by Nicole Fox
I slap his shoulder playfully. “Definitely!” I correct.
He grins, looking handsome and fatherly in his suit with his gray hair slicked to the side. He was more of a dad than Cormac ever was growing up, and it still feels like a dream that I get to have it all: an awesome dad, a baby, my dream job, a ride-or-die bestie, and, the hunky cherry on the glorious cake, Andrei fricking Bakhtin, my Beast, my man, my husband-to-be.
When we start walking, the nerves drop away from me easily. I feel silly for ever having been anxious.
Even with all those people standing up, staring at me, even with the aisle seeming like it’s ten miles long, I’m filled with warm, glowing joy. People ooh and ahh from the pews. One lady is crying quietly. At the altar, I see Molly and Egor giving each other bedroom eyes.
But then I focus on Andrei, huge and handsome in his suit. He has been walking with a silver-pommeled cane as he recovers from his injuries. But he told me he wouldn’t be using it on our wedding day or afterward.
“You make me strong,” he whispered in bed one night, kissing me softly.
It was cheesy, sure, but when you’re in love, cheesy is A-Okay.
As we walk, I think about how deep our love has become these past couple of months. We’ve spent so much time together since I moved into his penthouse, and I’ve gotten to see a different side to him. We’ve gone out to fancy restaurants, taken a helicopter ride, been the toast of the town.
But I’m more interested in the vulnerable-yet-strong side he’s shown me, talking quietly about his parents’ deaths, letting me comfort him and comforting me in return.
We work well together. We’re a great team.
We fit.
Andrei steps forward when we reach the altar. He and Garret exchange meaningful glances. Aside from Garret’s wife, Andrei is the only one who knows that Garret is really my father.
“I promise to take good care of her,” Andrei says seriously, shaking Garret’s hand. “And thank you.”
Garret doesn’t need to ask why Andrei is thanking him. It’s for getting me somewhere safe that evening at the mansion. Even if it annoyed me at the time—I was full of fury and ready to fight—I know, now, that it was for the best. What if the baby had gotten hurt?
At last, the music gets quiet and Andrei and I turn to each other. His eyes burn into me. Mine burn into his. I can barely stop myself from leaping forward, throwing my arms around him. The tension and the chemistry between us is so achingly real.
We say our vows in front of seven hundred people, but, really, it’s like we’re whispering them to each other. It feels intimate despite all the watching eyes. And then, it’s time for the best part: the kiss.
After the I dos, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me toward him. He was right about not needing the cane anymore. He moves just as surely as he did before the injuries. As he crushes me in a passionate kiss, I sink into him, losing myself.
We only remember people are watching when Molly loudly clears her throat. I break it off, shooting her a grateful look. Then I turn back to Andrei and stand on my tiptoes, whispering in his ear, “Devour me later. Deal?”
He gives my side a thrilling squeeze full of meaning. “Deal.”
We turn to the pews as the music swells around us, everybody clapping, more people crying now. The room is so loud it feels like it could burst. And my heart is just the same.
Later, I’m standing on the dance floor in my wedding dress, feeling kind of nervous. I mean, I’ve heard about being left at the altar, but left on the dance floor? Why would Andrei marry me only to pull a disappearing act at the reception?
I’m stranded up here. Molly is giving me a sympathetic look from the side. The band called out that it was time for the first dance, and so the dance floor dutifully cleared. But when I walked up here, Andrei was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe it’s ridiculous of me, but my mind immediately starts to fill with all the things that might’ve happened to him. This is a room filled with Bravta and Irish mobsters, after all, even if they’ve been getting along fairly well since this wedding was announced. But what if it was a trick? What if somebody has hurt Andrei?
I turn to Egor, standing next to Molly. But he’s smiling. He must see my distress, because he shakes his head, lifting his hand in an It’s fine gesture.
I tell myself to calm down, wishing, again, that I could have a glass of champagne.
I swear, once our baby is born I’m going to go swimming in a whole pool of champagne. Or maybe cocktails. I haven’t decided yet. Sex on the Beach sounds delicious in more ways than one.
Where is he?
Finally, the crowd starts moving as though somebody is walking toward the dance floor. I hear someone gasp. I’m confused until I see him.
Then I start laughing. I can’t stop. It’s just too much.
Andrei is standing there in the Minotaur mask, his eyes gleaming playfully in the eyeholes, striding toward me with his hands out, ready to lead me in our first dance.
“What are you doing?” I laugh, slapping him on his muscled chest. “I mean, you are Andrei, right?”
“No,” he growls, poking me in the ribs. When I glare at him, he wraps his arms around me instead. “I’m the Beast. How could you forget?”
Soft music begins to play. Andrei leads me around in a low, measured dance. The heat between us is undeniable. I lean in, whispering. “Is it really messed up that this is making me horny right now?”
He pulls me closer. “I was about to say the same thing,” he rumbles. “But it’s that dress, all prim and proper. I want to tear it off. I want us to remember how fucked up we really are, Jamie. Even if we’re pretending to be civilized for the day.”
Then, I can’t take it anymore. I grab the Minotaur by the horns and pull the mask off his head. Andrei, clean-shaven and suave now, smiles at me. His hair is messy, begging for me to slide my fingers into it.
I can’t stop myself from kissing him. He wraps his arms around me and hugs me tightly, spinning me around. Everybody is cheering and clapping, but they sound faraway.
For a little while, it’s just me and Andrei … and our child, safely pressed between us.
I let out a delighted squeal when he carries me through the door of the honeymoon suite.
The suite itself is absolutely beautiful and luxurious, a four-room apartment, but it’s only the bedroom we’re interested in. The four-poster is covered in rose petals, and burning candles sit on all the surfaces. The curtains are, as requested, blackout.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls, his voice thick with desire.
He drops me on the bed. I bounce up and down once, then immediately throw myself forward.
“Who said you had to wait, hm?”
He’s already rock-hard for me, his manhood pressing through his pants. He stares down, captivated as I rub up and down the length of him with my palm. His manhood twitches like it’s eager to break free.
“I want you in the dress,” he snarls.
“Works for me. But don’t rip it,” I warn. “I want to save this.”
“I’ll have it repaired.”
He pushes me back, tugging at my panties. I’m so horny that even the fabric grazing my lips and clit is driving me wild. Andrei tears his pants off like they’re on fire, his cock daggering towards me.
“You look so fucking sexy,” he whispers, voice trembling.
The mattress sags under his muscled body as he climbs onto the bed. He leans over me, staring with hot hunger into my face.
“Part of me wants to fuck you hard,” he whispers, kissing up and down my neck. “But another part wants you like this—”
“Ooh!” I gasp, gripping onto his shoulders.
He slides up inside of me, slowly, tantalizingly. I feel every searing inch of him.
We devour each other, making good on the deal we made earlier. I love the texture of his lips, the way his tongue knows just the right places to attack. “Harder,” I whisper in his ear. “I wan
t you to fuck me like your wife. But later. Right now, I need you. Andrei. All of you—ah, fuck, fuck. Harder.”
He rasps in my ear, breath caressing, “Are you sure?”
“You think I’m scared of you?”
He bites my earlobe softly, then firmer. His teeth find my neck.
The whole bed frame makes whining noises. The curtains of the four-poster are tied up, but we fuck so manically, one of them comes loose, dropping down.
He pummels deep into me. I gouge my fingernails into his side, through his suit. I pull on him. I want more of him. I want all of him. I want to be able to feel him for days, weeks afterwards.
I lean up and bite his lip hard. He growls, grabbing my hands, pinning me to the bed. That just about drives me insane, my beast on top of me, taking control like this.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he orders.
“N-n-now,” I stutter a few thrusts later when the time comes.
All of a sudden, Andrei slows right down. He lets go of my hands and slides out of me with teasing slowness, and then back in with infuriating movements, inch by hot, throbbing inch.
He finds my lips, kissing me softly. “I want your first orgasm to be as my wife,” he growls. “I’ll treat you like my plaything later. But now, Jamie, come for me. Come slow. Come hard. Come. Now.”
He draws the orgasm out of me in aching movements.
I just can’t take it anymore. I feel something squeeze inside of me, burst, something dense and steamy and full of pleasure. Then I’m gasping like I can’t breathe. Maybe I really can’t. I don’t know. I can’t think.
All I feel is that burning between my legs. And a burning in my chest, too. A burning that tells me I’ll never need anybody else except for Andrei and our child, and any other little ones we bring into the world. It’s a heat I never thought I’d let myself feel: the heat of belonging.
I’m crying softly, tears of happiness. Andrei kisses them away as his own climax comes. He groans, warm breath touching me, his lips smearing hot tears across my skin. We find each other again, kissing slowly, intensely.
Finally, once both of our pleasure has peaked, we come back down to earth. Andrei rolls aside and hugs me close to him, kissing the top of my head.
Epilogue II
Andrei
Five Years Later
Benjamin Egor Bakhtin rushes at me. His little face is scrunched up in determination. He is ready for war.
“Gonna get you, Papa!” he screams, waving his arms. I duck down low in our living room. With the ceiling-high windows making the forest seem very close, it really is a wild scene. Benny is stocky, with my black hair but Jamie’s freckles. Her eyes and smile, too.
But he has my build. When he thuds into me, I feel it, even if he’s only four.
“Argh!” I pretend to shout, falling back. I grab him under the armpits and lift him up. He laughs and, throwing his arms to the side, he screams, “Airplane! Airplane!”
I let him fly for a little while. Then, I put him down and stand up. Predictably, he comes rushing at me again. Windmilling his arms. He really is a little wrecking ball. I duck to the side. “No,” I tell him seriously. “You can’t just rush in like that, son. You have to be smarter than that.”
He pauses, squinting at me. “How?”
“Have a plan. Think before you act. Strength will only get you so far.”
“But you’re strong and stronger, Papa,” he murmurs, only half grasping what I’m saying. “You’re big, the biggest papa ever!”
I say in Russian, “But look.” I walk over to the door. Since I’m so tall, I’m easily too big for the frame. Jamie has joked about having bigger doors fitted. But that would be quite the task, since our home is a three-story, nine-bedroom mansion.
Plus, it would ruin this joke. “Papa is big, yes?” I grin.
“Huuuuge!”
I stride for the door. But instead of ducking under the doorframe like I normally do, I walk right into it. In reality, I put my hand up to block the impact. But I make it seem real.
I let out a gasping noise and trip backward, falling. I land on my back with a heavy thump. Of course, Benny just finds this hilarious. “Papa!” he laughs. But then, his voice gets quieter. “Papa?”
He wanders over to me, cautious. I bide my time. And then, when he’s within striking distance, I leap to my feet and wrap my arms around him. Picking him up, I run around the room.
He squeals and laughs in that carefree way that only a young child can do justice to.
But then I stop. “You see, son?” I say. “I was big. I was strong. But I wasn’t thinking. I walked right into that door like a big idiot, didn’t I?” I prod his forehead. “Whatever you do, think. Always.”
“Think,” he says seriously, nodding. “Yeah, Papa.”
I put him down when my cell phone rings. It’s Jamie, FaceTiming us. I answer as we drop onto the couch. Benny climbs onto my chest. I hand him the phone to hold, which he likes doing.
Jamie is in her artsy photographer’s shirt, her hair braided in a Viking way I just fucking love. She looks sexy and beautiful and talented all at once. She’s sitting in her office at Clover Strokes. In the background, I can hear Molly shouting instructions.
“It sounds like you’re having fun, koroleva,” I smile.
She grins, pretending to be annoyed. “You know I prefer printsessa.”
I started calling her koroleva after the wedding, since it means queen. That was right around the time we switched to mostly legitimate business. Soon after that, it became clear the Irish were not going to be a problem again. I still run things, of course. But it’s far less bloody than it used to be.
“Mamoooshzahh!” Benny giggles.
He’s trying to say Mamushka, which is a formal and archaic way of saying mother. And by he’s trying to say, I mean that I have put him up to it. Mostly because Jamie hates it. Or, at least, she pretends to. But her wide grin and flushed cheeks give her away.
“Mamushka,” I correct.
“Don’t encourage him!” Jamie blurts. “Anyway, little soldier, shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” She mock-glares at me. “Are you having fun with Papa keeping you up so late?”
“I miss Mama!” Benny cries. “Come home now.”
Jamie flushes. I never thought she could be more beautiful. But motherhood suits her. “Soon, baby,” she says. “Mommy has to work tonight. Granddaddy Garret is going to take really good care of you.”
“Granddaddy Gart!” Benny cries. “Yay!”
Although Benny calls him Granddaddy, since we don’t want to lie to our son, the wider world still doesn’t know that Garret is Jamie’s father.
One day, it will no longer be relevant.
But, for now, we just tell people Granddaddy is a nickname Benny likes to use for a close family friend.
Jamie smiles, turning to me. “It’s going to start in about an hour,” she says. “You think you’ll make it?”
“Actually, I’ve decided to skip it. I know you have worked hard for six months straight. I know this is a very important night for you. But I was thinking of staying in and … watching football?”
“You know, that might’ve worked. But we both know you don’t like football. If you’d said you were watching boxing or cage fighting, maybe I would’ve believed you.”
“I was going to.” I laugh. “But there aren’t any fights on tonight.”
“What, and I was going to fact-check you?”
“Dammit. Foiled again.”
“Dammit!” Benny echoes.
Jamie rolls her eyes. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“Now I just have to teach him to say it in Russian. So we can annoy you in two languages.”
“You hear that, Little Beast? Papa is bullying me. Are you gonna let him get away with that?”
But it’s too late. Benny has already let out a war-cry. Now, he jumps up, letting the phone fall. He leaps at me, hands waving. I wrap my arms around him and lift him up.
/> “Right, it’s bedtime for you!” I chuckle. “Granddaddy Gart will read you a story. Sound good, son?”
“Yeah!” he grins, settling down. “Perfect!”
“I agree,” I smile, ruffling his hair. “Perfect.”
I drive into the city just as the sun is setting. I enjoy how peaceful it is. It’s good to be able to drive somewhere without worrying about the Irish attacking. Without worrying about my whole world being upended.
Not that we have stopped taking precautions, of course. Two cars trail me, my personal guard. And our house is surrounded. Cormac made a bad mistake by letting Molly organize the party without any oversight. We will never make a similar misstep.
I feel the same sense of déjà vu I always do when I approach The Clover. It has been completely redesigned since my meeting here with Cormac, all those years ago. But it is still the same location.
It always brings back memories of that night. Bittersweet, because even if it was the night where Timofey betrayed me and I was taken prisoner, it was also the night my love for Jamie began.
The exhibition is already in full swing within. I take a glass of champagne and recede to the shadows, watching Jamie at work. She wows the photography buffs with her insightful answers to their questions. Most of it is over my head. But the photos themselves … I love them.
The exhibition is called Little Beast. Each photo is of Benny, wearing a miniature Minotaur mask, a smaller version of the same one I was wearing for all of our photos.
When I asked Jamie why she wanted to relive it, she said, “It’s not about reliving it, though. It’s about … It’s about reinventing it. We had this horrible time when you were The Beast. Well, in many ways, it was great, weirdly. But, you know what I’m saying … horrible in that you were a prisoner and we could never count on tomorrow. Little Beast is a big middle finger to the messed-up scenario. A rebirth.”
I can’t keep my eyes from her. In her blood-red shirt, the sleeves rolled up, she looks so damn alluring. It matches her hair and her earrings. Her neck is flushed red with excitement.
