, palming it hard. The heel of his hand puts pressure on my clit, and moisture rushes to my core as he moves his palm in a semi-circle, the rough rhythm shockingly erotic.

“Yes.” My heartbeat thunders in my ears, my muscles tensing with intensifying pleasure. “Oh God, yes…” I don’t know what I’m saying; all I know is I want him—this man, this ruthless killer who’s wrong for me in so many ways. I want him, and I fear him. I hate him, and I love him. The dichotomy of my emotions tears at me, slicing me into pieces, yet it all feels right too, like I’m supposed to be here, in his arms.

Like I belong with him.

He lowers his head to kiss me again, and I latch on to his mouth, responding with the same fierce need. My teeth sink into his lower lip until I taste blood, and it unleashes something violent inside me, a wildness I never knew was there. I’m trapped in his embrace, yet at that moment I feel free—free to rage, free to hurt him as I’ve been hurt. It feels like a chain snapping, and I revel in the sensation, my helplessness giving way to triumph as he tears his mouth away and I see the smear of blood on his lips. His broad chest heaves with labored breaths as he stares down at me, his pale eyes slitted with burning need, and the wildness inside me grows, crowding out fear and reason.

I want him, and I’m not going to deny myself.

Reaching up, I clasp Lucas’s face with both hands and pull his head down, reclaiming his mouth. He’s still palming me between my legs, the hard pressure of his hand keeping me on the edge, but it’s not enough, and I bite his lip again, as desperate for his pain as I am for release.

He shudders in response, and with startling swiftness, spins me around, backing me up against the edge of the table. His arm sweeps out in a violent arc, and my pulse leaps as I hear the bowls shatter, the remnants of our dinner splattering on the floor. It almost jolts me out of my trance-like state, but he’s already laying me on the table, and heat rushes through me again, centering in a pulsing ache between my thighs as he drags my shorts off my legs and yanks down the zipper of his jeans.

We’re still kissing, our lips and tongues dueling with feral hunger, when he drives into me, his thick cock splitting me open. I gasp into his mouth, tensing at the shockwave of sensations. My flesh quivers around him, trying to adjust, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. He just starts pounding into me, and I tear my mouth away, my breath coming in pained gasps as his thrusts drag me back and forth on the hard table. His possession is violent, overwhelming, yet I want more. More of his roughness, more of this dark, savage heat.

I want him to match the animal inside me, to hurt me as I’m hurting him.

My legs come up, wrapping around his hips, and I sink my teeth into the corded muscle of his neck, reveling in the taste of salt and man. His big body shudders, and he rasps out a curse, his pace picking up until he’s all but drilling into me. My hands fist in his sweat-drenched shirt, and the tension inside me grows, the heat between my legs swelling and intensifying. It seems to be taking over all my senses, crowding out everything but the need to come.