Let Me In-Dragan's Tale: The Mikhailov Brothers by Amanda Hough Read Free Book Online

only served to fan the flames. It did nothing to quell the ache between my thighs. “Sergey, I need you, honey. Please.”
    Ignoring my pleas, he continued his plunder.
    Frustrated, I balanced, shifting my weight to one arm and reached out for the front of his jeans. Thank God for button-fly jeans. Tugging hard I popped the first two free but salvation remained cloistered. Refusing to be stymied further, I pushed my torso away and set up tall. “Freaking… effing… buttons,” I grumbled. Sergey huffed out a laugh and that threw me over the edge.
    I abandoned the buttons and reached for his face. My fingers fanning into his hair, I grabbed hold and brought his mouth to me. “Now give me what is mine,” I demanded with a grunt. My eyes bright with undischarged lust.
    Sergey’s gaze snapped to my eyes. In one deft move, his jeans were open and he sprang free. Rigid with blood, the tip shiny and flushed, His sack clenched when the cool air hit his dick.
    A shocked grin danced on my face, as my shorts were ripped open at the seam. The crotch of my new pink undies fared no better. Soon he had me poised above the leaking head of his cock.
    E yes, a smoky jade bore into me. “I love you, moya zvezda.” Slowly he lowered me onto his dick. My ass cheeks spread and rested on his forearms. He lifted and dipped me once. Twice. And finally I was fully seated and willing my hips wider until he had bottomed out against my womb. Full. His.
    I kissed him then, slow and sweet. The corners of his mouth, his strong, smooth jawline. Whispering words of affection. With a smile, I leaned back again, arching my back, resting my hands on his knees. On cue, his hips rose and began driving deliberately at first and then with more urgency up.
    “Love you baby,” he repeated between pumps. His mantra. His song.
    “Mine,” I groaned and rode the wave as I came hard.
     

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    FRIENDLY SKIES
    The Dragan
    Flight 245 from Los Angeles, California had disembarked nearly fifteen minutes ago and there was still no sign of Nicolai Mikhailov. I paced the length of the concourse for the fifteenth time. If that man missed this flight…With a frustrated outtake of breath, I checked my phone again. One missed call from Sergey who undoubtedly wanted to know that their little brother had arrived safely. Aggravated I hit the speed dial for Nico. Still no answer. Resigned to wait, I dialed Sergey’s number. There was an answer on the first ring.
    “Dragan, hey! Has Nicolai’s plane arrived? You said you’d call and—” Evie’s voice chirped over the line.
    “Yes, it landed. I’m still waiting for him at the gate.”
    Evie was silent for a moment. “You think he changed his mind? Maybe it was too—”
    “He will be here, sweet Evelyn. He’s ready,” I assured her, though I worried about my little brother. When I told him work was taking me back to Austin, he was not pleased. We had agreed long ago to stay clear of our grandmother and by extension our brother and sisters. Aside from the violent memories we both shared, I’d gotten a not so subtle warning from Irina, our grandmother, years ago. It was best for the family if we stayed clear of Austin. The reappearance of Vladimir Mikhailov’s youngest sons would illicit questions, the family didn’t need. In fact when she discovered that Nico and I had returned to the States eight years ago, she’d sent me a message to stay away, courtesy of a rather bulky Ukrainian named Boris. The Ukrainian had worked off his ticket to the U.S. by working for Irina. However, unbeknownst to my grandmother, he had fallen in love with her youngest granddaughter, Brenna. As it turned out, Boris was a wonderful man. After we talked and I filled him in on the role Irina played in keeping Nico and I from Texas and who we really were, he became an ally in the family for me. When he returned to Austin, he swept Brenna off her feet and got her out from under Irina’s tyrannical thumb. And then I had an