by Jasmin Quinn
“It keeps you alive.”
She disagreed. “Good judgement keeps you alive.” Then, “Don’t you ever feel fear, Rusya?”
“The thought of you dead made me afraid.”
He saw her face redden, a flicker of sadness, but also relief. Feather soft, “Thank you for saying that.”
He slid his arm around her and pulled her into him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Esma.”
“But I keep making you, right?”
His brain stumbled over her words. He wasn’t a psychologist, a marriage counselor, not even a very good friend to anyone. But he understood in that moment what McClean was saying, understood what the problem was. Or at lease one of the problems. “No. You don’t. It’s my choice. It’s always been my choice irrespective of your actions.”
“That’s pretty deep Rusya. Maybe too deep for me.”
Rusya looked down at the curly mop on Esma’s head. It was not too deep for her – not someone as intelligent as she. “Why do you push back, Esma? Why do you fight me on everything?”
Esma shrugged, shifted upright, planted her feet on the floor like she was about to rise.
He held her arm, stilling her. “What are the limits of what you’ll do to get a rise out of me?”
Esma nudged herself out of his grasp. “This is ridiculous. Why would I deliberately provoke you until you’re so mad you want to hit me.”
It was Rusya’s turn to shrug. “Maybe you don’t feel so good about yourself. Maybe you don’t think you deserve to be happy, to be in a home, in a relationship where you’re loved.”
Esma frowned, still not meeting his eyes.
“Maybe it’s why you drank.”
“Stop. Fuck, Rusya, you’re a fucking mob boss. What would your men say about you saying all this shit?”
Rusya frowned at her, her provocativeness. “What would my men say about me letting you talk to me like that?”
Esma glared at him, stood. “I’m tired. Hard to sleep on concrete.” Yes, Esma was back, the little swipe at his mishandling of her. “You don’t mind if I go – I need a shower and a nap.”
Rusya tapped his fingers on the coffee table. “They’d say I should knock your head off, lock you up. Teach you respect.” Rusya stood too, followed her as she left the room. “What I don’t understand is why that’s necessary. Why you won’t give me your respect?”
Esma was walking faster now, trying to get away from him as she headed up the stairs to their suite.
Rusya stayed right with her, step for step, “Unless you don’t think you’re deserving of my respect and you’re afraid of what might happen if you actually let me love you the way I want to.”
She opened the door to the suite, tried to slam it shut on Rusya, but her strength was no match for his. “It’s what happened, your childhood, your marriage. You fought back and each time you did, you got hurt. And blamed.”
“I’m tired, Rusya.” Esma’s face was red, her eyes were brimming. “Can I have a shower, please. Can I go to bed, please?” She pushed away from him and headed to the bathroom.
“I promise you I’ll never touch you in anger again.”
Esma stopped in her tracks, turned towards Rusya. “I don’t believe you.”
“And you’ll test me, won’t you? Push me and push me until I break my word to you.”
“Fuck the hell off!” She slammed her way into the bathroom and banged the door shut. He heard the lock click and stood in the room, looking around, not sure what to do next. That was the effect this crazy little woman had on him. Indecision. He grabbed a bathrobe from the bedroom, then left and went into Esma’s old room, turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water. He needed a shower too, and a nap. Then he and his wife were going out for dinner.
Chapter 70
Rusya asked Janice to reserve a suite for him at the Rosewood Georgia Hotel and then take Esma shopping for a dress. He and Esma needed to be somewhere away from his house. Away from the staff. Just the two of them. Dinner at the Hawksworth Restaurant, in public where screaming matches were frowned upon. A quiet corner table for two, where they sat together and drank sparkling water out of fine crystal wine glasses and talked in low tones.
Esma’s beauty stole Rusya’s breath. It wasn’t the dress she was wearing although it was breathtaking on its own. Not conservative in the least. Red and sleeveless, low in the front, revealing the swell of her breasts, clinging all the way down until it ended mid-thigh. Her hair hung loose, the curls and waves provocative. She wore makeup tonight too. A hint on her eyes and her lips. The clip-on earrings his mother gave her, probably the only pair she owned, the pear-shaped garnet, a compass beckoning his eyes south. And her wedding ring.
It thrilled him, being married to her. Wearing matching rings, sitting with her. So beautiful and she drew attention because she was so sexy, so small with a smile so big. It made his heart ache when he thought of how much he loved her, how empty his world had been before he met her. She was his everything and if he lost her, there would be no point to living. How could he tell her that? How could he get her to believe?
They’d showered and slept earlier in the day, she in their suite, he in the nursery. He didn’t want to spend time with her, not until tonight. He needed the separation so he could think. So he could figure out how to say the things he needed to say. Words that he didn’t know how to use, words that would seem foreign coming from his mouth.
“You’re beautiful, Esma.” That sounded like a good start.
She smiled, her eyes, her face lighting up. “Janice helped me shop.” She ran a hand down the dress. “I feel a little underdressed, but Janice said it was perfect for me.”
Rusya couldn’t disagree. “Anything you wear is perfect for you, but this dress,” He paused, trying not to sound too much like a man. “It was made with you mind.”
Esma grinned, reached out and took his hand in hers. “You’re sexy too, Rusya.”
He chuckled. Sexy. Felt strange to hear those words. He let them go. “Are you feeling okay? No nausea?”
Esma nodded. “It’s not too bad anymore. Janice says it’ll improve in the second trimester.”
He felt like Janice was on their date. He wanted to move away from it. He got serious. “I’m not without my insecurities, Esma.”
She looked up from the salad she’d been stabbing at with her fork. “What do you mean?”
He shifted. “We both have a past. It’s hard not for me not to be jealous of yours. Of men that you’ve known.”
She laid the fork down on the table and brought her hand up to the back of her neck, rubbed at it as she looked down at the table. “What do you want to know?”
Direct, like he usually was. “I want to know about you and Jackman.”
She threw him a sharp look. “Do you think we were fucking?”
“Esma, could –”
“I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands to her lap and looked at them. “We weren’t. We hated each other almost from the day we met. I don’t know why. Well, I guess I do. Because everything he does is self-serving.” She paused, thinking. Then, “If there were two men, side by side in a lifeboat, both in need of rescue and he came along and found them, even if he had room for two, he would only take one. The one who would best serve his purposes. The other he would leave to die.”
Rusya blew out a breath. “Anto said he came for Dean and took him too.”
Esma nodded. “Because Dean wouldn’t leave Anto behind. But Anto doesn’t really fit with Jackman’s scheme of things. He’s too… uh… Anto, I guess. He doesn’t fit anywhere.”
Rusya felt suddenly defensive of the big man. “He fits with me.”
Esma smiled, nodded. “Yeah. He loves you, Rusya. This is killing him.”
Me too, Rusya thought. “And Dean?”
Esma picked up her fork, tapped it gently on the salad, then speared a piece. “Until I was 25, I never knew another man except my husband. I’d never taken a drink, I never ran, worked out. I had ne
ver even had pizza. Turkey’s not backwards by any means, but my upbringing was so sheltered and my husband, a devout Muslim and me by extension.” She put the lettuce in her mouth, chewed it. Then washed it down with a sip of her water. “I’m not a killer. I needed support after Turkey. Instead, I got Jackman, his benevolence in exchange for my skillsets. He gave me a place to stay, taught me how to defend myself, how to shoot. Trained me to be a fighter. And my world opened up. Men, alcohol.” She grinned. “Pizza.”
Rusya smiled with her as he took a bite of his salad. The waiter came by, replenished their water, then slipped away. “A lot of everything?” he ventured.
“Mostly booze. Men and pizza are overrated.”
A bubble of laughter fell out of him. Always she said things so unexpected.
She grinned as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Except you, Rusya. You’re not overrated.”
“Thank you for that, Esma.”
She giggled, then sobered. “Yes, there were other men and that’s all I’m going to say. Not many, none since I sobered up. Not since I met you.”
He felt guilt, thinking back to the first night in the sauna. He couldn’t say the same to her about other women. He nodded though and tangled his fingers in hers. “No other women, Esma. None since we’ve been together. You are the only woman for me. Forever.”
That meant something to her. “Okay.” Her eyes were bright. “I can make that promise too. You’re the only man for me. Forever.”
That was enough for a while and they turned their attention to the salads, finishing what they wanted before setting them to the side. Then Esma said, “Remember the night? Not the first time we made… uh… had sex, but the second, when you said you would give me your trust?”
His mouth quirked as he thought about it. And then understanding. “I do.”
“I want your forgiveness, Rusya.”
He thought that ironic. He wanted hers too. “I understand the position you were in. I can’t judge you and I’m over my anger. This isn’t about you and me. It’s not about me and Anto. It’s about me and Dimi.”
Esma’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Dimi?”
“Yes. Jackman.”
Dawning on Esma’s face as she put two and two together. “You’re cousins. Dimi’s Raisa’s son. Fuck.”
Rusya dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah.”
And then they veered away from the topic by unspoken mutual consent. Over dinner, they talked about the baby, the nursery. The upcoming ultrasound was exciting though she wasn’t far enough along for them to tell the sex of the baby. “Janice said four months.”
They shared a dessert, talked a little about the future and then Rusya asked, “Will you start to see Dr. McClean?”
Esma nodded slowly, tears in her eyes. “I want us to work, Rusya. I want us to have babies and be happy. I don’t ever want another night like last night.”
Rusya took her hand again. “Me neither.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Do you want me to go too?”
She gave him a small half-grin. “Maybe sometimes. When we need to.”
It was enough, dinner was over. He was weary of talking, mentally exhausted if he were being honest. And tired of undressing Esma with his eyes. He wanted to do it for real. “Can we go upstairs now, wife?”
Esma grinned. “It’s about fucking time you asked me.”
Chapter 71
Janice didn’t just help Esma buy a dress. She also helped her buy some lingerie. It was a little funny, Esma recalled as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Janice and she had different ideas of sexy, Janice insisting she was in a far better position to know what would be attractive to Rusya. In the end, they compromised. Janice got to pick the colour.
She had to give Janice credit. The deep cerise chemise was the perfect colour for her complexion. 100% silk and it felt decadent against Esma’s skin. Simple but sensual with a gentle flair that draped to mid-thigh and gathered cups for her breasts. Janice wanted her to buy the matching silk robe and at first, she resisted. “More to take off.”
But Janice wouldn’t back down. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll want to put it on while you’re having coffee. You’ll feel less exposed and can linger.”
Janice was right again, Esma thought as she slipped the robe on and tied it loosely. The silk on her skin lit a trail of fire to her silk panty-clad pussy. She thought she should buy some silk pants for Rusya. His penis would jump for joy. She grinned, made sure she had nothing in her teeth and stepped into the bedroom.
He was there waiting for her, in his pajama pants, standing at the window, looking out until he heard her, then turning, brushing his eyes over her, slowly, lingering. “What’s under the robe, Esma?”
She grinned, excitement flooding her as she saw him. So strong, so perfect. “Come find out.”
He smiled at her, met her in the middle and drew her into a deep kiss. “You’re beautiful.”
She pressed her body against his chest. “It’s nice, isn’t it.” She rubbed her chest to his. “The silk. It feels amazing.”
He ran his hand down the sleeve, touched it. Fingered it between his hands. “It is nice.”
She undid the robe’s silky tie and pulled it from the loops, turning in it her hands, playing with it. “Maybe you would like to feel the silk.” And then she got inexplicably shy. She couldn’t say it.
He took the tie from her hands, pulled her wrists together in front of her, and wrapped the tie around them a few times, then knotted it. His eyes bored into hers as he did it. “Maybe I would.” He led her over to the bed by her wrists and sat down on it, pressing her between his thighs, then embracing her with his arms, kissing her with longing. His tongue in her mouth, tasting her, capturing her tongue and hugging it with his lips, then to her neck, small kisses that sent shivers through her.
He fingered the sleeve of her robe, his eyes on her chest as he ran his palm up her belly to her breast, squeezing it through the silk, stroking it. Then his hand back to her shoulder, her hair, the other on her waist and a small push. She understood, dropped to her knees in front of him as he pulled his cock from his pants. She thrilled as he did this, hard and erect, wanting her, exciting her, everything about him made her heat up. She wanted to taste him, tried not to be impatient as she brought her hands to his shaft and stroked it.
She heard his intake of breath as she squeezed, first the shaft, then lower to his balls, then her mouth, licking them, taking them in, one at a time, sucking them gently as he shifted his thighs wider, giving her more access. She felt his fingers tighten in her hair, heard him groan as she moved her lips to his shaft, kissing her way up to the top, licking the hard ridges, before she took him in her mouth. The helmet, sucking it, licking it, tasting a drop of his semen, tongue lingering. The sweet spot between her legs was heating up and she moaned, gripping him harder with her hands as she pulled more of his shaft into her mouth, deeper, as deep as she could.
Rusya held steady, not thrusting, but she felt his tension in the way he pulled her hair, the squeeze of his hand on the back of her neck. She didn’t ease off. Whatever he wanted, she thought. Anything. His breathing got deeper and she couldn’t stop her pelvis from it’s own little thrusts. It wanted him, she wanted him. Both his hands on her shoulders now, sliding to her arms, bringing her to her feet, facing each other as he removed his pyjamas. Then he picked her up, kneeling on the mattress, laying her out in the middle of the bed. He pulled her hair out from under her, spread it out on the bed, pulled her wrists over her head.
Esma looked at him as she blew out a soft breath. “What’re you going to do?”
His eyes flashed fire as he kissed her, long, languidly. “Don’t move. They stay up there.” His hands fondled the silk as his eyes held hers, touching her through it, hands on her breasts, her waist, her hips. He slipped down on his knees between her thighs, pulled the chemise up over her hips and rubbed her pussy through the panties, the silk lighting her up.
He k
issed her, between her legs, through the silk, again and again, until she was moaning with want. He was playing with her. “Rusya!”
But he didn’t stop, didn’t take the panties off, licked through them, kept the pressure on her clit, the silk between him and her pussy. She arched her back as the pressure in her grew, her belly tightening, her knees bending and trying to squeeze his head. He grabbed her thighs, wrapped his hands around them, holding her so all she could do was thrust and beg. “Please… please… please.”
Then he pulled away and she brought her head and shoulders off the bed to see him, her eyes pleading, then dropped back again. Almost brought her hands up, then stopped. He gripped the panties and pulled them down her legs and over her feet. Then slid up beside her, pressing into her with his cock. He wrapped the silk of the robe around his shaft and stroked himself as she watched. Fuck, fuck. “Fuck.” Her breath hissed out of her as he ran the silk up and down his cock, his eyes closing as his own desire built. Her belly tightened and she whimpered. The heat was rising, she was going to come. Fuck, that didn’t happen, he wasn’t even fucking touching her. She pressed her knees to her belly, pressed her thighs together as she fell apart. Her eyes were glued to his cock, to his thrusts as she pulsed, as she gasped for breath, the tremors spreading through her, a trail of fire.
She looked into his eyes and he smiled, satisfied as his lust-filled eyes watch her tremble. Then he dropped his cock, brought his hands to her chemise, pulled it and the robe up in a swift, graceful move, over her head, to her hands. He looked down at her, tracing her breasts, her belly, her pussy, her legs, then back to her face. “Was it enough, Esma?”
She closed her eyes. Fucking prick was playing with her. “Not enough,” she moaned. “Never enough.” He dropped down beside her, his hand on her waist, tracing the curve of her belly, stealing lower until he was touching her pussy.
His lips to her ear, hushed, “What do you want?” His breathing was deepening as he touched her, glided through her wet folds, teased her vagina, bringing her desire to her clit, polishing it, a small pinch, a harder stroke, watching her face as her breath stuttered.
