by Zaires, Anna
She falls back on the floor, her back hitting the hardwood surface. Like a man obsessed, I unfasten my belt and pants. I barely take the time to shove them over my hips before I grab the root of my cock and push the head against her entrance.
I want her. I need her. Now.
With a tilt of my hips, I part her tight flesh. She cries out in pleasure, maybe a little pain too, but I’m long past breaking point. I can’t hold back. Pushing forward, I stuff her full of my cock. Like I’ve taken everything from her, I make her take all of me. When our groins are flush together, I move.
I lose myself in a desperate rhythm, knowing I won’t last. Keeping my weight on one arm, I pin her hip down with the other to prevent the thrusts from shifting her over the floor. I pump until heat explodes at the base of my spine and my cock erupts with scorching-hot pleasure. I empty myself inside her, making her take every drop just because it’s so damn intimate. On the most basic of levels, it’s the ultimate expression of affection. A woman can’t take more than this, and this is everything a man can give.
Breathing heavily, I press our foreheads together. I intertwine our fingers and kiss her mouth, pouring myself and everything I want to give into the kiss. Together, we come down from my frenzy, from whatever the fuck one would call what I just did. It’s more than fucking. It’s more than making love. It’s more sacred. It’s darker. There are no words for what I feel.
When my reason somewhat returns, I roll onto my side, bringing Mina with me. I can’t make myself pull out. Not yet. Right there, on the floor, I give her the care I owe her, stroking her back, arm, and hair. A week ago, I desperately wanted her confession. Now, I only want her like this. Soft. Content.
I should be at peace, but I’m not. The seed of guilt has grown. It’s growing stronger still, turning like a magical bean into a giant stalk. Finally gathering enough willpower to break our contact, I pull away from Mina and get to my feet.
She pushes up on her arms. “Is everything all right?”
No. Nothing is all right. I doubt it’ll ever be again. She turned my world upside down, unearthed everything I thought I was. Guilt is like a cancer eating at my gut. I’ve never hated myself as much as in this moment.
Her eyes are large, vulnerable. Sweet baby-blue. “Yan?”
Clenching my fists, I consider all my wrongs. “I never told you I love you back.”
She drags her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I know.”
“If that bothers you—”
“You shouldn’t fall in love with me.”
The sincerity of the statement knocks me off balance. “Why not?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
I can’t look at her like this, sitting naked on the floor in a puddle of my cum. It only makes the godawful guilt sharper, the pain more acute. Offering her a hand, I pull her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For taking me to see Hanna.”
My smile is weak. “You’re welcome.”
As she drops my hand and makes to turn, I grip her wrist. “That night in Budapest, did it mean anything? Beyond the physical, I mean.”
Her stare is level. “When I told you it’s different with you, I meant now as well as then.”
For some reason, her words floor me. I come apart a little more. “Then why did you run?”
“You scared me. I was frightened.”
“Only frightened?”
“And intrigued.”
The chemistry was real. It wasn’t one-sided. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“You wanted to keep me.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Yan,” she continues, then pauses. “The job with Henderson… I had no way of knowing you were involved. I should’ve trusted my instincts—”
I place a thumb on her lips. “I believe you. It’s in the past. We’re not talking about this again.”
She stands quietly, waiting, but when I don’t say more, she turns on her heel and walks to the bathroom.
I stare after her. A bruise spreads in my chest as I watch her frail shape and tiny form. I can never look at her the same way again. I can only see her like I saw her in Hanna’s room—a woman wronged, a woman I admire and adore. Her innocence only acts as a magnifying glass to highlight my shortcomings and faults.
Forcing my feet to move, I follow her into the shower, where I take her again, bending her over and entering her from behind. I’m gentler this time. The storm has wreaked its havoc. For now.
Afterward, Mina offers to cook, but she’s tired. Tomorrow is a big day. I order pizza, which we eat naked in bed while watching a news broadcast on my laptop. She falls asleep in my arms even before she’s brushed her teeth. Carefully shifting out from under her, I close the laptop and gather the empty pizza box and napkins. When I enter the kitchen, still naked, Ilya is leaning with his elbows on the counter, a bottle of beer in front of him.
He looks me up and down with a grin. “Good night?”
I dump the trash in the can. Our sex life has nothing to do with him. Grabbing a clean towel from the tumble dryer, I wrap it around my waist. “Looks like your night went well.”
“Splendid. Blonde. Legs from here to heaven. I swear she could wrap them twice around my ass.”
I take a beer from the fridge and twist off the cap. “Good for you.”
“What’s eating you?”
“Why would something be eating me?”
He chuckles. “You’re talking to your twin.”
I glance at the closed door of my bedroom.
He follows my gaze. “Trouble in paradise?”
Leaning on the counter and crossing my ankles, I take a sip of my beer. “It’s never been paradise. Hell, maybe.”
“I thought you were happy. Why else would you fight me so hard over Mina?”
“I fucked up.”
He brushes a hand over his head, regarding me with caution. “What did you do?”
“Mina didn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“The disguises. It was someone else.”
He straightens. “What are you talking about?”
I tell him everything I’ve told Anton. He doesn’t interrupt me as I talk, and to his credit, he doesn’t say I’m the worst asshole alive.
When I’ve finished the grim tale, he comes over and pats me on the shoulder. “It’s settled, then. She didn’t do it. Shouldn’t that make you feel better? I sure as hell feel better.”
“In a fucked-up way, I feel worse. I treated her pretty badly.”
“Apologize. She lied. You couldn’t know.”
“Don’t you see?” I rake a hand through my hair. “I used the betrayal as an excuse for keeping her.”
He shrugs. “Then let her go.”
I slide down to sit on the floor with my back against the cupboard. Swirling the bottle, I digest his words. It’s not as if I haven’t considered it. At least a hundred times since I learned the truth. And every time I think about cutting her loose, I come up against the same wall. “I don’t think I can do it.”
Ilya sits down next to me, his arms on his knees. “Why not?”
“I can’t live without her.” I clasp my head in my hands, the cold bottle pressed against my temple. “I won’t know how to.”
“You love her,” he says in wonder. “Fuck me. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Shaking my head, I lean it back against the cupboard and close my eyes. “I don’t think I’m capable of love.”
“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
I tear one eye open and peer at my brother.
“You’ve changed,” he continues. “Now that you mention how you feel about Mina, it makes sense.”
“Changed how?”
“You refused to share her.”
I crack the other eye open and give him a hard look, ready to launch into the same tired old battle, but he’s smiling.
> “I thought you were pushing me away.” He slams a palm on his forehead. “Meanwhile, you were falling in love.”
“I wasn’t pushing you away. Mina isn’t someone I can share.”
“You see? You do love her.”
“I wouldn’t recognize love if you waved it with a flag labeled LOVE in front of my face. Besides, I don’t think Mina wants my love.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She just said as much. Said it was better I don’t fall in love with her.”
He scratches his head. “Yeah, well, after how you treated her…”
“What a big fucking mess.” At least I now understand why she couldn’t trust me and why she didn’t confide in me about meeting Gergo.
“The way I look at it, there’s only one way to find out if I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
“That you love her.”
“What way is that?”
He meets my gaze. “If you love her, you’ll let her go.”
His words gut me. Because he’s right. Keeping her is selfish. Keeping her is for me. If I care about her more than I care about myself, I will do it. I will show her the door and set her free. I will let her walk through it and risk never seeing her again.
I never knew a thought could hurt more than a knife in a kidney, but it does. The idea of losing her strangles me until I can’t drag in any air. And yet, I’ve known this all along. It’s what’s been eating at me since I forced Mina to admit her feelings and declare her love. It’s what’s been nipping at me, feeding on my newfound conscience. Mina accomplished what no one else has succeeded in doing. She made a human being out of me.
A man.
A man who loves a woman.
The realization knocks me sideways. It kills me. Because in this moment, I know what I’m going to do.
Ilya, so often in tune with my misery, grips my shoulder. “I’m sorry, bro.” He forces optimism into his tone. “She may come back. Maybe she’ll even stay.”
After everything that’s happened? I doubt that very much. Only a fool would hope for the impossible.
“She did say she was in love with you,” Ilya says. “That counts for something.”
“Yeah.” My heart isn’t in the word, though. My love is dark. It’s not a fairy-tale kind of love, the kind women dream of in their fantasies.
Even women like my Mina.
“When will you do it?” Ilya asks, correctly assuming my decision is made.
“After the job.” My heart fucking shatters. She won’t come back, I know it. “That’ll be best.”
“Yes,” he agrees solemnly. “Better not rock the boat before. We need our ducks in a row.”
We sit together in the low light on the floor like the brothers we were before. Like during the many cold, hungry nights when I consoled Ilya with a stolen loaf of bread or a not-so-funny joke, he sits with me through my darkest hour.
I dread tomorrow like no other day.
Tomorrow, I’m setting Mina free.
32
Mina
I wake up tense, the nightmare about my parents still fresh in my mind. The sun is breaking through the window in Yan’s room with a soft glow. Normally, the ordinary scene would’ve settled me, but nothing about this day is ordinary.
It’s the day we’re taking out Dimitrov.
I don’t take anything for granted, not the familiarity of the warm light nor the snugness of the cozy covers. Every minute is precious. Every second counts. Yet I can’t find peace in the moment. I can’t appreciate the warmth of Yan’s body that’s pressed against mine or the pretty way dust particles dance in the wedges of sunlight. Unease stirs in my belly, something indefinable poking at my nerves. This is odd. I’m usually calm before a job. The men’s edginess must be rubbing off on me.
Yan’s breathing is rhythmic, his nose buried in my neck, but he’s awake. I don’t need to see his face to know. I’m always in tune with him these days.
“Sleep well?” he whispers against my ear, scraping his stubble down my neck.
I shiver at the delicious friction. “Like a baby.” I feel good this morning, and I say a silent prayer of gratitude for the mercy. I need my strength and wits today.
Turning me onto my back, Yan stretches out over me. The heat of his naked skin makes my body come alive, the hardness of his erection nudging between my thighs lighting an instant fire in my veins. He holds my gaze as he grips my wrists and lifts them above my head. Drinking in my expression, he rubs the head of his cock through my slickness before pushing all the way inside. My breath catches from the thrill of the sudden stretch, and goosebumps break out over my skin, the follicles contracting with intense pleasure and a strange, soothing kind of pain.
“Good?” His voice is lazy and still gravelly from sleep, but his eyes are alert and observant, watching my expression as he pulls out almost all the way and slides back to the hilt.
Biting my lip, I throw back my head. The only answer I can manage is a blink.
He kisses my neck, sucking on the skin beneath my ear. “That’s my girl.”
The approval in his tone makes me melt. The unease drifts away on a wave of passion as he starts to move with an easy pace while lifting his head to study me once more. The way he stares at me with naked hunger, willing me to open myself up and submit to my feelings, is as potent as a physical touch. The way he devours me with a simple regard evokes a pleasure as intense as the stroking of his cock over the sensitive nerve endings inside me.
Being held down like this, taken with his body and eyes, has me responding to him in no time. Despite his leisurely movement, my pleasure builds fast. I’m drowning in need underneath his muscular weight. He’s testing his power over me, how hard he can make my body bow, how long he can hold me on the edge before I lose all sense of time and place. All the while, he scrutinizes me with those jewel-green eyes, reveling in my reaction, reverently observing every gasp and moan.
When I reach my limit, that dark, dangerous place where hearts are stolen and minds are lost, he rewards me with relief. Rolling his hips, he applies just the right amount of pressure on my clit to allow me an escape from the maddening prison of need he’s trapped me in. He unlocks the chains and permits my heart to take flight on a peak of pleasure. The ecstasy is so severe I’m barely cognizant of my name. How easily he takes my reason.
He lets me finish completely before he comes, filling my body with his seed. He pumps until he’s empty, and then thrusts some more. He moves with the feverish determination of a man trying to spill his mark and possession into me. It’s no different from every other time we’ve fucked, and yet, it’s not the same. As he rests his forehead against mine, squeezing my wrists, we’re completely aligned. The last disharmonious note has fallen in tune. Our coupling is perfect. Complete. Our breaths pant the same melody, our hearts hammering the same erratic beat. We’re two instruments resonating in harmony. It feels like…
Love.
The thought is sweet. Bitter. Sobering. Only yesterday, I worried that he’d never reciprocate my feelings, but now, my fear is the opposite. He shouldn’t love me. He can’t. It’s better if my love remains one-sided. I love him too much to hurt him like that. But our hearts have already merged, and the man staring down at me isn’t the man who abducted me in a dark alley.
He’s the man who loves me.
I reel at the realization. The thought knocks my heart askew in my chest. I’m still battling to come to grips with the uninvited insight when he pulls out, leaving a wet puddle between my legs and a disconcerting coldness in my soul. I’m trying to reconcile that frosty distance with the heat of the knowledge burning in my mind, but then he presses our mouths together in a kiss that consumes me from the inside out. A barrier drifts between us even as that kiss forges our bodies and souls closer together. It’s a kiss like no other, a kiss that spells love and goodbye in the same breath. It’s push and pull, a force that has equal power to fuse or wreck.
I’
m hovering in that confusing space when he tears his lips from mine to press a chaste kiss on my cheek.
“We better have a shower,” he says.
Throwing back the covers, he takes my hand to lead me to the bathroom, but the distance between us grows until the atmosphere becomes stiff like cardboard, and my throat throbs with a knot of unshed tears.
When Yan gets out of the shower and hands me a towel, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “Is everything all right?”
He meets my gaze squarely as he dries off. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re different.”
“Now’s not the time for amateur psychoanalysis,” he says sharply.
The rebuke is like the prick of a needle in my heart. After what we’ve just shared, it’s bewildering, but I school my features. “You’re right. We should focus on the job.”
He pulls me to him and kisses the top of my head. “Get dressed. I’ll prepare breakfast.”
Pushing the nagging worry aside, I focus on the tasks that take priority. While the men get ready, I attach the body pads, apply a bronzing lotion, and work on my cheekbone fillers and makeup while the tanning lotion dries. I secure a hairnet with pins and carefully fit the wig. Then I get dressed. The dangling earrings, bangles, and cluster ring add the finishing touches.
When I’m done, I study my full-length reflection in the mirror. The result is good. Great, actually. No one will be able to tell I’m not the real Natasha Petrova, not even from close-up. Not unless one’s met her in person, and Dimitrov has never met her.
Yan and Ilya are in the lounge when I step out of the room, dressed in their transport company overalls and caps. Ilya gives me an approving nod. Yan runs his gaze over me, but there’s no acknowledgement in his eyes. No approbation or disapproval. They’re just… blank.
“Yan?” I walk over and try to take his hand, but he pulls away.
He tilts his head toward the table that’s laid with cold cuts, cheese, toast, and orange juice. “Better eat something. You’ll need your strength.”
“Can I get you some tea?” Ilya asks, weirdly sympathetic.
I look between the twins. “What’s going on?”
