by Stacy Gail
“Stop apologizing about waking me up. When you need me, the last frigging thing I want to do is sleep right through it.” By degrees he edged his weight off of me, as if he feared I might suddenly go berserk on him. When I didn’t, he settled back against the headboard with a short sigh, one knee bent beneath the drape of the sheet. “Okay, you have your breathing room, yeah? Now tell me about your dream.”
I rolled onto my back so I could stare at him. “Woo. Some breathing room you’re giving me, pal.”
“I asked Luke about your nightmares,” he said, ignoring my feeble attempt at humor, and his statement stunned me into silence. Polo wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who shared personal issues with anyone. “He wasn’t surprised you’re having them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He said he figured it was nightmares that had you up painting fucking walls at two in the morning. It was, wasn’t it?”
I seriously did not like Luke Keyes. “Why can’t anyone believe that I was in the mood to paint?”
“Because no one is in the mood to paint at two in the fuckin’ morning.”
“I was.”
“Luke says your night terrors—”
I snorted. “Did you just say night terrors?”
“Shut up, that’s what he called them. He says your night terrors are a direct result of the trauma of seeing me die.”
Well, duh. “Do you find Luke irritating? I find him irritating. It’s like he thinks he knows everything about everything, but I’m not buying it. I’ll bet he’s got an Achilles heel somewhere, and I’ll bet it’s a big one.”
“Will you be serious? The point is, he knows you love me. He said you love me more than any woman he’s ever seen love a man, and I’d be a first-class prick if I didn’t get my shit together and make sure I take care of that love like the priceless treasure it is. That’s why he gave me advice on how to help you with your nightmares.”
“Wait, what do you mean, help me with them?” I looked at him in the semi-darkness, not sure if I was more wary or hopeful. “You mean like… help me get rid of them?”
“Yeah.”
Now that got my attention. “How?”
“He said you need to talk about them, preferably with someone who’s a professional.”
“Not just no, but hell, no.” The Vitaliev way was too ingrained in me to just casually go and shoot my mouth off to some stranger. I doubted I’d be physically capable of doing it.
Polo nodded. “We knew you’d say that, because you’re a hard case, and sharing shit has never been a Vitaliev thing. But you do need to talk about your dreams as much as you can, as often as you can, or they’ll eventually eat you up inside.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The denial was out before I could stop it. “They’re just dreams, Polo. Awful, horrible dreams, but I know that dreams can’t hurt you.”
“Bullshit. It fucking tears me apart when I hear you crying and screaming almost every night, Dash. You used to sleep so peacefully only a handful of months ago, but that’s totally different now. It guts me knowing that part of you believes I could hurt you—kill you even—and that belief plays out inside your head like some kind of never-ending horror show.”
“Not this time. I was being burned alive by Knives, but you were there to save me.” That was when I realized that for the first time since the dreams began, there had been a shift in how it had unfolded. Usually my death came about with Polo simply watching my death happen and not lifting a finger to stop it. But not tonight.
Tonight, he’d saved me.
Just like I knew he would in real life.
The question was, why was it different now?
“I believe in you.” The answer finally dawned on me, and I rested my hand on his thigh draped with the sheet, the closest part of him that I could reach. “When you were dead to me, I dreamed that it was my fault you’d been killed. Then when you came back and I didn’t know you were trying to shield me from the pain of being betrayed by family, the dreams changed. As happy as I was to see you were still alive, I lost faith in you, because your pretending to be dead wounded me so much.”
Pain stormed through the eyes focused on me, turning them black. “Dash, swear to God, that was the last thing I wanted.”
“Baby, I know that.”
“No, you don’t. You’re still dreaming—”
“Polo, considering the trauma your own family’s betrayal put you through, I understand how that influenced your decision on how you tried to shield me from Knives’s betrayal. I don’t know that I would have played it the same way, but I can see you were trying to protect me, in every way possible.”
“You still have wounds.” With his eyes never leaving mine, his hand came up to curl around my fingers. “Wounds I inflicted. Your dreams tell me that, and I fucking hate it. I hate knowing I hurt you so bad you can’t even escape that pain in your sleep.”
“My dream tonight makes me think I’m finally starting to heal,” I pointed out. As I did, a weight on my chest I hadn’t even known was there quietly lifted. It had taken all this time, but at last I was starting to heal enough to see Polo for who he really was.
My hero.
His grip tightened on my hand. “You sure about that? These nightmares you keep having—”
“They’re not going to vanish overnight. If you want, I can sleep in another room…”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Ha. “You’re going to have to be patient with me, okay? What I need is time. Time, and no trauma.”
“Dasha.” He slid down against the pillows until he was once again lying next to me, then turned on his side so that his eyes were level with mine. “I can’t give you that, beautiful. You know that, don’t you? You know what I have to do to your brother in order to keep you safe, yeah?”
“Knives Vitaliev isn’t my brother.” The words were out before I had consciously formed them, but once they were out I didn’t even think of offering a retraction. Something in my nightmare had helped me come to grips with a truth I’d unconsciously known for some time, and it was relief to finally give voice to it. “Nizhy was my big brother and my best friend. I’ll always have a place for that boy in my heart. But Nizhy died, Polo. He died in that cabin, so many years ago. The monster left in his place is called Knives, and that thing is not my brother. That thing…” The memory of nightmare-Knives smiling as he set me on fire flashed through my mind before I shook my head with a sorrow so vast it didn’t have an end. “He’s not my brother. He’s my assassin.”
“Baby.” With the sweetest gentleness he pulled me close, absently tossing the sheet aside so our bodies could touch in one long line. The shared heat between us sparked a fever in my blood, and I wound my arms around him to bring that fire closer. “Do you have any idea what a turn-on your strength is? I love the hell out of all of you, God knows. But your strength is the part I love the most.”
That startled a laugh out of me. “Really?”
“Whenever I think of you—and understand, there’s never a moment when I’m not thinking of you—it’s not about your tits or your ass, or how perfectly we fit together when I’m inside you. Don’t get me wrong, all that is first-class and I love it. But it’s the strength I see in your eyes that sends me crashing to my knees every damn time. You’re the glue that holds me together. I’d be in weak little pieces if it weren’t for you holding me in place.”
His confession moved me so much that it brought tears to my eyes. “I don’t know if I’m strong. All I do know is that you make me feel like I can get through anything as long as I’m with you.”
“You feel that way because you know it’s true. Even if I break my back doing it, I will always find a way to make your world right.” A hand came to cup the back of my head so he could guide my mouth to his. I arched into his kiss, sinking into the exquisite closeness. With a touch, he made me believe we were two halves of a greater whole, while simultaneously chasing away all thoughts of what was to come
. This was what we were fighting for—a life of peace and togetherness without the fear of having it ripped away. All my hopes for the future were housed within this man, and I had no doubt that he felt the same way about me.
My body moved against his, a restless, all-over caress as hunger flickered along my nerve endings. With my mouth still a captive of his, I lifted a leg to slide it along his outer thigh before hooking it over his hip.
His low rumble of appreciation made my heart skip a beat.
The swift hardening of his cock made it race out of control.
Oh, yes.
No matter how much I had of my man, I could still never get enough.
“I’m sorry you had a nightmare, but I’m sure as hell not sorry we’re awake now.” With one hand holding the leg I had draped over his hip in place, he rolled me onto my back. His lips smiled against mine even as I reveled in the heavy weight of him settling into the cradle of my thighs. “We’ve gotta make a promise to each other right now. If one of us wakes up horny, it’s okay to wake up the other one to take care of business. Agreed?”
“Only if you make it worth my while.” I sank my teeth gently into his lower lip, then rubbed my breasts against the wall of his bare chest. “Do we have a deal?”
“Hell, yeah, we have a deal.” One of his hands slid to capture mine so he could coax it to curl around his stiffening flesh. He then left it there to caress the damp, sensitive flesh between my legs. “Now…let’s play a game.”
“A game?”
“Yeah. It’s called Who Can Last the Longest. I play with you, you play with me, and we see who can go the longest without coming their brains out.”
“That doesn’t sound like any fun. I like coming my brains—ohhh.”
The rest of what I had to say was lost as his clever fingers moved through my wetness to slide over my clit. His second finger joined it to massage my channel with slow, intoxicating relentlessness.
“I don’t think…I can last for long.” It was almost impossible to talk without gasping, much less do anything but revel in what he was doing between my legs. Biting my lower lip, I tried to focus on giving him all the pleasure he seemed intent on giving me, and stroked his stiffened flesh from the base to the tip. “But…I don’t think I’ll be a loser if I do come first.”
“We both win.” His eyes closed as I tightened my grip. When I swiped my thumb over the ridge near the tip, those closed eyes squeezed tight. “Damn, I fuckin’ love that.”
I loved that, too.
In less than a minute his length became steel-hard, and so hot it was a wonder he didn’t scorch my skin. I tried to memorize every bump and ridge of his cock like my life depended on it, determined to remember where he liked to be touched best. When he began to thrust into my hand I nearly lost it as he increased the wickedly searing tempo of his circling fingers against my clit. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning, and that brought his eyes open to blaze into mine.
“I’m about to concede,” he growled between shallow breaths. “You’re not going to let that happen, are you?”
“If you’re going to lose, you should do it while you’re inside me.”
“You mean like this?” His thumb landed on my clit while his fingers slid into me, massaging all the while. My breath caught almost painfully, but I felt nothing but a burst of dazzling pleasure.
Aha.
I knew this move.
Amnesia.
My favorite.
“You beautiful man.” It was my turn to close my eyes—it was flat-out impossible to keep them open—while delirious pleasure bloomed in every cell of my body. My hips began to writhe, pumping to his rhythm while the fine muscles deep in my belly tightened with a tension so delicious I could barely stand it. “Oh God, you beautiful man.”
“I love it when you help me fuck you.” His voice was rough and sexy, and just hearing it made my toes curl. “Ride my hand, Dash. God, you’re so damn exciting when you get off like this.”
My breathing dropped into a thready, panting cadence, a rhythm that matched the way his hand worked me. The tension built to a crushing height, and all too soon a familiar ballooning of sensation tingled along my nervous system. I was losing it, losing it, but as good as it felt, it could be even better.
I wanted better.
I wanted him inside me.
With the last shreds of will power I had left, I pulled my hips back and away, detaching myself from his pleasure-giving hand. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me, please…”
His immediate answer was a growl before he wasted a scant moment to reach for the new box of condoms he’d brought into my apartment. “I’m not taking any more chances getting you knocked up until we’re safe, beautiful. After that, we’re making a family. Yeah?”
“Oh, yes.” With shaking hands I took the condom from him and rolled it into place before bringing his cock to my cleft, my legs opening as wide as they could go. “Let’s win this game together, baby.”
“Together,” he repeated, his entire body wire-taut as I slid his cock through my slick wetness before guiding him to my threshold. Without hesitation he took over by entering my depths with a thrust so bold my whole body felt its power.
“God, yes,” I whispered, strangled by the enormity of what I was feeling. Feverishly I wrapped my legs and arms around him to make sure I didn’t fly apart with the force of the pleasure building inside me.
“My Fearless.” His body pumped into mine, wild, uncontrolled. Magnificent. “You were made to fuck me and God, I was made to fuck you. I was made for you.”
Even if I hadn’t been close to the point of no return, the power of his words would have gotten me there. My orgasm was beyond intense; it ripped my mind from the conscious world even as it ripped through every part of who and what I was. It was more than pleasure, more than ecstasy. It was my reason for being, the answer to the question of what my purpose in life was. My purpose was to be with this man who completed me to perfection.
I was still lost in the dizzying ether of my release when he plunged into me with such force I half-believed he wanted to split me in two, before his body went rigid and his head flung back. With his eyes clenched tight, he groaned through his climax, and the sound was one of such pure sex it almost made me come again.
I couldn’t seem to stop shivering with an overload of sensation, even as the tension drained out of him. With a ragged breath he slumped into me, his face coming to burrow into my hair. Then, with arms wrapped around me, he again rolled so that I was lying sprawled on top of him while our bodies remained connected.
“So,” he said into my hair, while his hands glided over my back in a calming rhythm, “in the future, I say we definitely wake each other up if one of us is horny. If that’s what middle-of-the-night sex is like, then I’m all for it.”
I laughed and kissed his still-thundering chest, while deep inside I prayed that after tomorrow, Polo and I still had a future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Polo
“This shit would’ve been easier if Dash had arranged to meet Knives in an industrial park, or maybe one of the shipyards down south toward Calumet River.”
His expression calm, Polo surveyed the exit points of the small warehouse area at the back of Chicago’s Future. “Wouldn’t have worked, Alex.”
“Of course it would’ve worked.” His best friend’s voice came through loud and clear over the earpiece that Private Security International had provided for them on loan. Their generosity no doubt had an ulterior motive—he was sure everything they said was being monitored—but he was still grateful for their help. “Dash sets the meet-up at, say, the dry docks on the Calumet—you know, someplace big where we’d already be stationed. Then we’d wait for Knives to show up. One by one, we neutralize his gangster army. And before you know it, boom. It’s lights-out for nucking futs Knives and his merry band of trigger-happy morons.”
“Yeah, sounds like a great plan. Except for one thing.”
“What?”
“Why the hell not?”
“You’re confusing the new Vitaliev Bratva with Knives. Yeah, his new people might be morons, but Knives sure as fuck isn’t. It wouldn’t make sense for a civilian like Dash to even think about places like the dry docks or an industrial park. Knives would know in a heartbeat that Dash was on to him and setting him up. We’d lose the element of surprise, and he’d find a way to turn the tables on her—maybe even make a first-strike at Dash before the planned meet-up. That’s why she’s got to play it cool and not veer off-script.”
“I guess that makes sense,” came the grudging reply. “It’s just such a bitch to gain a tactical advantage here at a dinky strip mall in fucking Bronzeville. At least not without endangering half the neighborhood’s population.”
Polo couldn’t help but agree. Alex’s suggestions—industrial parks and shipyards—were ideal for setting a trap. In that type of environment they would have had plenty of room, plenty of hiding places, not to mention a low civilian count, and that translated into privacy. If there were any embarrassing bodies to deal with, there wouldn’t be prying eyes to worry about.
But they didn’t have a location like that. What they had was the interior of Chicago’s Future after hours. They were just going to have to make do.
That was fine with him. Just as long as he finally got a chance to bring this nightmare to an end.
Maybe it was for the best this final showdown was taking place in a smaller, difficult location, he thought, eyes on a laptop that displayed several security camera angles around Chicago’s Future and the strip mall beyond. In a relatively unsecured location like Dash’s non-profit storefront, Knives would likely feel less on-guard and wouldn’t have a qualm about heading off into the back room so he and Dash could talk in private.
That was the plan—short, sweet and simple. Dash would bring her brother into the back pantry on the excuse of feeling exposed by the front room’s windows. He and Pavel would be waiting inside, while all of Pavel’s sons, Yuri and Alex, and other trusted members of the Medvedev clan, had already set up an impregnable perimeter around the strip mall. If any of Knives’s Bratva tried to close in—and it was certain they would—it would be the last thing they ever did.
