Page 13

Fingering the hem of my dress, I stared at the soft fabric and looked back at the mirror. Blue eyes met mine, golden hair poured below fair shoulders, and I blurred out the image of soft curves and bare hips.

Countless times, especially in high school, I’d been called a prude.

It wasn’t true. Or maybe it was. I didn’t squeal or gush over pictures of slippery hard abs or full naked men as they did or swooned over R-18 magazines they snuck into class. I couldn’t remember ever being a big fan of nudity, not even where I was concerned. I just didn’t know how to… react to provocative images or thoughts.

Sad, but needless to say, it contributed a lot to my not having many friends.

I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of the distracting thoughts. Then, I stared again at the mirror.

Throughout everything I’d been through in recent times, I was still me. I was the same person who watched her parents break apart, the same girl who had to step into the shoes of both parents to cater to her brother, and the same young woman who’d grown up to love teaching and taking care of children. But there’d been a shift; that same woman had a debt hanging over her head. She had to give herself in the place of her brother, and now, here she stood, naked in the bedroom she shared with her absent husband, a man who was the terror both by day and at night.

And yet….

I couldn’t convince myself to block him out. A few times, when I thought about him, pictures of my mother swam up to the surface like oil in water.

My heart squeezed.

Most of my memories of her were sad ones, and after she left, I tried to hate her. I really did, but I couldn’t. To this day, Jay and I have no idea what caused their rift, but I remember how I’d spent nights wishing upon the stars for her return and silently praying that they’d rediscover their love and come back together.

It never happened.

In that same way, I found myself hoping Timur would one day snap into becoming normal—that I could mold him into an ordinary person. It shouldn’t pose a challenge; I’d taken care of young ones that had been labeled as the most difficult and catered for Jayden Skye, too.

Except, I knew more than anyone else that Jayden and Timur weren’t the same. Just like oil and water, they were cut from different cloths. Very different materials.

I couldn’t just fix him; he barely even listened to me. The life we both led was one hundred percent more like “follow the leader.” He was the leader, and I was the wife who was expected to do nothing more than obey whatever he said.

After a heaving sigh, I murmured under my breath, “I should really put these back on.”

Twisting to the side, I ogled my reflection, and a voice at the back of my head nagged that I was stalling.

Honestly, I didn’t really want to put those clothes back on. Standing in front of the mirror had been a tough decision on its own; peeling off my yellow dress had been a tougher decision, but putting them back on after my body tingled at the mere thought of him…now, that was the toughest call to make.

For two weeks, after the first week of our marriage, he’d been playing the game of hide and seek: leaving the house before I was out of bed, getting home when I was asleep, or not coming home at all. I wasn’t about to admit it to anyone other than myself, but I missed him. My body missed his. He’d handled me well enough to leave imprints of his touch branded in my mind, and I doubted that they would ever leave.

And that was when the crazy immoral thought sprung up—something that would have never crossed my mind before my encounter with the Russian mob ring leader: What if I recreated the moment we’d shared?

Through my reflection in the mirror, I watched my cheeks flush a deeper shade of scarlet, and my body tingled in excitement. I didn’t even know when I laughed out loud.

What are you thinking, Serena?

And yet, despite the million and one reasons I had to desist from taking any step closer to the bed, one reason posed to be the most convincing, forcing me to abandon thoughts about right and wrong until I lay my back on the soft mattress, spread-eagle style:

I missed him.

“Oh, Serena.” I heard the nerves in my voice and pinned my eyes to the smooth ceiling above me.

Clutching the sheets with one hand in a vise grip, I spread my legs wider. The cold air hit my skin, causing goosebumps to rise, and I turned toward the window, only realizing now that a rainstorm had picked up outside. I should have shaken off the stupid idea that brought me to the bed in the first place, got on my feet, and moved to close the shutters. Instead, I pulled the bed covers over my legs and lowered my back into the soft mattress.

Guided by the harsh patter of rain on the glass window and rooftops, my fingers danced to the center of my core, and my eyelids fluttered shut on their own accord.

The first R-rated scene that jumped into my memory was the second time we’d had sex after our wedding night. It was the morning after, on the kitchen counter. I’d walked in with the intention of preparing breakfast for my husband, but his sudden appearance through the doorway scrambled my thoughts, and I found myself planted on the counter, trapped between the hard wall of his chest, with only his arms bracing my back for support.

Shirt buttons popped, my mouth was ravaged, and hungry kisses were planted on every exposed part of my body. And when his erection slid into me, that part….

I encircled my index finger around my nub, shuddering when I realized I was already wet. My grip tightened on the dress enclosed in my fist, and I swallowed, slipping one finger inside me.

I gasped, receiving a corresponding thundercrack from the skies outside.

The feeling was nothing compared to having Timur inside me, but it was something—enough to make my back arch and toes curl into the sheet.

Biting down on my lips, I moved my finger, slowly thrusting in and out. My skin rippled with excitement as my mind jogged erotic memories in fast motion—one time in the showers, Timur’s mouth on my breasts, my fingers sliding over the short hair on his head, his lips on mine, my nails digging into his skin, his hot breath on my neck when he moved inside me, and the husky sound of his voice in my ears when he growled—

“Fuck.”

I stopped.

My chest heaved, and my eyes snapped open, but they stayed on the ceiling. Sudden awareness replaced the excitement I’d felt, and biting cold eliminated the warmth that flowed through my body. I wasn’t sure I was ready to come to terms yet that the sound of his voice was not just in my head. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if—

“No, don’t stop.”

—he was real.

Summoning the courage very slowly, I took my eyes off the ceiling and lifted my head high enough to see him crossing the threshold and shutting the door behind him.

In utter fright and horror, I whispered his name, “Timur?”

He didn’t say a word, just stood there, unmoving from the door, his eyes raking my naked body, scorching the crown of my head, past the flat plane of my stomach, to the curve of my hip that lay exposed from beneath the sheets. My nipples hardened under his gaze, and an intense heat charted its course through my veins.

It was him, my husband in the flesh. All six feet of him, hard and leanly muscled, clothed in a white dress shirt and black pants. Today, however, he didn’t look cool, calm, or calculating. From the ragged look in his eyes to his rolled-up sleeves, he looked like the symbol of the storm outside. A storm that was ready to drench me or blow the life out of me if it could.

Oh, God. If a person could die from embarrassment, I would have been long gone the second I confirmed his presence in the room.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

So soon? With his current ghost mode status, breezing in and out of the house, I didn’t expect him at all.

I started to get up to put my clothes back on and bury the shame, but his eyes darkened, and the tick in his jaw told me not to move an inch more.

“Don’t move from there, Pchelka. Lie down and take off those fucking covers.”

It was a gruff order with the dangerous undertones of familiar desire. But it was an order, nonetheless. One I didn’t hesitate to obey.

With trembling fingers, I peeled off the covers and spread my legs wider, hearing my heart beat in my ears when chilly air touched my sensitive spot. The sensation almost made me moan, but I stifled it and kept my eyes on his face, eager to see his reaction.

“ God….”

I never considered myself a saint, but growing up, a part of me hated it when Jayden called the Lord’s name in vain. I was uncomfortable with anyone doing it, and because it felt wrong, it made the hairs on my neck rise, so I’d caution him. But now, I felt nothing but satisfaction as I watched Timur—not hate or caution…just satisfaction.

His gaze faltered, and he leaned against the wall, tugged down the zipper of his pants, and—in a blinding flash—he pulled out his—

“Put a finger in your pussy for me, Pchelka. ”

I couldn’t concentrate, not when he offered me a full big-screen-worthy view of watching him wrap his hand around his veiny hard-on.

“Serena.” His commanding voice and the huskiness, combined with the sound of my name, brought me back to focus.

On its own accord, my finger moved to whe re I badly ached for him, and, like the first time, I slipped inside through my slickness. An involuntary moan left my lips, and my eyes fluttered, but he didn’t even give me a chance.

“Eyes on me.”

I looked at him and watched his hands massage the bulge of his length, and the clouded lust in his eyes was enough to drive me to the brink without another stroke. I had never seen a man with his pants down look so hot. He couldn’t take his eyes off my fingers working my pink nub, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Another thundercrack spilt through the skies outside, and his jaw flexed. He pushed himself off the wall.

His gait and majestic aura as he strode to the bed made me stroke myself faster and plunge deeper, and it took everything in me not to shut my eyes and surrender to the bliss. Taking off the pants and his shirt, he got on the bed with me but didn’t make a move to touch me.

“Go faster, Pchelka .” I obeyed, whimpering when he urged again, “Faster.”

This time, I couldn’t help it; my eyes closed, and I dug my nails into the sheets when I felt his finger brush the inner parts of my thighs to accompany mine in my sex.

Gingerly, he slipped his finger inside me and pressed my clit with his thumb. The extra pressure messed with me, completely burying my morals under the dust. I jutted my butt higher, jerked, and moved my hips against him to match his rhythm. I wanted this man so badly; it couldn’t have been healthy. He watched me with a fascination that made my heart do happy skips, and a wave of pleasure washed through me.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last if he didn’t stop. Biting my lip, I whimpered, “Timur….”

“Don’t you dare come without me,” he ordered, and my eyes met his. It somehow pleased me to know he didn’t look any better than I was feeling inside. If there was any moderate to put it, we were both messed up.

Unashamedly, I admitted, “I want you. I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Pausing, he wrapped his hands on my hips, dragged me lower to the edge of the bed, and stood on his feet. He positioned his erection between my legs and hoisted my butt in the air, so I wrapped my legs around his waist.

I didn’t want to waste a second more, and I didn’t appreciate that he hesitated.

“ Timur ….”

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes at my voiced frustration, and the tiniest smile hovered on those sexy lips of his. “Eager much?”

Before I could stop myself, my honesty was all over the place. “Just for you,” I said, meeting his eyes.

What was happening?

It felt like I’d been given the truth serum.

My admission made his jaw clench, and to tease me, he eased his tip insanely slow inside me. “Just how much do you want me?”

Honesty prickled again, but I suppressed it. I tried to jerk my butt out, needing to feel him all the way in, but he didn’t let me.

“How much, Serena?”

“Badly,” I blurted. “I want to feel you inside me badly, Timur, so please stop hesitating. It’s making me go crazy.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’ll let your plea slide, just this once. But next time, I expect to hear you telling me to fuck you as hard as you want, understood?”

I started to nod when he slammed into me, sheathing himself completely inside me.

I inhaled sharply, and tears of satisfaction rose in my eyes at how much better he felt than my memories. He drove my body against the sheets but gripped my hip to keep me in place.

“So …fucking…good, ” were his interjections between every hard thrust.

I loved how he filled me up, claimed me possessively, and slammed into me like that was his life’s purpose. I covered his palm on my hip, tracing my fingers over his skin while he rammed into me with laser-like focus. I’d learned that he was always so intentional and calculative about everything, even when we had sex.

It was, for lack of better words, hot.

My legs trembled. Slowly, he stiffened inside me, and our pants intertwined in the coldness of the room, but nothing else mattered more than wanting to burst from an inner joy that was so unexplainable. It didn’t take long before I shattered in his arms, coming undone before him while he rode me through my orgasm until he came with a loud grunt.

Clearly drunk on sex, I smiled up at him, trying to catch my breath.

And to my utmost surprise, my husband smiled back.

My heart caught in my throat at the beautiful sight of his brown eyes lighting up, albeit dangerously. He leaned forward and kissed me, sucking my lower lip and then the upper one before tasting my tongue.

“I hope you’re not tired, Pchelka , because tonight is going to be a long one.”