Page 15 of Her Rustanov Husband (Ruthless Bullies #2)

Then, narrowing in suspicion. “I don’t remember it being that big. Hey, did you get one of those penis enlargement surgeries?”

He tilted his head at her, brow arched.

Until she admitted on a grumble, “Okay, maybe I made it smaller in my imagination. Sorry about that.”

“I forgive you,” he murmured, amusement tugging at his lips—until her hand started again, faster, more desperate.

“God, I want you. I want that thing back inside me so bad. Why can’t you…?” She pinned him with a glare, whisper-pleading, “Why can’t you keep your promise right now? Just for tonight?”

The sight of her—so drunk, so brazen, so beautiful—threatened to break his will.

But… “I don’t just want you for tonight.” His voice turned fierce, a vow torn from his chest. “I want you forever.”

Her hand stilled again. Her mouth formed a small O. “You want forever with me? Still? Even after what I did?”

“Always.”

He crawled onto the bed to lie down beside where she’d propped herself up.

Then he took her by the wrist, gently tugging her fingers from beneath her panties…

And into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, and he nearly groaned when her taste hit his tongue. Better than wine. Even better than he remembered. Better than anything.

“Trust me, zayka . In the morning, I will fulfill my promise. If you still want me, I will keep you in this bed all day. Doing everything I’ve dreamed of for six years.”

Her breath caught, softening. “Six years?”

“Six years.” He released her fingers from his mouth only to turn her onto her side, pulling her back against his chest. His hand slipped down, pressing against her clit. “Until then, use me as your pillow, and I will help you sleep.”

“Ohhhh—” She moaned as her body jolted against his fingers.

Six years, and she still responded like this. His chest burned with hunger as he whispered into her ear, “This is wrong. We should wait until morning.”

“Please… please don’t stop. It feels so good. Oh god, Volfie . Oh, god!”

She came with a loud moan that satisfied him on a soul-deep level—even as his own cock strained and jerked against her ass cheeks. Wanting her so badly it felt like a full-body ache. A sickness. One no rest, no ointment, could cure.

Only her. Always her.

Her clit still pulsed under his fingers like something alive, unwilling to release him. Yom couldn’t help himself—he brought his fingers to his mouth, desperate for another taste.

He was the richest hockey player he knew, but here, in this small room, he was a poor man starving, grateful for even scraps of her nectar.

But his stomach dropped when she turned to face him, her hand sliding around his cock.

“Now you…”

“ Zayka …” The stroke of her warm hand made him shudder. His voice rasped. “Don’t. Please…”

“You never let me do this when we were together.” She ignored his plea, stroking him anyway, her hand firm, deliberate, sending shocks of sensation up his spine. “Was it because I was bad at it?”

“No…” He exhaled a harsh breath. “I always wanted to be inside you more. Your hand wasn’t as?—”

He broke off with a grunt, clenching his teeth. What had been true back then no longer applied. Her hand was perfect now, dragging him close to the edge. Too close.

“Stop, zayka . Stop.” He caught her wrist, forcing her hand away. “Not like this. I don’t want this from you.”

The hurt look in her eyes cut him open.

“ Nyet, nyet ,” he rushed out, grammar unraveling. “I am only meaning—I want reunion to be special. I want you to remember. I am wanting you to want me like this in the morning, even though you think I am monster.”

Her hurt sharpened into suspicion. “You’re not a monster?”

He opened his mouth. Thought. Then hedged, voice raw: “For you, I can be better. Never a monster again. For you.”

She stared blankly for a moment—then finally, finally, her expression softened,

“Oh, Yom.” She gifted him that soft brown gaze he’d missed more than breath, and she once again stroked his hair as if he were her bunny—not the monster she’d left six years ago. “If that’s true, it would make my life so much easier.”

This woman…

She made it impossible for Yom not to want to kiss her, chain her up, make sure she never left him again.

“Sleep,” he begged. “Sleep and feel the same in the morning.”

And for the first time since they entered the room, she obeyed. Burrowing into his chest, falling asleep in his arms.

To Yom’s shock, he, too, drifted off, holding the love that had been returned to him—as Uncle Alexei had promised. His heart swollen with hope.

Only to be crushed twelve hours later, when he stood on the Benton Villa balcony, staring at the wedding ring she had let fall from her hand.

“There you are!” Party sounds spilled out, then muted again when Lukas stepped onto the balcony. “Geoff had to run—something about his assistant—and did you see everything that just went down with West Nygard on?—”

He stopped when Yom didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Just stared at the ring on the ground with a hollow wind blowing through his chest where his heart used to be.

“So… the reunion didn’t go too hot, huh?” Lukas said carefully, coming to stand beside him.

“No,” Yom answered flatly. “It did not.”

She hadn’t even considered his offer. Her expression had curdled like he’d doused her in acid, not offered her the deal of a lifetime.

“Hey, man…” Lukas laid a hand on his shoulder. “As someone who once got straight-up ghosted for a crazy biker the night I planned to propose… I feel you.”

Yom didn’t respond. His silence was a wall, harder than stone.

“You want me to dispose of it for you?” Lukas asked finally, crouching down to pick up the ring. “Cole Benton’s cartel bestie probably knows someone who’d give you a fair price.”

Yom’s jaw clenched.

“Or you could donate it. PR loves that shit.” Lukas’s hand hovered. “I could make the call.”

Yom swiped a hand down his face. Maybe it was time to stop treating Uncle Alexei like a god. Stop believing in prophecies that had probably been nothing more than manipulation to drag him out of the lake house and onto the ice.

Lydia had been returned to him—but only to gut him, to dangle false hope before ripping it away.

Yom felt the black stone wrap around his heart like a dark, welcome blanket.

But then the balcony door opened again.

He and Lukas both turned. Yom froze.

It was Lydia. Lydia had come back.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicked from Yom to the ring glinting in Lukas’s hand. “Can I…?”

She held out her palm. “Can I have that back?”