“Wait,” I’d breathed nearly two hours ago before Ronan pushed inside of me. “Condom.”
“You have an IUD.”
“Condoms are for more than birth control.”
“I’ve already been inside you bare. If I have something, you do too.”
“That’s comforting.”
He chuckled roughly. “I’m clean, kotyonok.” Then he filled me so perfectly my eyes rolled back, and my brain shut down.
Now, I was on my back with my legs over his shoulders while he fucked me so hard I’d feel him next week. My moans trembled with every thrust, my nails digging into his thick thighs. He was less human and more like D’yavol when he fucked. He seemed to have a never-ending stamina and a criminal sort of purpose, as if he was taking something he shouldn’t but relishing every moment of it.
He slowed his pace and rasped, “What are we on?”
Releasing a tortured groan, I tossed my head on the mattress. “No . . . I can’t. Not again.”
He pushed my legs off his shoulders, came down on top of me, and nipped my neck. “I think you can.”
With a sigh, I turned my head to give him more access. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
I felt his smile. “Right now, I’m getting paid to fuck you.”
“Like a salary sort of situation?”
He chuckled. “Da.”
The sound of his laugh did such heavy things to my chest, I turned my head and caught his lips with mine. He groaned into my mouth and fucked me slowly. My fingers traveled down his back, infatuated with the feel of him. I didn’t think I’d ever get enough—no matter how much I touched him or how close he was.
“What are we on, kotyonok?” he asked against my lips.
“Four,” I answered reluctantly. He’d made me count every orgasm he gave me, and I knew I wouldn’t survive another. “I’m a virgin. I can’t handle any more.”
“You’re no longer a virgin. I had the proof of that all over my cock.”
Who said romance was dead?
He sucked my bottom lip and released it with a graze of teeth. “You denied me this pussy for weeks. I’ve got time to make up for.”
“I’m too young to die,” I groaned. “I’m only twenty.”
He stilled, then a darkly amused gaze met mine. “Fuck. I forgot how old you are. I really don’t need the reminder right now.”
“Does it bother you?” I asked, my nails running down the length of his back.
His eyes dropped to half-mast. “Not enough.” He punctuated the statement with a deep thrust that made me groan. A rough palm found my breast and squeezed.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, sighing when he sucked a nipple in his mouth. It was so easy to forget everything with him inside me. But I wanted to be more than just another woman in his bed. I wanted to know him inside and out. Because he was so much more than a single shade of black or white.
“Were you so gray at twenty?” I asked. The words shouldn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else—but it only took Ronan a couple of seconds to understand my meaning.
“Nyet.”
I shivered at the darkness and truth in his voice. If he were twenty now, things would have gone very, very differently for me. I’d never had a problem with his age, but now I appreciated his experience even more.
His mouth traveled down my neck, leaving a hot, wet trail behind, while he leisurely fucked me as if he had all week to do so.
I tried to blink through the haze of pleasure. “Were you in prison then?”
“No. I was released when I was eighteen.”
“When did you go in?”
“Fourteen.”
“What could you have done at fourteen?” I asked, aghast.
He smiled against my throat. “I cut off a politician’s cock and shoved it down his throat.”
I swallowed. I really shouldn’t have asked that question. My body should be primed and ready to run for the hills after his answer. But I already knew Ronan wasn’t Prince Charming. I somehow also knew the man he killed had deserved it and probably more.
Bracing his hands on either side of me, he pushed up so he could see my eyes. “What? No comment about my blackened soul?”
I held eye contact for a moment before saying softly, “No.”
He didn’t look happy with my answer. “You really shouldn’t be letting me fuck you.”
I realized he did feel guilty for taking something he thought he didn’t deserve. The more he said, the harder I fell. I should shut my mouth and let him force another orgasm from me, but I suddenly needed to give him something I’d never given anyone else: the truth.
“I always knew, you know . . .? I always knew the man my papa was.” My throat felt tight. “He killed someone—a woman—when I was little. I saw her lying in her own blood. And I forced myself to forget because I didn’t want to believe it. But I never really forgot; I just got good at lying to myself. I’m not the angel my papa calls me . . .” A tear ran down my cheek. “I’m not even a good person.”
“Kotyonok . . .” Ronan chuckled. “My dick’s inside you, and you’re crying about your papa.”
It sounded a little silly when he said it like that.
“I was just—”
“I know what you were trying to do. And it was sweet. But there’s still a big difference between you and me.” The nautical star tattoos on his shoulders glinted black in the sunlight. “You’ll never ask me for more than I can give.” Darkness clouded his eyes, and his hand collared my throat, a thumb running across a hickey he’d put there. “I’ve already taken everything you have to give.” I held his gaze, my heart a battering ram pounding against the wall of my chest. “And now, I’m going to take a little more.”
tacenda
(n.) things better left unsaid
My breath was still ragged, Ronan having just rolled off me. The simple action left me cold inside, and to distract myself from the heavy feeling, I needed to either leave or strike up conversation. I chose the latter.
“What did you tell me you did for work that night when I asked?”
“I went into detail about my chimney sweep business,” he answered lazily.
I blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nyet.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Never thought a woman would throw herself at me after I told her I made minimum wage.”
A blush rose to my already flushed cheeks—even now, while lying naked beside D’yavol. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I know that now. You were too busy working up the courage to maul me.”
“I did not maul you.” I frowned. “That’s such an aggressive word.”
He laughed. “You were beyond sweet all night. I didn’t expect at the end of it you’d practically beg me to fuck you in a public hallway.” Then he added thoughtfully, “I almost did.”
That was why he pushed me away so suddenly. I loved knowing I had such an effect on him even though he was supposed to despise me because of who my papa was.
I rolled to face him and braced myself on my elbow. “Did you really think I would have believed you were a chimney sweep?”
“I don’t know,” he drawled, dragging his amused gaze to mine. “You looked at me like I was a god. I think you would have believed anything I told you—being a chimney sweep included.”
There were a dozen reasons he would never pass as a manual laborer—his obvious wealth number one. Though how I decided to confirm I wouldn’t have believed his lie was to roll my eyes and say, “There’s no chance you’d fit in a chimney.”
He laughed deeply. “My apologies for underestimating your deductive reasoning skills.”
I fought a smile. “Apology accepted.”
As I held his dark gaze, the amusement faded, and a tense silence worked its way into the room. It sat so heavily on naked skin and my heart, I suddenly felt the need for space. But again, Ronan grabbed my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
&n
“Why?”
“To take a shower. And then to scrounge around for a snack since you ruined my breakfast.”
“Nyet,” was all he said before releasing me.
“No?”
“Yulia is bringing up some food. You can shower in my bathroom.”
My brow furrowed. “Do you share a telepathic connection with your housekeeper?”
He smiled as his phone buzzed on his nightstand. “Fortunately for her, only a technological one.”
I didn’t even notice he’d texted her. Though it wasn’t that surprising; the sight of him lying there naked was distracting. So many inches of pure man. He was perfectly flawed—from the scars to the crude tattoos—his body forged in bone and muscle and fire. I wanted to trace every line of ink on his skin with my tongue. Another desire rose and burned in my chest with a desperate emotion: I wanted to call him mine.
I straddled his hips and braced my hands on either side of his head, my breath thick. “Sometimes, I’m convinced you’re immortal.”
A smile played on his lips. “Just diabolical.”
Absently, I touched the sharp point of his incisor. It was a dangerous game putting my finger anywhere near D’yavol’s mouth, but he only gently closed his teeth on my thumb. I pulled it free, drew it across the scar on his lip, and was compelled to softly say, “So much more than that . . .”
My chest felt so heavy and light all at once. Then the thick silence was interrupted by a knock on the door. Naked as the day I was born, I cast a gaze to the sound just as Ronan said, “Come in.”
With a panicked noise, I scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom at lightspeed, Ronan’s soft chuckle following me. He wouldn’t think it was so funny if Yulia caught me in here fornicating with the master, killed me by sticking a pin in the heart of a voodoo doll, and destroyed his best chance at revenge.
I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me and rested my back against it. I had no idea what I was doing with Ronan, but I did know something about it felt right.
Of course, my mind reminded me of the many reasons I shouldn’t fool around with D’yavol, including but not limited to:
✔He abducted me.
✔He planned to murder my papa in cold blood.
✔He threw me out to sleep with the dogs just last night.
My conscience was raining on my parade.
Feeling so conflicted it ate at me, I dragged myself to the shower, turned the faucet on hot, and stepped under the spray. As the water rained down on me, I thought of so much but seemingly nothing at all. If anything, after this experience, I knew with a certainty I would never marry Carter. A passionless marriage wasn’t in my future, and with that knowledge, a weight was lifted from my shoulders. But it didn’t diminish other heavy truths.
Even considering my papa’s lies, his criminal character, and his absences, I still found it impossible to imagine a life without him. He was my family, my father, the person I’d always looked to for the answers. And when he turned himself in for me, he would no longer exist. The thought constricted my chest so tightly I was sure I’d bruise.
Selfishly, I was just as terrified of being alone. I didn’t know how Ivan felt about me anymore, and I knew I couldn’t ask him to stay by my side just because I was scared of being truly, awfully alone . . . Madame Richie’s cigarette smoke and laughter swirled behind my closed eyes, clouding my mind with the smell of cloves and ruin. I wasn’t sure if it was the shower water or tears running down my face when an arm wrapped around my waist. I swayed into the contact, not resisting as Ronan pulled me back against his chest.
Disaster loomed in the distance, but the heat of his body washed away the coldness inside me. I used to despise his size and strength; now I leaned into it knowing he wouldn’t let me fall. Yet.
Ronan pressed his face against my neck with a low groan. “Inogda bol’no smotret’ na tebya.”
He wasn’t going to translate the statement for me, but he didn’t need to. I understood what he said. Sometimes it hurts to look at you. And now I knew it wasn’t only water running down my cheeks.
All along, this man had been on the other side of the Atlantic.
And maybe . . . just maybe, my soul always knew.
nefelibata
(n.) one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination
The sun shined, casting a bright sheen behind my closed eyes, and rolled me in the soft warmth of heaven. Though the soreness between my thighs was the embodiment of Satan’s harem itself.
I opened my eyes to find myself alone in D’yavol’s bed. I stared at the ceiling while the memory of yesterday returned with a vengeance.
I didn’t think Ronan noticed my mini-meltdown in the shower—or maybe he did, and that was why he took the initiative to wash me himself. My hair, my body . . . but not my conscience.
My mind worked backward, the memory hitting rewind from the moment I came, my head thrown back, beneath the spray of the shower. Each thrust had slid me up the shower wall, my thighs wrapped around his hips. Heavy breaths and Russian words. Stars on his shoulders. Stars in my eyes.
I’d dropped to my feet, spun around, and rose to my tiptoes. He slid inside me from behind. My forehead rolled against the wall, my fingers sliding down the stone. His hand on my throat; his lips at my ear. “Moya. Vse moya.” Mine. All mine. Inked fingers braced on the wall beside my own. Suds and skin and a raven called Nevermore. My chest held a brittle paper heart knowing, soon, this man would slip through my fingers like another lost Lenore . . .
I returned to the present, my arms spread on black sheets like a snow angel’s, before I was again sucked back to yesterday.
After the shower, I was unable to find my clothes, so I dug through Ronan’s closet and slipped on one of his T-shirts. It would be such a normal, domestic act if I didn’t feel the need to check the fabric for a bloodstain before donning it.
It was lunchtime, and all the sex had made me famished. I sat on the bed and filled my empty stomach with the food Yulia brought up while Ronan pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and answered his phone. Masochistically, I wondered if Nadia was on the other end of the line. And then I consoled myself with the fact it was probably just a henchman who Ronan was ordering to drown some poor soul in a toilet.
Ronan was still talking on the phone when his gaze found me sitting cross-legged on his bed stuffing my face. After moving toward me with a glint in his eyes, he stole a carrot from my plate and brought it to my mouth. I gave him a dry look. If he thought he’d Stockholm syndromed me so good I’d let him hand-feed me, he was crazier than I thought.
I bit his finger.
With a chuckle, he bit off the end of the carrot and walked to the window to continue his conversation. His form blocked out the light, the shadow he cast having wings like the inked devil on his back. But now his darkness felt warmer than the sun.
After finishing my meal, I grew restless waiting for Ronan to finish his phone call, so, naturally, I started pushing the buttons on the wall near the nightstand. A blind began to slide down the window. In my haste to make it stop and not show my immaturity when it came to buttons, I pushed them all. The lights flicked on, and so did blaring music. A cabinet in the wall opened to reveal a flat-screen TV. Then the chandelier spun like a disco ball, its teardrops jewels glittering on the walls.
That escalated quickly . . .
Contrite, I cast my gaze to Ronan while the lights sparkled romantically, the blinds were haphazardly closed, and jazz played from hidden speakers. I pulled my lip between my teeth to hold in my laughter and offered, “Whoops.”
Ronan’s serious expression, as if I’d just interrupted a very important board meeting, only amused me more. He returned the room to its quiet state, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I had no idea you had such a romantic side.”
His lips turned up. “All that jazz came with the house.”
I laughed at the ���jazz” double entendre. “I should have known. The chandelier button was dusty.” Leaning my head against the headrest, I said, “I hope I didn’t interrupt any of your plans to destroy the idea of world peace forever.” I squealed like a girl when he grabbed my ankle and yanked me down the bed.
“I think that was exactly your plan,” he countered, bracing his hands on either side of my head. “Or was I boring you?”
I vibrated beneath his closeness, his body heat finding its way under my skin. When I licked my lips in anticipation, his gaze followed the movement. Breathlessly, I nodded. Then his mouth touched mine so softly my chest ached. So softly, it wasn’t a kiss at all. It was all the words that could never be said. His lips left mine, the air so heavy and thick it put pressure on the backs of my eyes. To hide my reaction, I forced, “I hope one of those buttons didn’t launch a rocket to destroy the moon.”
A smile touched his lips as he pulled back to stand at the foot of the bed. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
“Without the moon, we might experience an ice age.”
“And you don’t wear pants, so we can’t have that.” He grabbed my ankle, nipped my instep, then sucked my big toe. I exhaled, bizarrely growing hot everywhere, and pushed his cheek away with my foot. He chuckled.
“Dresses are appropriate forms of clothing,” I returned.
“On you, I disagree.” He kissed and bit a path up my leg, and I moaned when he reached the inside of my thigh. My clit pulsed in anticipation, but what I wanted had nothing to do with his mouth between my legs—and not because of what he told me of his past; because time was limited with this man.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his lips to mine, barely skimming but burning nonetheless.
“Does the bed rotate too?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” he returned with humor, then his voice turned raspy. “But it does rock.”
The rest of the day passed with sex and food and Russian sitcoms.
And it was easily my favorite happily-for-now yet.
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