by A. Zavarelli
“Have you met my wife?” I ask her.
“No.” Katya’s lips curl into a false smile conceived from years of training. “I don’t believe I have.”
My hands move over Talia’s body, pulling her closer to me. It isn’t a calculated move on my part, but an instinctive one. Right now, she is pliable. Doing as I ask and playing the role of my wife as though she were born for it.
I like her like this.
I want to soak up every second of this mood while it lasts. Before I inevitably ruin it.
Talia reaches up and touches my face, kissing me softly before pulling away.
“Sorry,” she murmurs to Katya. “We can’t keep our hands off each other. Honeymoon phase.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Katya replies.
“I intend to.” Talia smiles up at her. “And on that note, would you mind?”
Katya remains in place, her jaw tense and her gaze burning into mine. Willing me to say otherwise.
“Shut the door when you go,” I add.
She swears at me in Russian, and then she does as I ask.
22
TALIA
I DON’T MOVE from Alexei’s lap when Katya has gone. Instead, I pull my dress up lewdly around my hips and lean back against his desk, allowing his eyes to rake over me.
He’s watching me closely, waiting to see my next move. He doesn’t understand my motives. I don’t either. But seeing how much that woman wanted him makes me feel possessive. It makes me need him in a way that I shouldn’t admit.
My hand reaches out to trail over his jaw. Strong and freshly shaved. Smooth. He is beautiful.
I can see why she wants him so much.
But that isn’t what really bothers me.
“You wanted to make her jealous,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Because you loved her,” I add.
“No,” he answers.
“Liar.”
My lips come down on his, and I kiss him hard. Alexei’s hands roam the backs of my thighs all the way up to my ass. His hot palm slides into the back of my panties to cup my ass cheek, and then he pulls me down against his hardness.
“Do you want to fuck me and think of her?” I ask him.
“You’d like that,” he answers. “Wouldn’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“You would use any excuse not to feel the way you do right now.”
He’s right. He’s so right that it scares me. I feel something with him. Something more than the reckless behavior and the self-hatred.
I feel… safe with him. His house is my sanctuary. His body, my fortress. He is tall and strong and dangerous. And like Magda said, I believe that he will protect me.
That’s the most dangerous belief I could ever have with a man.
I need to level the playing field. I need him to know that I know his secrets too.
“That’s exactly what a hypocrite would say.” I lean close and murmur into his right ear. “Lyoshka.”
He freezes, his hands still on my ass, his head moving back to examine me. To question me with those pale blue eyes.
“I know,” I tell him.
“And what have you to say about it?” he asks.
His jaw is taut, his eyes hard and appraising. I know instinctively this man could spot a lie if I ever dared to utter one. But I only ever have my honesty to give to him.
“I like it,” I admit. “Because maybe that makes us even. Maybe that means it’s you and me against the world.”
He relaxes slightly, and his brows draw closer. I’ve surprised him with my answer. He expected something different.
Hatred? Disgust?
I can’t quite figure it out. But Magda’s words are ringing through my mind, loud and clear.
You are more alike than you know.
“How do you conceal it so well?” I ask. “How do you read lips without being obvious?”
“Like any skill, you perfect it by learning. Through practice.”
I nod, and he continues to watch me. And explain.
“I don't catch everything that is spoken. I catch pieces, and I put them together in my head. Like a puzzle. Everyone is different. Some talk too fast, some mumble. Some cover their mouth, or look away. Some are easy to read. Some are hard. It isn’t just about reading lips. Your face says a thousand things that your lips never will.”
“What do you mean?”
His fingers come up to touch my chin. And then my brows. They trail over my face, examining me in a way he hasn’t done before.
“It's a thousand micro expressions. The way your eyes contract and expand. The flutter of lashes. The involuntary hitch of a shoulder or a tick you didn’t even know you made. There are so many emotions that go unnoticed because most are only used to listening to the words. But I learned to watch. And now I see everything.”
It makes sense. How he’s so observant. How he seems to anticipate my moves before I even know them myself sometimes.
“And what do you see in my face?” I ask him curiously.
“The pain you are too proud to admit you feel.”
“That’s rich. Coming from you.”
“Is it?” he asks.
“Do you drink so much because you feel sorry for yourself? Or is it because of Katya?”
He doesn’t reply. His grip on me is tight and unforgiving. I keep pushing him.
“Is that why we are married in name only? So you can fuck me and think of her?”
He kisses me again. Hard this time. All the while his fingers are pulling the zipper down the back of my dress. Freeing the material enough that he can shove it down and trap my arms at my sides, allowing the cool air to hit my breasts.
He pulls away and kisses at my throat, using his hand to grind my hips down onto his erection.
“I married you so that I can fuck you,” he answers. “And think of you while I do it.”
His mouth comes over my breast, and his fingers slip into my panties and then inside of me. Fucking me with his hand while I sit in his lap. I close my eyes and try to numb myself the way I usually do. To rid myself of the feelings he is provoking in me.
Lust. Desire. Want.
And worst of all… hope.
He squeezes my jaw tight in his hand and pauses, his voice tense when he speaks.
“You look at me,” he orders. “You think of me. When your husband is fucking you.”
I open my eyes and meet his. Dark and so hot I feel like he’s burning right through my skin.
“You will only ever think of me,” he orders again, harsher this time. “I want to invade your every thought.”
I don’t know if it’s a command or a plea. So my honesty comes out again.
“You already do.”
I jerk in his arms and his fingers move inside of me again. The party is still happening downstairs, but Alexei doesn’t care. He takes his time. He doesn’t allow my fucked up needs to hinder our progress, and he gives me exactly what I require. He nurtures my desire for pain by pulling my hair and dragging his teeth down my throat before sinking them into my shoulder. And when I relax in his arms, he heaves me up and sets me on the desk, tearing my panties away and splaying my legs apart. He holds my thighs beneath his palms, scooting me to the edge of the desk so that my ass hangs off.
I’m on display for him. Lewd and dirty. My dress bunched around my waist, my breasts on display and my legs spread wide. I wonder if he likes me like this. Filthy and wrong.
I don’t have to wonder for long. He reaches for the cognac on his desk and opens it, pouring it down the front of my body and wetting my skin and my dress. My back arches and the liquid warms my skin as it slides down between my spread legs.
Alexei chases the liquid with his tongue, drinking it from my flesh. And yet I’m the one who is drunk off the combination. But there is still that part of me that feels the deep chasm of shame. He knows it, but he doesn’t let me give in to it.
His eyes meet mine before he leans fo
rward and buries his face in the exposed part of me. He eats me out on his desk. On top of his paperwork and while his guests are downstairs. He fucks me with his tongue and grunts out his approval as he devours me.
And there isn’t anywhere else I could take my mind right now if I tried. He is the only place I want to be. In this moment. Watching him ruin me. Feeling the brutality of his grip on my ass, bruising my flesh and imprinting his mark on the deepest level of my psyche. The place where all of my fears and needs collide.
I come hard for him. And still, he doesn’t stop. Until I beg him to be inside of me.
And then he’s pulling me back into his lap. Freeing his zipper with his fingers and yanking my hand down in his to touch him. He wants me to need this. To need him. It must be his own fear that blinds him from seeing that his control over me is absolute. And that I do need it from him.
I leave no question in his mind. I cup the hot bulge beneath his briefs and run my fingers along his shaft. His eyes never leave mine. Only when I free his cock completely and shift my hips to push him inside of me, do his eyes close briefly.
Once he’s fully rooted, he grabs my face and forces me to look at him again.
“Mine.”
Then he’s fucking me. Using me. And thoroughly enjoying it. His hands guide my hips, and his lips sear my skin. Everywhere. He’s kissing me everywhere. Sucking on me. Tasting me. Breathing his fire into me.
His brand of fucking is more intense than any other I’ve ever experienced. His eyes never leave my face. Watching for every slight tremble. It’s intimate, and raw… being face to face like this. Skin to skin. Every time he gets close, he pauses or stops altogether just to kiss me. To touch me. To draw it out and soak as much pleasure as he can from the act itself. It scares me and sends a thrill through me.
And I feel like I need to ruin it.
“Do you like fucking your filthy whore wife?” I ask him.
He smiles up at me, and his cock swells inside of me. “I love fucking my wife,” he answers.
He thrusts up inside of me harder, harder. “Now tell me how much you love it too.”
“I like it,” I admit.
“Do you like calling yourself a whore?” he asks. “Do you like to be degraded, my little Solnyshko?”
“Yes,” I answer him honestly.
From him. I want that. I need it. To give myself permission to enjoy it. To let my mind be free.
“Then tell me you’re my whore,” he demands. “And the only thing you’re good for is pleasing me.”
“I’m your whore.” I lean back against the desk so that my body is on display for him. “And the only thing I’m good for is pleasing you.”
His lips find my ear, and the sounds of his ragged approval vibrates against my skin.
“Now tell me thank you,” he demands. “For what I’m about to give you.”
“What?” I ask.
He thrusts as deep as he can go and comes on an agonized groan, spilling himself inside of me. Only when his cock is empty and I am sagging against him do his lips find my ear and he answers.
“A baby.”
23
ALEXEI
IT IS LATE when I get to the city.
Normally, Franco drives me. But now that Talia is at the house, I feel his services are best required there. Against his protests, I have driven myself to Slainte.
I needed this meeting to take place on the Irish’s home ground. The lies are prepared to slip from my tongue when I greet Lachlan in the office. The way they have been ever since I brought Talia into my life.
He will have no choice but to understand. His alliance with the Vory will not be strained by one girl. I know this. And I am taking full advantage of it.
“Alexei.” He shakes my hand as a sign of respect and then pours me a glass of cognac.
When he sits down across from me, we both make the usual toasts. And then the business begins.
“You have word on Mack’s friend?”
“I do.”
I finish the glass and meet his gaze.
“There is… a complication.”
Lachlan frowns. “What sort of complication?”
“She was purchased by Arman Kassabian.”
“I see.”
I let the information settle on him. Arman is the Bulgarian weapons dealer that keeps a sizeable chunk of the global market in business. He also happens to be the supplier of the Irish and the Vory. It is a profitable business relationship to all of us. Lachlan will not start a war over one girl, or even lose his arms supply over one girl. This is just a fact of the mafia business. The steady supply of arms is the lifeblood of the Irish syndicate.
In the end, this is how I know the choice he will make. His loyalty is to his brotherhood. To the well-being of the organization. And a leader must always choose the organization over all else.
Lachlan knows me fairly well. As well as I allow anyone to. He is aware of my defect although I am not certain how he caught on to it. And yet, he has never shown me any disrespect or disloyalty. He trusts my judgment and does not question my abilities.
For this reason, I consider him a friend as well as an ally. Our pact makes good business sense, but he is the only one of the Irish I like to deal with.
“Have ye spoken with him?” Lachlan asks. “Is he prepared to part with her for a cost?”
I shake my head and keep my expression neutral. “He has an attachment to her. He is not willing to part with her on a permanent basis.”
“What does that mean?” he demands.
“I have the girl in my possession now.”
His eyes widen and then narrow. “For how long?”
“He parted with her as collateral on a shipment that went missing,” I tell him.
He brushes his hands down his face and leans back in his chair. I can see the thoughts running through his mind. They are the same that initially went through my own. Getting the girl a new identity, sending her somewhere else. Telling Arman I lost my head and she was just a casualty of doing business.
“There is nowhere she will ever be safe from him,” I tell Lachlan. “And even if she were…”
The words drift off, and a part of me feels guilt for speaking of Talia this way.
“Even if she were, what?” Lachlan asks.
“The girl is not in a good state of mind.”
“I didn’t guess she would be,” he replies.
“She can’t be on her own.”
“We can’t send her back to Arman.”
“I have no intention to.”
“Then what?” he asks.
“I have handled the situation in a way that is best for all concerned parties.”
Lachlan’s agitation is clear when he speaks. “Which is?”
“I have married the girl.”
The room falls silent, and his eyes bore into mine, incredulous. He doesn’t believe me. But he also knows I have never been one to joke. So he waits. And I do also. And after a time, it settles on him. This is serious.
“You married her,” he repeats. “Without consulting me.”
“I don’t generally consult with those who hold no sway in my own decisions.”
“This isn’t just your decision,” he grates. “Did she even want to marry you?”
Inwardly, I flinch.
I know it isn’t a reference to my defect when it comes from Lachlan, but a part of me still believes that is what he is implying.
“I have fulfilled more than what I promised,” I inform him as I stand. “I have retrieved the girl, and I have kept her safe. I have secured a future for her away from Arman. A simple thank you would do.”
Lachlan sighs, and then nods. “Ye’re right. You have my apologies, Alexei. I realize that this is something I can’t ever repay ye for.”
I move to leave, but he stops me.
“But I do have another favor to ask.”
I glance at him and wait.
“Mack needs to know she’s okay,” he says.
“She needs to hear it from Talia.”
24
TALIA
IT SNOWED THIS MORNING.
And I convinced Magda to let me outside to see it. Her answer came only after she received permission from Alexei.
I know he’s watching me from the window above. I saw his face when I laid down on the ground.
“Miss Talia,” Magda chides me, but I ignore her.
I stare up at the sky and let the flakes fall onto my skin, even catching a few on my tongue. My arms and legs move to the sides, making a perfect snow angel. And then I get up and repeat the process four more times. When I am on my fifth, I open my eyes to meet ice cold blue.
Alexei.
“You made one too many,” he remarks, as if he knows anything about my mind.
“No, it’s exactly right.”
His face hardens and he does not try to hide his disdain for my attitude. He has barely spoken to me since he fucked me two nights ago. Since he told me the worst thing he could have said to someone like me.
No, not even someone like me. Just me.
I’m as insane as my own mother was. I cannot be a mother. I will destroy everything I love. Just like she did.
I am poison.
I told Alexei as much in my panicked state. He disregarded it entirely. Instead, he kissed me and dressed me and brought me back down to the party, filled with his come and looking more like the girl who first arrived than the one who was supposed to be his wife.
The sight did nothing to sway Katya’s determination. In fact, it only seemed to strengthen it. She is not willing to give him up, married or not.
Again, I wonder why he is not with her. He clearly loved her. She wanted to be his wife. Probably would have bore his children. And she is not nearly half as insane as I am.
When I look up at him now, hovering above me I almost tell him so. That he should rethink what he has done. But I can’t bring myself to say the words.
It’s just as well, because he stoops down to gather my chilled body into his arms, carrying me like a child back inside the house. I cling to him, letting his warmth surround me as he carries me up the stairs. He takes me straight into my bathroom and sets me on the counter, undressing me.
