by A. C. Bextor
Faina told me I needed to look after you.
Klara’s arms are relaxed, lying on either side of her head. Her hands rest palms up and open. My finger itches to trace their centers if only to gauge her response to my touch. My body is growing tired of warring within itself to deny the woman Klara now is.
I didn’t deserve to see your hands on her just hours after they were on me.
Puzzled, I weakly admit, “Abram was right. I don’t know what in the world to make of you.”
Sitting down, I run my hands against my thighs to keep them distracted. My body tenses when she moves. Glancing up, Klara’s eyes are open, meeting mine in sleepy shock. The green in them is shaded, broken, but aware.
“Vee?” she utters.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice raspy.
Using her hands as leverage, Klara braces them beneath her to sit up. The white bed sheet drops, leaving her shadowed body in full view beneath the thin material of her nightgown. Her chest rises and falls faster as she starts to shake off sleep.
“Your clothes,” She notices in a panic. “My God. Is that blood?” she gasps next, sitting up and swinging her body from the bed. Her legs tangle with mine, but in her panic she pays no attention, jumping to stand. “Whose blood is that?”
“Klara, calm down,” I assert, looking up and lifting my hand in a placating gesture.
With her in such a state of shock, as well as being driven by the force of her chest colliding with mine, my body is thrown back against the chair. Surprising me further, Klara bends at the waist and wraps her arms firmly around my shoulders. If I pulled her closer, she’d no doubt drop to my lap.
“That man was so close. He was so close to Veni.” Her sob breaks against my throat. “Veni didn’t know what to do.”
“Klara,” I soothe, not wanting to recognize the calm, coaxing voice as my own.
Holding her head to my chest, I run my fingers through her thick silky hair. Finding the bandage taped to her neck, I caress it as well and thank Abram’s God she wasn’t hurt any worse than she is.
In response to my comfort, a feral and savage gust of anguish frees itself from her chest. Her body shakes and violently hiccups before she surrenders, falling into me completely. My lips at her temple act as a balm, somewhat allowing her to settle in my arms.
Once she’s collected herself, I don’t look at her to question, “Are you better?”
I can’t see her face, but she nods and inhales another painstaking breath.
Pulling my head back, my chin dips to survey her. Her eyes are closed, her eyelids are swollen and red, and her cheeks are flushed. Other than when I took her away from the shed so long ago, kicking and screaming as she fought to free herself, I don’t remember ever seeing her cry emotionally.
Curling into me, Klara drapes her legs across my thighs. Instinctively, I wrap my hand around them, catching both her knees at once to pull her closer.
“Whose blood is this?” she asks again, fingering the collar of my once pressed, white dress shirt.
My eyes close, accepting the warmth of her breath against my skin. My cock pulses, not caring if she feels my reaction to her or not. My hand at her waist moves to run slowly up her back. The soft material of her gown beneath my palm weakens my resolve.
I answer, but do it carefully. “Abram was hurt tonight. He’ll be back to himself in a few days.”
Her body jerks from my hold, tearing away our physical connection. She braces her hands against my chest and pushes with urgency to escape my lap. I watch as she stands and moves back to the bed.
The loss after having her so close is overwhelming and unwelcome.
“All of this is Abram’s blood?” Her eyes scan my shirt, invisibly touching every inch. “How?”
“That’s not important,” I reply.
“Not important? How was Abram hurt?” she clips with insistence. “I want to know.”
“Klara, I said no.”
Whether she’s furious with me or the collective situation, I can’t say, but when she stands, I follow. Again, Klara pushes against my chest, wordlessly demanding me to move. Her efforts are futile; I’m much taller, stronger, and more agile than she is.
When she attempts to sidestep the wall of my chest in order to get away, I grab her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Frantically, realization dawns in her eyes. Looking behind her, understanding she’s trapped between my body and the bed, Klara abruptly jolts.
Moving quickly, she pulls her arm from my grasp and attempts another escape. She’s stopped again when I drape my arm around her waist. Her body doubles over in protest before I’m able to control her, pulling her back against my chest. With one arm at her waist, I cross the other over her chest, pinning her against me.
The soft curves of her body submit as the fight in her spirit dims.
“Vee,” she breathes.
Dropping my head and finding purchase in her neck, I inhale a deep breath of all that’s her. The familiar scent of lilacs blankets all sense and reasoning. It surrounds me in a cloud of doubt, enveloping my body in a torturous wordless whisper.
With each passing second, Klara succumbs to her own surrender.
“Let me go to Abram,” I insist.
“You can go see he’s okay for yourself,” Vee answers, releasing his hold at my waist. “But you’ll do it later.”
The arm draped across my chest stays in place as his other hand slowly slides up to rest at the base of my breast, where his thumb caresses gently. I freeze, not scared but anxious. It’s not until Vee’s warm tongue tastes the sensitive skin behind my ear that I shudder.
Sensing my reaction, Vee sets me free. With his heat at my back gone, the restraints he had on me vanished, I take a step forward to turn in place. I watch as he folds his large body and positions himself in the chair near the bed.
Pinning me with an irritated glare, he cocks his eyebrow. With his typically hardened expression in place, he tersely questions, “Are you settled? You won’t run from me again?”
Clearly, in my attempt to escape, I’ve foolishly lost the gentleness I found in his quiet strength. I want it back. I also want more. Giving me a glimpse of the man I knew was there and then taking it away is unfair. Justly so, I’m disappointed in myself. I shouldn’t have tried to get away.
“I wasn’t running from you,” I faintly promise, hearing the petulance in my tone. “Not exactly.”
“You were,” he states. Extending his arm and aiming it in my direction, Vee nods to the cuff of his dress shirt. “Get me out of this.”
My fingers work swiftly, lifting the blood-crusted sleeve from his wrist before sliding my thumb between his warm skin and the button. Once I have the first unclasped, I raise my other hand toward him, signaling to give me his other wrist.
The tension Vlad exuded moments before has subsided. For now. As I’m coming to learn, balancing his volatile disposition must be done with care.
Without asking permission, I reach for the first button of his shirt. When he drops his chin to watch my fingers, I hesitate until he sits back in the chair. Seconds pass before he nods for me to continue.
My heartbeat quickens when my fingers brush the bare skin of his chest.
My thighs quiver as I travel down, button by button, only to fumble near the zipper at his waist.
Closing his eyes, a low growl emits from the back of his throat. I hesitate again. Then his large, powerful hands cover my own, lifting them to each side of his open shirt.
“Touch me,” he demands, his voice full of resounding restraint.
“Vee,” I return softly, closing my eyes and parting my lips to breathe.
Grasping one wrist tightly, Vlad positions my hand to his chest. His other spreads my fingers, laying my palm flat against it. His jaw tightens. The corners of his eyes wrinkle as they narrow.
“Don’t say my name like that again,” he states.
Panicked, my breath hitches, and I take my hand away. My eyes widen, and my stomach
warms when my body gives way to its flutters of excitement.
“Touch me, Klara,” he demands again. “I want your hands on me.”
Seizing the chance, I revel in the strong contours of his chest and the muscles that lie beneath them. His skin is warm. His chest hair is light in color.
Finally, after all the time I’ve spent admiring his definitive chest, I’m able to explore it. I do so slowly and carefully to avoid his interruption.
“Christ,” he hisses through a still-tight jaw.
When I look down, focusing on the bulge in his pants, another growl breaks from his throat, this one more vicious and authoritative. Casting a glance up, I find his eyes are trained on my face, studying my reaction to what I’ve seen.
Bravely testing his resolve, I use only a single finger to explore the thick cords of his neck and throat. The abrasive stubble of his jaw pricks my skin. I take in a breath before dropping my finger and attentively rolling it over his collarbone. As the whisper of my touch trails back to the center of his chest, I exhale before stopping at his stomach. His muscles contract, and I pull away.
“Klara,” he calls, his voice ominous. Vee’s eyes are heated, boring into mine with challenge.
No longer lost within this moment, I understand Vee has yielded his power over to me. Offering me a control that I’ve never held over another person. Especially him. Being able to coax a reaction from someone as bold and strong as he is with just my fingertips is intoxicating.
“Why are you trembling?” he bids, his tone laced with disappointment as his finger lightly traces my jaw. “Your hands are on me, beautiful girl. I haven’t touched you yet.” Sensing my reluctance, Vee pushes. “Are you scared?”
“No,” I lie.
I hadn’t realized I was shaking. I am scared. Frightened at how being so close to him shadows my sense of reason, placing me on the edge of vulnerable, but sure. Cared for, but defenseless. Awake, but in a trance.
Alive.
For the first time in my life, I’m alive and present under the intensity of a man’s attention.
Vee’s attention.
When my mouth opens, but I say nothing, he presses, “Klara, are you afraid of me?”
Admitting fear in the face of a man who truly holds so much power is a risk. I’ve lived with him. I grew up watching those around him cower to his every word, his every order.
Grabbing my wrists and shaking them roughly, Vee leans forward. “Answer me.”
“I’m terrified.”
Before I can explain, give my reasons for being afraid, Vee lunges forward. His hands force themselves beneath my arms and I’m lifted into the air without resistance. As he brings me to my feet, he uses his body’s deeply seated but controlled strength to force my back to the center of the bed.
His body blankets mine, and his mouth comes to rest against my lips. Though the initial kiss is soft, I still tremble as his tongue sweeps against mine once before taking it away. This happens again and again. My breath is being taken, stolen, as Vee drinks from me.
Then something beautiful happens.
A calm and quiet haze at the image of us together takes over, baiting my submission, preparing me to follow where he leads.
And I go.
Quietly.
Willingly.
I’m permissively walking into the demon’s den, reaching for his hand, and begging without shame for him to keep hold of mine with every step.
As the kiss becomes more urgent, more aggressive, Vee forcefully grasps my upper thigh. My gown is lifted, leaving his fingers to go in search for what’s beneath. With a small tug to my hair, my head tilts and he moves in. His teeth scrape my neck as his hips thrust hard between my legs again and again. Pleasure and pain ignite with both an aching and soothing vengeance.
I feel him.
When I gasp, aware of his rigid cock so ready, Vee abruptly breaks free of his attention to my mouth.
In short seconds, measuring only a few heartbeats long, all becomes lost. The kindness in his eyes, the softness of every feature—all of it erased as though nothing that happened ever existed.
Watching me from above, Vee grasps my hips. A sharp snap burns my skin when he removes the barrier of my panties between us, exposing all of me to him.
His eyes are dark as they come to mine. Slivered strands of fear, hope, and trust swirl in my mind as he pushes my thighs farther apart, positioning his calloused hand between them.
When one finger pushes inside, I gasp. I’m only granted a moment to adjust to its intrusion before another is added and together they start to move, in and out, slow and steady, again and again.
His thumb flattens against my sensitive clit, my hips rolling in response. Taking over is a new calming confusion. I’m lost somewhere between begging for escape and pleading for more.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, again testing his teeth on the skin of my neck.
“Wait,” I insist, exhaling relief as he stills. “Just… wait.”
Allowing my body to relax, Vee’s chest moves up and down as fast as my own. My hands move to his shoulders where I grasp them tightly, anchoring myself to him for balance.
As I wrap my legs around his powerful frame, he pushes deeper inside. The space left between us is no longer considered or cautious.
Vee’s voice, still coarse and instructing, demands, “When I let you come, you’ll say my name.”
“Vee,” I gasp as his fevered motion in reaction to his name intensifies. He’s concentrating on a place only I’ve ever touched.
Farther and farther, my back inches up the bed as I pulse around him. Raising my arms above my head, I brace my hands against the wooden headboard. My eyes roll back when his head dips, savagely taking my sensitive nipple into his mouth.
“Vee, I don’t….”
I don’t know.
Then it happens.
The room spins. Vee’s breath mixes with mine, and his tongue swipes my bottom lip. The gesture exudes a familiar intimacy, as though all of this was naturally borne between us.
When he grips the back of my thigh, wrapping my leg around his waist as his rigid cock lies against it, my skin inflames at the touch.
Vee’s growl reverberates against my chest, and he leans his forehead against mine.
“Come for me, my beautiful girl.”
My beautiful girl.
Spurred by his possessive declaration, I do. I come fast and hard as my hips move and my feet burrow into the bed. No longer fearing one moment to the next, I give in to what’s he’s done.
Its exhilaration.
Its intoxication.
Its beauty.
In return for letting him take a piece of me no one else has ever had, I get back what I hadn’t even considered.
Vee’s regret.
His face contorts into what looks to be both sorrow and anger, he doesn’t chance a look at me as he removes his hands from between us.
When he stands, Vee clears his throat before turning around and whispering, “This was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Heartbreak and accusation sink my chest, swallowing every shred of satisfaction I felt moments before. Doubt plagues. Fear engulfs. If a human heart could be heard mid-break, the sound of mine could shatter windows.
“You care about me,” I accuse, sitting up to watch Vee turn in place and run his hand through his hair.
When his eyes capture mine in the dresser mirror across the room, I find the empty depth of his repentance, but also something else.
Truth.
Finally turning back to me, Vee takes a single step forward but no more. His eyes peruse my body as I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for any other reaction. When nothing comes, my eyebrows rise, urging him into saying something, anything, that would give his denial fair reason.
Looking down, he grips the back of his neck tightly. The muscles in his shoulders tense as he states, “You’re asking me to give you something I’ve never given a woman before, Klara.
”
“You’ve had many women, Vee.”
Shaking his head, angering more with each passing second, he clips, “Surely, you’re not asking only that of me.”
“No.”
“I’ve never hurt you, Klara. But this….” He pauses and points behind me. “If I let this happen….”
“Have you ever cared about a woman, Vee?” I evenly question, ignoring his ridiculous notion.
“Yes, I—”
“A woman. Someone other than Faina or Maag,” I push.
He doesn’t respond other than to release his neck and tilt his head to the side in thought.
“Maybe if you’d consider the possibility that you’re able to be cared for, then you’d also consider what the woman you allowed to do it would look like.”
“Klara,” he whispers with hesitation.
Seizing what may be my only chance to get through to him, I press forward. “And maybe you’d consider me. That I already know what your life is about. What it means to be part of this family. I’ve looked up to you for as long as I can remember.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have,” he clips. “Perhaps there’s—”
“Another man for me?” I fill in. “We’re here again? You won’t be happy until I what, find someone who isn’t you?”
“Yes,” he answers clearly and without any hesitation.
I return a lie just as good as the one he gave me. “That’s easy enough, then, I suppose.”
Vee’s eyes narrow, and his lips draw tight.
“You should go,” I state plainly. “Go back to whoever it is who’s made you so blind to what you should have but won’t give yourself.”
I’m done.
Sitting in a dark corner of a crowded Italian restaurant, Ciro looks into the eyes of the beautiful woman in front of him and wonders how it is that his luck has so quickly changed.
First, Josef had come to him, of all people, to seek help in getting Klara Koslief away from Vlad. Adding to that gift, here sits another who wants just the same. How ironic.
“Tell me why I have reason to trust you,” Ciro states pointedly, surveying any hesitations Katrina Marx may reveal. “How do I know you haven’t been sent from Vlad himself to find out if I’m working with Josef?”
