Page 21

Camilla Volkov

His phone continues to ring and buzz in his pocket. The vibration travels into my breasts through his lap and my hand from his softening cock. As I peel my wet digits away from his silky flesh, an odd mix of disappointment and satisfaction flows through me.

Heat pulses through my core and my panties stick to my damp pussy, but delight courses through my veins.

To think I pleasured this massive bratva ubiytsa on my own with my hands and mouth despite everything I survived, fills me with pride.

He could have destroyed me in so many ways, but instead he gave me confidence and power.

I’ll never be able to repay him.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and squeeze his fingers before slipping my hand out of his grasp and standing. He watches me with eyes just as intense as when he spilled his seed inside my mouth.

Discomfort pinches in my abdomen as my core contracts. I turn toward the bathroom to hide my wince, but the darkening of his bright blue eyes tells me I failed.

The taste of his salty musk lingers on my tongue, and I can’t stop the small smile or the wonder filling my chest as I take my first few shuffling steps across the room. My hip, knees, and ankle throb from kneeling, but I wouldn’t change the last few minutes for the world.

I kept the monsters at bay. His watchful eyes and deep, smooth voice banished them from my thoughts while his subtle cologne and clean taste banned them from my senses.

I limp into the bathroom and rifle through the cabinet for a toothbrush and toothpaste.

As I reach for the faucet, his guttural voice skitters up my spine and instinctual fear stiffens my shoulders, but I take a deep breath and blow it out as I replay his hands encompassing mine as I stroked his cock.

Dimitri speaks in Russian. A masculine voice responds in the same harsh language, and I lean back to confirm with my eyes that he put the phone on speaker and set it on the side table. My mouth waters as he tucks his massive cock back into his trousers.

I duck back into the bathroom and brush my teeth, since eavesdropping will gain me nothing. I vow to learn Russian as quickly as possible.

His children are fluent in English, but it isn’t fair for them to carry the load of communication.

I freeze as I realize how drastically I’ve changed since meeting him. Staring in the mirror at my reflection, white suds leak from my mouth and drip off my chin. My eyes sparkle. A flush shows through my makeup.

I spit, rinse my mouth, and splash water on my cheek.

The eight tiny scars no longer fill me with despair. Instead, anger, hatred, and a deep yearning for retribution fester in my chest.

All because of Dimitri Volkov.

My husband. My protector. My future.

I love him.

The thought spears through me. Nausea follows in its wake. I lean over the sink, brace my forearms on either side, and rest my forehead on the faucet. Love is too much. Too big. Too soon.

It’s too late. The Russian bratva man stole into my heart and earned my trust in less than a day. He shattered my defenses and built me into a stronger version of myself.

His brother may have orchestrated that horrible night a year ago, but Dimitri ended my stalemate with depression and launched me onto a path of healing.

The rushing water and cold metal help me find my center, but when I rise, my head spins. Only my grip on the edge of the sink prevents me from toppling to the floor. I take several measured breaths before turning off the faucet and grabbing the towel off the rack.

Dimitri’s aggravated tone lifts the hairs on my nape.

I finish drying my face and shuffle into the bedroom as he ends the call. The tightness in his expression increases my apprehension.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and a ball of lead settles in my gut. All traces of relief are gone from his features.

“That was my father. You will meet Artur, Maksim, and Zoya sooner than expected,” he says.

I blink and prop my shoulder on the dresser for balance as my head swims.

“What do you mean? Why?”

He can’t ship me off to Russia without him. I won’t go. He promised.

“Their plane lands in New York in twenty-two hours.”

My brain skids to a halt and jumps around his words. They make no sense. Disbelief sweeps through me when I finally understand, and I straighten my spine as fury heightens my senses.

“Your father put your three young children on an international flight without telling you? Tell me someone both you and they trust is with them. And why would he send them here when you’re hunting your brother?”

His brows rise, and for a moment, I wonder if I rendered him speechless, but then he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees.

“Thank you for worrying about my children, so?lnyshka . They will need your fierce protection, even if they fight against it in the beginning.”

My heart threatens to melt through the soles of my feet but worry clings to me and roughens my voice. I can’t imagine my grandparents tossing me onto a plane without an explanation.

“Please tell me they have an adult they trust with them, along with an entire team of bodyguards. You said Artur was eight, right? That’s the same age as Tristan. I don’t care how you raised them or how brave they may be, they can’t be on a plane alone.”

I struggle to breathe through the force of my emotions.

Dimitri stands and stalks toward me but stops a foot away. When he opens his arms, I step into them without hesitation.

“Hush, so?lnyshka . They are safe. My father hired Olga Petrev, an esteemed caretaker from Moscow, to be their new nanny. She tutored Anastasia several decades ago and will watch over them while they travel.”

I tighten my arms around him and revel in his return squeeze.

“We haven’t caught Feliks, though. It’s not safe for them here,” I murmur against his bare chest.

“They cannot stay at the manor. My brother Boris’s five children contracted a virus and must remain in quarantine for two weeks. This comes right after his wife, Katya, announced their sixth baby last night. She is in hospital.”

“ Mio Dio , that sounds like a nightmare,” I whisper.

My head gives a disconcerting throb.

“Your brother’s lawyer works quickly. My father saw our marriage certificate half an hour ago. He knows I would not marry you without a safe place to keep you, so he sent my children in hopes they avoid getting sick. They belong with me anyway.”

I nod. Fatigue wraps around me and fills my head with cotton. I press my forehead against his sternum and fight to form words.

“I’m nervous to meet them. And tired,” I whisper into his chest hair.

He rumbles out a note of concern.

“Do not be nervous, Camilla. We will figure this out together, but you must sleep first. Let me tuck you into bed.”

I stiffen despite wanting what he offers. My nightmares lurk just beyond my thoughts. They threaten to return with vengeance since I ignored them all day.

“I can tuck myself in—wait, no, I can’t go to sleep. We have to get ready for the kids’ arrival. What do—”

“Hush, so?lnyshka . The last few days have been too stressful. You must sleep now. We will discuss this when you wake,” he demands.

When my legs turn to jelly, I nod and rise onto tiptoe to hook my arms around his nape.

After the slightest hesitation, he grabs the back of my thighs and lifts me off my feet.

I wrap my legs around his waist and tuck my face into the crook of his neck, using his scent to center myself as sensations zing through my clit and memories sour my stomach.

He takes a few smooth strides toward the bed, flips the blankets down, and sets me on the edge.

I blink as he drops to a knee and pulls my sneaker off my foot.

Realizing I still wear the pants suit I married him in—which seems like a lifetime ago even though it was only a few hours—I reach for the buttons of my blazer but sigh in frustration and drop my hands onto my lap when they refuse to work.

Dimitri carefully slips my other shoe off before gently peeling my socks off and draping them over the footboard. My entire body stiffens when he reaches for the front buttons of my coat.

He changes tactics. I swallow an unexpected ball of emotions as he guides my hands onto the back of his and encourages me to lead his actions. I wrap my fingers as far around his wrists as they’ll reach and lift his hands to the front of my suit.

His bright blue eyes shine with hunger and affection as he unbuttons my coat and slips the fabric off my shoulders. If he were towering over me, I’d lose it, but he remains kneeling at my feet with my hands guiding his as he pulls the rest of my clothes off my torso and unfastens my trousers.

He weaves his digits into mine and mumbles words of encouragement as he rises and tugs me to my feet.

My heart pounds against my sternum as I move his hands to my waistband.

Warmth seeps through me even as worms crawl in my belly as he tucks his roughened digits between the fabric and my scarred flesh.

Inch by inch, he pulls my pants over my hips and down my thighs, until my arms no longer reach.

I release his wrists. He continues lowering my trousers to the floor and skims his luminescent orbs up my body.

My core gives a weak squeeze despite the exhaustion weighing me down.

With barely there pressure, he ghosts the pads of his fingers up the back of my right leg before encompassing my hand in his. Goosebumps pepper my flesh as I meet his eyes.

He doesn’t need to speak. His expression says it all.

He’s all in, just like I am.

Peace settles over me. I let him guide me onto the mattress and roll onto my side to cup the side of his face as my eyes slip closed.

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

They aren’t the words I mean to say, but I can’t force my mouth to form the proclamation throbbing through my heart.