Page 33 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

Blood dries beneath my fingers as I lean against the car outside of a gas station, waiting. Indigo has stepped inside to wash the blood off her hands. It was the only thing that she said to me since leaving that basement.

Above me, the lights of the stars are hidden by the dense storm clouds pregnant with rain. And I let out a slow trembling breath as the first drops fall against my fevered brows.

My mind keeps replaying those final moments on loop.

Our locked eyes. The gun against that whimpering cop’s head. Indigo’s nod of approval.

My hand opens and closes again as I stare up at the sky while the car engine pops and drips in the quiet humid night.

I've killed men for business. I've killed men for pleasure. I've even killed men just because they looked at me wrong.

But this is the first time I killed for my wife.

For Indigo.

And fuck if it doesn’t feel different from everything else that I’ve ever done before in my life.

I want to close my eyes. But every time I do, all I see is the way she stands. Spine straightened, shoulders back, and chin up. Her soft hazel eyes hardening into stone as I await her command. Beautiful and merciless in her vengeance.

A shot of heat pours through my blood and collects at my dick, and there aren’t enough cold raindrops in the world to chase that heat away. And I don’t want it to. If anything, I want to feel myself burning up in the fire that Indigo has started in my heart until there’s nothing left.

I slam my fist against the door and clench my jaw so tight that my ears start ringing.

I’ve never wanted to lose control around someone as badly as I want to lose control around her. But I made her a fucking promise that I wouldn’t fuck her until she begs.

And she refuses to fucking beg.

Not when I ate her out against the window. Not when I had her bent over the table with my fist around hers. Not even when I had my fingers buried inside of her earlier today and her soft hazel eyes were practically screaming at me to fuck her.

But I need to hear the words fall from her full sweet lips.

My cock throbs painfully against the restraints in my pants and I slam my fist against the door again.

Fuck!

I can kiss her until her lips are bruised, eat her out until her voice is gone from screaming, and fuck her until my balls are shriveled and empty.

And none of it would be enough to feed my obsession for her.

Because that obsession has nothing to do with how badly I want to fuck her.

It’s because I want her to want me as badly as I want her. It’s a desire that burns from the deepest pits of my black soul and I have no fucking idea just where it ends.

If it ends.

I want her fingers digging into my back while I shield her with my body. I want to hear her soft quiet moans against my ear telling me that my protection is what she needs while my tongue laves along her neck.

I want to hear her confess with every merciless thrust of my cock that she likes it when I kill her. That she needs me to kill for her. That she can’t wait for me to destroy every motherfucker who dared to hurt her in the past.

I want to wrap my fist in her blue hair, brush away every tear clinging at the corner of her eyes, and kiss her so hard and deep that neither of us can breathe.

My cock throbs rock hard in my pants, and I snarl as I slam my fist against the car door again and again until a dent starts to form.

It’s not something I’ve ever felt before. And certainly not a feeling I’ve had for a woman. But with Indigo, it comes so naturally. So easily.

The rain comes down harder and harder now, and I reach up to undo the buttons on my shirt, helpless against the heat burning me up into a crisp inside.

The doors to the gas station open, and the object of my obsession walks out, regal as a queen.

Her steps are sure and steady as she approaches.

The front of her blouse is soaked from the rain, and clings to her body.

The outline of her dark bra is visible even under the dim lights of the gas station.

Then her soft hazel eyes meet mine.

A slight blush colors her cheeks.

And my heart practically stops.

She steps between my legs, and raises a single hand to caress my cheek. A trail of fire follows the path of her fingers, and I find myself straining to breathe right.

“Ready to go home?” She whispers as her hand moves down my neck and past my collarbone until it rests against my racing heart.

My hand reaches out and circles around her waist. She doesn’t pull back as I tug her closer to me until the space disappears between us. Her thigh moves against my pants, against the head of my aching cock, and I shudder violently as if I’ve been struck by lightning.

My other hand is lost in the wet strands of her blue hair, tightening against the nape of her neck as I pull her close to me into a deep consuming kiss. She doesn’t resist but opens her mouth to give me better access.

Her hand continues to work at the buttons of my shirt.

Rain runs down my torso, and I lose myself on the taste of her lips and tongue.

She moans, trembling, and presses her wet body close to me.

Searing heat bloom between us. I reach down and squeeze her ass, and she rewards me with a tiny little gasp of pleasure.

Her leg comes up and she inches closer, wriggling her hips against me in the exact spot where my cock throbs behind the fabric of my pants.

“Indigo…” I moan as I break the kiss, and she nips along my neck as she grinds her hips against my cock.

I throw my head back against the hood of the car as her mouth travels down my body, teeth scraping against my skin.

When the fuck did she completely unbutton my shirt?

A finger slips into my mouth. I wrap my lips around it to suck at the slender digit before she pulls it out and claws her way down the same path her lips just took.

But just as her trembling fingers start undoing the buckle of my belt, a bolt of lightning spears across the sky, throwing the world in harsh white light. A crack of thunder follows immediately, and I can feel my teeth rattling from the sound.

Indigo yelps, falling into me, and I scooper her up in my arms. When she looks up, her eyes are dark with desire.

Then, both of us start laughing. Loud, deep-bellied laughs as the storm continues to rage all around us.

“Let’s go home, britvochka.” I plant a soft kiss on her nose. “And get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

The storm rages with the strength of a hurricane by the time I pull up outside of the doors to the mansion and help Indigo out of the car.

Several staff member rushes out with umbrellas for us but we walk hand-in-hand into the cool interior of the mansion, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind us with every step.

Hurried steps carry us up the grand staircase, and Indigo follows me as I guide her through to the bathroom in my room until we’re standing just outside of the massive shower. I turn on the knob, and steam starts filling the marble bathroom.

When I turn around, Indigo launches herself into my embrace. Her lips crash against mine and her hands tear my shirt off my body while my hand slips under her blouse. With a single practiced motion, I rip open the wet garment clinging to her skin, and then unclip the bra restraining her breasts.

She presses herself against me, her hard wet nipples teasing against my chest as tiny soft moans burst from her lips.

My fingers hook around her pants and shove them down until they puddle at her feet. Her underwear goes next, and she steps out of her clothes.

We break the kiss, and I trace my finger along the bottom of my lip as I look at her in all her glory.

Her bronzed caramel skin is contrasted against the cold white marble of the bathroom, and through the steam, she looks like a goddess walking among the clouds. My eyes are drawn to the scars crisscrossing the inside of her thighs, and I feel that angry hot surge of protectiveness flooding my body.

She’s perfect.

Utterly perfect.

And someone hurt her.

She stares at me as well, drinking in the details of my body. Her mouth is slightly agape and I realize that this is the first time that she’s ever seen all of my tattoos.

She places a hand against my chest, and trace the outline of the Orthodox church on my chest, up to the stars on my shoulders, before coming back down to feel the skulls on my right side.

She looks up at my eyes again as her hand continues to move, over the cross on my navel, until it rests against the Madonna on my left side.

For a moment, I think that she’s about to ask me for their meaning. And if she did, I would answer without hesitation even though protocol dictates that a proper thief—never mind a pakhan—should ever disclose the meanings.

But she doesn’t, instead, she keeps her eyes locked on mine as her hand easily undoes my belt and pulls my pants down to reveal the erection that’s been screaming for release since the gas station.

She gulps as she takes it in her hand, and I hiss in appreciation as her fingers—slick with precum—starts stroking the head.

I walk backwards, and she follows until we’re both standing beneath the hot spray. Then my lips find her again and my hand fists in her hair while her hand strokes me faster and faster. My other hand slides down her shoulders, careful as it savors the feel of her soft skin.

When we pull back from the kiss, panting, I notice that some of the blue dye has washed out of her hair and now runs down her shoulder in rivulets.

And for the first time, I see dark copper hair peeking out at her roots.

“Your hair,” I start as my hand rises back up to brush through them, and with every brush, I notice more and more red. “Your natural color is beautiful.”

She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my chest, planting a soft kiss on my fevered skin without words. My hand cocoons around her slender frame and I feel our heartbeats thudding together under the water and the steam.

“When did you start dying your hair?” I ask softly as I tilt her head up.

I expect her to shy back, to hide her secrets like usual. But not this time. Not after what we’ve done.

“After my father died,” she answers, and my heart shatters for her.

Anger burns hot in my chest, and my hand moves down to brush the scars crisscrossing her inner thighs.

“And these?”

She gives her head a small shake. “Before.”

Miels is crying again tonight.

The rage brewing inside me threatens to boil over. Suddenly, the death of those two cops feels almost meaningless. I killed for her, yes. But all I did was scratch at the surface of the ocean of pain that she was subjected to.

And that pain must’ve come from Bennet. Or someone in his inner circle. I’m sure of it.

I want to press for details, and I want her to confirm to me that my suspicions are right. But I know that if I do, she’ll just close herself off again just as she’s starting to open up to me.

So, I pull her closer to me, and wrap my arms around her shoulders as I kiss her hair under the spray.

"You don't need tell me," I murmur, tilting her chin up so our eyes meet. "Not tonight. Not now. When you’re ready to tell, printsessa, I’ll be here to listen."

Indigo's eyes flicker with uncertainty, and I run my thumb along her jawline, watching water droplets cascade down her face, washing away more and more blue dye to reveal her true self.

Then she gives me a small nod, and I bend my head down to capture her lips in a kiss as the remnants of blue dye swirl at our feet.

The kiss is gentle at first, like a whisper of gratitude wrapped in warm water and steam. But as her fingers weave into my hair, something shifts. Hunger slips into both our veins, and her tongue rises eagerly to meet mine.

Hot water beats down on us, and her lips part to invite me deeper. I accept without hesitation to taste her completely and fully. She places one hand against my chest and pushes me back against the wall while her other hand wraps around my cock.

“Am I your wife?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

“Your real wife?”

“Yes,” I say. “And I swear I’ll protect you until the end of my life.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

She searches my eyes for the lie. When she doesn’t find it, she pushes me against the wall, stands on her tiptoe, and kisses me once gently on my throat as her hand starts to move up and down on my cock.

Then, her lips leave mine, and she continues to look me in the eyes as her kisses start moving lower and lower. Trailing down the base of my neck. Past the tattoos inked on my chest. Mapping every ridge of my ab.

Until finally, she kneels before me, and both her hands start moving along the pulsing length of my rock-hard cock.