by Monica James
Saint inhales deeply, not falling for the bait. “You overestimate yourself, старик.”
“Well, let us see. If that’s true, you’ll have no problem with me seducing your beloved.” My insides are thrilled with the challenge.
“Seducing? Rein it in, motherfucker. There will be no seducing.”
“What do you propose then?”
Saint appears as though he’s tasted something rotten as he replies, “I know how you work. You’ll think of something. But mark my words, if you do anything that makes her feel uncomfortable, I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands.”
“I have no doubt, мой друг.”
Saint is wrestling with this agreement, but he knows I won’t overstep any lines. And it won’t take much for Willow to backtrack on our newfound friendship if I betray her.
The front door opens, and Max freezes when he realizes he’s just walked into something. “Raul is in,” he says, unsure if this is what we want to hear.
But it is.
“Very good,” I affirm, a strange way to react to the news of my death. But it means I can begin to right the wrongs of the past. “You told him what needs to happen first?”
Max nods. “Yes, he understands. Irina is to go free. He wants it to happen that night, though. No time to waste.”
“Even better.” This means there is less chance of Serg polluting the orphanage. He only has to believe he’s won before we strike. It’ll give me great pleasure to take it all from him.
“Once Serg gives us instructions on where this deal is to go down, we’re to call Raul. He will let us know of any secret entries, and how many men Serg will have there so we can outnumber them with his own, etc…
“He will be our inside man, so we’re not taken off guard like—”
He leaves the sentence unfinished, but we all know what he is referring to.
Like the night we were ambushed, and so many people lost their lives.
“What about Zoya?”
Max shrugs, but that won’t do.
“He must ensure she is there. There is no way I’m leaving this earth knowing she still breathes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
That is completely inadequate, but I don’t press—for now—as I have other issues I need to deal with.
“This happens tonight,” I say to Saint. “For this to be believable, you have to react how you would if you weren’t privy to this plan.”
“I would respond by stabbing you repeatedly,” Saint replies blankly.
“What’s going on?” Max asks, looking back and forth between us in confusion.
“You don’t want to know,” Pavel says, uninterested in the theatrics.
“Join the queue,” I reply with a smirk.
It flickers for a mere moment, but I see it, and it validates what I’ve decided to do. Saint looks at me with what appears to be respect instead of contempt. Maybe one day, I’ll gain his forgiveness too.
The dinner table is set for a family to feast, but we’re anything but a family. The tension is so thick, it can be cut with a knife.
Saint glares at me over the table while Ella doesn’t look at me at all. Willow has clued in to Saint’s strange behavior, so she hasn’t paid much attention to anything else.
Pavel and Max seem distracted too.
Once Pavel finishes his meal, he rises and takes his plate to the sink. He kisses his mother’s cheek, thanking her for dinner, but he must return home to see his family. They would likely be sitting around the table if I weren’t here because Pavel is smart.
He doesn’t involve his family in his mess, unlike me.
Pushing my untouched plate aside, I reach for my scotch instead. I can’t stop thinking about Irina. Has she been fed? Bathed? She must be so afraid.
Kicking back my chair, I stand, excusing myself because I can’t sit here and eat when I don’t know if Irina has. Or been given a glass of water.
It’s only when I rise does Ella meet my eyes. I’m confronted with a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt—emotions because of me. But once this night is through, all that’ll be left is anger.
Saint is right. She isn’t convinced because I haven’t destroyed her completely. She still clings to a small shred of hope because she felt the same connection I did. She knows it was real. She hopes that I’ll see that too.
If she leaves, however, then all hope between us is lost. She is a fighter. She doesn’t give up, even when she should.
So I need to break her, to convince her that she’ll never be enough. But if only she knew…she is more than enough. She is all I want and need, which is why I exit through the back door, needing to put some space between us.
Those hazel eyes will haunt me forever.
The night is warm, but it does nothing to thaw my chill. I continue walking, knowing my way in the dark as I reach the graves. With a frustrated groan, I tug at my hair.
So many people want to save me, which is ironic because I don’t want to be saved. Doing this allows me to make amends for all the wrong I’ve done.
“Alek?” When I hear Willow call out to me, I realize my plan must be set into motion right now.
Ella clearly isn’t interested in consoling me, and neither is Saint, which of course leaves Willow. She can’t help but be good.
Looking at the grave markers for strength, I hope like hell this doesn’t backfire. I can’t fail. Ella’s safety relies on me hurting her beyond repair.
“Is everything all right?”
“All is well, sweet дорогая. Go back and enjoy your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” she gently disputes.
The foliage rustles with her cautious footsteps. When she comes into view, she pauses, seeing where I’m standing. She and Saint have come out here no doubt, but no matter how many times I see these markers, I’ll never accept what they represent either.
“What’s wrong? And don’t give me your bullshit.”
Placing my hands into my pockets, I focus on Zoey’s grave. “Very well. You want to know, so I shall tell you. I’m frustrated. Frustrated that my half-brother and mother are still breathing. Frustrated I have to play by their rules. Frustrated I live in a shack in the woods when I once resided in luxury. And I’m frustrated you don’t love me as I love you.”
Silence.
“But what is most frustrating is that you won’t admit you have feelings for me. I’m pleased you’ve found happiness with Saint, but seeing you together…it never gets any easier,” I confess, and thus far, these aren’t lies.
With nothing but confidence, I turn to look at her. She’s standing a few feet away, ensuring to keep enough distance between us, which is the perfect analogy for our entire relationship.
“I’m sorry I don’t feel that way about you, Alek. I just don’t.”
“I don’t buy it,” I counter, shaking my head, and this is where the deception will start.
I don’t doubt her claims. I know she loves Saint and only Saint. That’s how she loves—with her entire heart. But I can’t let that show.
“I think if I were given a proper shot, I could win your heart.”
She recoils, horrified. “I don’t care what you think. That won’t happen. Ever.”
“Kiss me then and tell me you don’t feel a thing.”
“I don’t need to kiss you to tell you that,” she snaps, eyes narrowed. “Forget I even came out here.”
“Ah, but alas, you did, so I can’t forget. You can’t help coming to my rescue, can you? Why is that?”
Her chest begins to rise and fall quickly. “I don’t know,” she honestly replies, her frustration coming through. “I should let you rot for all that you’ve done, but I just can’t.”
I walk toward her slowly, wishing I could pretend this wasn’t real. “Because deep down, you have feelings for me, and you’re ashamed. What does that make you, having feelings for the monster who bought you in a poker game?
“You may have yourself fool
ed, but I know you, дорогая. I always have. I know I can’t offer you what I once could, but give me a chance. You never gave me a chance,” I say, continuing my death march toward her.
“Alek, you are out of line,” she warns, but she’s scared, and I like it. It reminds me of a different time when she called me мастер.
“And I don’t care.” Before she can stop me, I swoop down, capture her cheeks in my palms, and kiss her.
The feel of her lips pressed against me brings back so many wonderful memories. She feels like home. Her smell, the softness of her lips, all of it—I want it back.
But this kiss isn’t reciprocated—her kisses never were. They were always stolen, forced, and now is no different. For the first time ever, I wish I was kissing someone other than Willow.
Her lips are slack as she desperately tries to pull away.
I want to be lost in a fruity fragrance and held prisoner by those supple, warm lips. I want that lush body pressed up against mine as she holds my hair and pulls. I want that because she, Ella, wants me. She wants to kiss me, and that is the biggest turn-on above all.
My cheek stings—the cheek which Willow just slapped—reminding me that the person I’m kissing doesn’t want me, and that’s good.
“How dare you!” Willow seethes, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You haven’t changed. I was so stupid to think that you had.”
She turns on her heel, desperate to get away from me, which would usually wound me, but now, I simply smile. That was far too easy, which saddens me in a sense, but it’s for the greater good.
Willow will tell Saint of what just occurred, and he will come looking for me, intent on ripping off my head. She’ll stop him, though, and he’ll back down on the proviso that she stays away from me.
I can still read those two like a book. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been around people who have seen you at your absolute worse. You begin to think like them.
This ensures Willow’s safety as she won’t be so inclined to come to my rescue now. Saint will probably insist she stay behind, and she’ll respect his wishes because I’m the bastard who defiled her against her wishes.
And it also will hurt Ella enough that she will leave.
A kiss is most sacred, and once she learns I shared one with Willow, her insecurities will get the better of her and she will leave with her pride intact. She will hate me, but that’s okay. As long as she’s safe, I can go into this with no worries.
Saying a silent goodbye to the three women who will remain forever young, I wish I could say I’ll see them soon. But I won’t. The big pearly gates are locked.
I slowly walk toward the house as I want to give Saint some time. He has to make it believable, but I’m sure he’ll have no problem achieving that when Willow tells him I threw in some tongue, for good measure, of course.
The kiss was lackluster, and I’m ashamed that’s the last kiss she’ll remember me by, but it was interesting to see how her kisses aren’t the ones I crave anymore.
Raised voices catching the still night air confirm our plan has worked. No doubt, Ella has overheard what just transpired, and when the front door bursts open, my suspicions are confirmed. Ella charges down the front stairs, cursing under her breath.
She hasn’t seen me yet, so I take a moment to examine her from head to toe.
Her blue dress dips low in the back, revealing she isn’t wearing a bra. The hem is short, showcasing those tanned, shapely legs. My cock instantly stirs.
Her wavy hair is down and wild. Her feet are once again bare, and I don’t know why, but I like it. Without a doubt, a pair of heels would look luscious on her perfect feet, but seeing her this way, she seems so unguarded, so innocent, which is what I find most appealing because I know she is not.
She comes to a sudden halt when she sees me.
Her hatred is more than clear, but when she charges over and slaps my cheek, she clears up any misgivings I may have. “You son of a bitch!”
Rubbing my cheek, I smirk. “I can’t argue there.”
“How could you do that? You don’t give a flying fuck about anyone but yourself!”
Still rubbing my tender cheek which has been slapped twice in the span of twenty minutes, I repeat, “Again, I can’t argue.”
“Why would you kiss her when you know she’s with Saint?” she inquires, desperate for answers.
I want to backtrack, to forget about this plan and think of another way, but there isn’t another way out of this. The only way to make her leave is to push her away. To make her think I don’t care.
“Because I want her to be with me,” I state with no emotion or regret.
Ella’s fury soon simmers, and she takes a step back, appalled by my words. “I was so fucking stupid,” she says, shaking her head. “To actually think you cared about me. To actually think you’d pick me.”
It takes all my willpower not to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. She is so hurt, and I can barely stand it. So, I turn around and walk away.
However, she thinks I’m dismissing her. “Oh no, you don’t.”
She grips my elbow, forcing me to spin back around, and before I can say a word, she stands on her toes and slams her mouth over mine. I’m so taken aback by her actions that my lips fall slack, but they soon resuscitate back to life and take everything she gives.
She’s angry, biting and pulling, and I take it because I know this is her taking back her independence. She feels a fool for ever being involved with me, and now, she wants me to know she doesn’t care anymore. She will use me just as I have her.
The height difference just won’t do, so I pick her up, groaning when she wraps her legs around me, positioning her warm sex over my aching cock. I cup the back of her neck, angling her head to dominate the kiss as I know it’ll be our last.
And if this will be the last time I taste her, let it be something we’ll never forget.
I charge through the yard, desperate to get her somewhere private. This coupling won’t be loving or lengthy—it’ll be unforgiving and raw.
The only place I can take her is the barn.
Kicking open the door with our lips still fighting for dominance, I slam her up against the wooden wall, relishing in the grunt that leaves her.
Her frantic fingers work at my buttons, but they grow impatient and she tears my shirt open, the insolent buttons scattering all the over the barn floor. Her fingernails rake down my chest, a sated moan leaving her as she tugs at the curls near my navel which extend into my pants.
Using my weight to keep her pressed to the wall, I reach under her dress and rub over the front of her underwear. It pleases me that she’s already wet. I need to be inside her because whenever we’re locked this way, I can almost forget the dire future which awaits me.
Without regret, I tear her underwear off and unfasten the button on my pants. My zipper soon follows. With my pants around my ankles, I lift her and slam her onto my erection. She cries out, severing our kiss as she gulps in mouthfuls of air.
The way she nibbles on her lower lip does things to me it shouldn’t, and I need to move. “Wrap your arms around me, красавица.”
She does as I order, eyes locked with mine as I thrust into her, holding her hips and encouraging her to bounce against me. Our bodies move in unison, but they always have. I yank down a strap of her dress, freeing her pert breast.
Her nipple is erect; so pink, so perfect.
I lower my head, taking it into my mouth as I continue sinking into her heat. She throws back her head, squeezing her muscles tight, so tight that I almost come. But I rein it in. This is about Ella. This is about her taking back control.
She lifts her hips, then slams back down, taking me deep. She fists the hair at my nape, moaning when I suckle her entire breast into my mouth. I want to consume every hot inch of her. My hips pump hard, fast, and by the groans slipping past her parted mouth, she likes the aggression.
Her glorious peach-shaped
ass bounces against me in the most delicious of ways. I wish I had more time with her. I’d punish that ass, and she’d like it because she isn’t bashful in the bedroom. She gives as good as she gets, and that applies to all aspects of her life.
How I’ll miss her.
The thought surprises me because it isn’t until now that I’ve come to realize just how much I will miss her.
“I hate you,” she cries out, locking her legs around my back to tighten the already vise-like grip between us.
“I know.”
“This means nothing.”
“Of course not.”
But we’re not fooling anyone.
“You’re nothing but the past,” she gasps, rocking against me fiercely.
This is what I wanted to hear, but it still doesn’t alleviate the tightening in my chest.
“I won’t even remember your name.”
But the tears that well in her eyes tell me otherwise.
I can’t stand it, so I kiss her, wishing I could erase the pain I’ve caused. However, knowing she will live a full life without me in it makes all of this worthwhile.
Her body vibrates around me, and the slapping of her flesh against mine is so primitive, I realize she is the first woman I’ve ever shown my true self to. She has accepted me, flaws and all, and some may even say, she loved me regardless.
I don’t know what I feel for her. Love? Lust? Obsession? I don’t know. I don’t like labels because love comes in many shapes and forms. What I do know is that she’s changed my life for the better, and if things were different, I think what we have could grow into something beyond love.
Love seems so basic a description for how I feel.
She bites my lip, her tongue sweeping it after the sting. She drives me crazy.
I devour her mouth as I own her body, and with two quick thrusts, hitting her deep, she shudders, coming with a satisfied moan. Her trembling grips my cock tight, so I lift her and frantically move her up and down my length until, with a strangled cry, I pull out and explode onto the outside of her bare pussy.
