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Chapter Twenty-Three

ERIN

He curls his hand in my hair, pulling down my updo and hauling me in against him. “You, Erin. I fucking want you.”

He kisses me hard. It’s sex dressed up in a kiss and it’s not romantic. It’s hot. It’s burn the world down hot and my panties are drenched as I curl a hand around his hip under his jacket.

Demyan lifts his head. “I want you with my ring on your finger, in my bed, with my name, and if it happens, another child in your belly. That’s what I want.”

I stare up at him, trying to process his words as they race through me, burning down things inside me, heating my blood, filling me with need and lust and a need to belong.

He wants the united family he never had. But is?—

“Fuck me, Erin,” he mutters, pushing down the thin straps of the fitted dress he got me, tugging so my breasts spill out of the confines of the plunging neckline, the silver-blue material giving a little with a hiss. “Stop overthinking.”

And he rips it properly, down the middle, and then pushes the remains off. His hot mouth is on my breast, tugging, sucking, biting down, and it’s a live wire through me. I gasp.

I move my hands to him, wanting his cock, the thickness, the heat, the hard steel, in my palm, inside me. Any way I can get it.

It’s both been too long and our recent tryst has done nothing but fan flames and throw gasoline about.

I stroke over him as he turns his attention to my other breast, making me moan, and he lets out a guttural groan, coming back to my mouth, his hand sliding down into my panties, his fingers sliding through my wetness, teasing over my clit as he pushes two fingers inside me, making a ripple of hot and wild desire pulsate through me.

He lifts his head and holds my gaze as he works my pussy, thrusting and sliding, bringing me right to the very edge of orgasm, and then he narrows his eyes and pulls his hand free.

Grabbing mine, physically ripping it off him where I’m trying to get into his pants, he lifts it and bites hard on the heel of my hand.

“You are so fucking hot, Lyubimaya . I don’t know if it’s that earthiness you have, the center of… calm, but it draws me, draws men.”

“Are you saying I’m boring?”

He laughs and bites my hand again, pushing me toward the bed.

He strips with deliberate, savage moves.

“You can think whatever the fuck you want, Erin. I’ve been patient.

Giving you space because yeah, I've crossed some big fucking lines here. I’m aware.

But we’ve got a kid, and you’re what I want, so deal with it.

You think you’re boring, I think you’re a queen. I know what you are.”

“And that is?” My gaze drops over his broad expanse of muscled chest and abs to his thick cock that juts out.

“Mine.”

He leans over me and kisses me in a savage, pagan kiss, one that blooms inside me, and then he grabs me, turns me, and pushes me down so my head and top half are flat on the bed and he hauls me up onto my knees .

Demyan bites my ass as he stands behind me. I let out a breathy scream. “W-what?—”

“You were flirting tonight. But the thing is, you’re mine and I don’t share.”

I try to breathe, to sit up. But he pushes me down with the heel of his hand, his other playing with me, spreading my juices over my pussy, and then he licks me, and I almost come right then and there.

Against the lips of my pussy, he speaks. “You flirted.”

“They flirted with me.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to show you just how much you’re mine.”

Before I can ask, he’s gone and I start to sit up—but something snaps in the air, leather on leather, that’s what it sounds like to me.

“Stay there, Erin.”

I do.

I don’t know why, but I do. And then he grabs my hands and wraps the leather around my wrists. I try to look, but the angle I’m at isn’t given much movement, and as he stretches my arms out to loop what I think is a belt around the headboard of the bed, I’m pulled taut.

At his mercy.

“Good. You’re mine. To do with what I wish.” He moves behind me and grabs my hip with one hand, spreading my thighs farther, before he suddenly thrusts into me.

The sudden invasion is shocking. My body stretches to take him, and I’ve never felt so completely filled as I do now..

Like this, I can’t push back. I can’t do anything but take the pounding—take whatever he decides to do to me.

I thought some of the sex we had once at the hotel was wild, but this is next level. I’m vulnerable, and his to do with as he wants, just like he said. He hammers into me—deep and hard—his fingers digging into my hips as he takes his pleasure.

I’m on fire. With every hard thrust, my body shudders; it’s a little too hard and not enough. There’s a dull ache with each deep slam. And in that ache is a need. For more. Pleasure starts to bloom.

That’s when he adjusts, giving me more, pushing up to reach a deeper, sensitive place inside me and soon I’m just lost in this dominating sex. I give in to it, let him take me on the journey.

The soft hiss of “Yesss…” tells me it’s what he wants, craves, and while I can’t move, my pussy reacts indelibly.

My delicate parts seem to open for him, taking him deeper, and then they close, gripping him on his way out as though they need him back, and that friction is almost too much. It is too much.

It sends me flying.

I come hard, shaking, shuddering, and he doesn’t care. He keeps driving into me, making me come again. His fingers dig deeper and his body brushes over my back, furnace hot as he bites down into my neck. Then he suddenly pulls out, and he pushes slowly into my ass.

I bite down on the instinctual no. This is only the second time the first time was with him and he’d prepped me, but this time, he pushes in like he doesn’t give a fuck about me.

Except that’s not true: the invasion is slow, and he’s silent, just the harsh breath from him as he goes, and he reaches down to stroke my clit, stopping every time I tense, pushing in every time I relax. And when he’s in. All. The. Way.

A tiny orgasm hits as he twists my clit.

“Mine.”

One word. That’s it. Demyan pumps into me again, silent, taking pleasure in his domination of me. And I’m swept up again .

The throb starts so deep in me that at first I don’t know what’s happening. And then I'm moaning, getting louder as he pounds in, and I come yet again. This time, he does, too. Hard. His cock jerking and twitching, and the heat of his cum spreads in spurts.

When he’s done, he pulls out, unties me, and looks at me. I expect the ice of his pale-blue eyes. But they glitter like hot crystals and he takes my mouth once more in a long, languid kiss.

He doesn’t stop kissing me. He picks me up and takes me into the shower, then climbs in and begins washing me. I’m not sure why until he lets go of me, and I slide down, only to be caught by him.

“Careful, little Erin. That was intense.”

He says it like he’s branded me, and maybe he has.

“Demyan…”

“Hush.”

He soaps up and cleans me carefully, lovingly—even though he doesn’t believe in love… That’s what he said, right? Not romantic love. But for now, it doesn’t matter. My emotions are a chaotic storm and when he says mine, I like it. The word is like an anchor.

After the shower, he takes me to bed, pulling me against his clean, hard body, the heat of him warming me everywhere.

He smells good. Like the lavender, honey, spice, and leather. It’s a wonderful smell.

Demyan kisses me again and twines our hands. “I meant it—you’re mine. I don’t want you flirting. And Erin, Lyubimaya , if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll end them.”

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. I shouldn’t like this domination, this stamp of ownership he’s giving, but I do. The fact he’ll do anything for me and Sasha is hot. And him not wanting me to flirt, his notice of those men appreciating me, makes me feel seen.

And that’s new.

I don’t think my ex, Toby, cared if someone flirted with me. Ever.

We talk about Sasha, about how wonderful he is, and Demyan starts talking about kindergarten, but I don’t have the strength to say how he has a place for when he’s old enough.

Then the talk shifts to the evening. I want to ask about this Sergio they mentioned in the car, but I remember Ilya’s reaction at the bar, so I don’t.

I slowly drift off, and I’m almost asleep, or maybe I am, and he just wakes me when he starts swearing.

I reach for Demyan, but he’s on his feet, dressed, his phone lit up in his hand. He leans down and brushes a kiss on my lips. “You live in here with me now.” Then his eyes soften. “I have to go.”

His phone buzzes; it’s clearly another text. I struggle up. “Where?”

The message is in Russian, but the time on his phone flashes as he sets it down to lean in and kiss me once more.

It’s after midnight.

“Not your concern, Lyubimaya ,” he says.

“But…”

He doesn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence as he sweeps up his phone to make a call, striding out and speaking Russian.

I try to go back to sleep, but I can’t, so I get up and prowl his room for clothes. In the end, I pull on a T-shirt of his and my underwear. Hesitating, I root around to find some workout shorts and pull on a pair.

After checking on Sasha, who’s fast asleep, hugging his toy, I decide I need help falling asleep. Hot chocolate sounds divine .

The light’s on in the kitchen and I find Alina there, curled up at the breakfast nook, with what looks like coffee and an open bottle of bourbon. I make the hot chocolate and she slides the bottle to me.

“It’ll help,” she says, eyes red-rimmed. “I thought I heard you come in not long after Ilya took me home. Let me guess, Demyan wanted Sasha to wake up here.”

“Something like that.”

“He’s gung ho on making a home for him, Erin.”

“So he said.” I glance at her. “You look exhausted.”

“Sleep’s… hard. I miss Max so damn much.”

Shit. I go to hug her and she’s stiff for a moment, then she relaxes and cries. When she slows, she tops her coffee with bourbon and takes a large swallow, topping it off some more and pouring some into my cup.

“He was a special guy. And he loved you so much. I know that.” I stop. “And Demyan’s here.”

“Demyan is Demyan. He’s trying his best, but he doesn’t know what to do. Except get revenge. I don’t want to worry about him, too. And I don’t know if I have the bandwidth.”

I take her hand and squeeze. She knows Demyan’s there for her, but I’ve seen how he isn’t sure how to deal with things that are too emotional, so I just slide the subject to what she wants. Max.

I bet Demyan doesn’t talk about him to her. He’ll be like most men and want to fix things when all she wants is to talk. To meander. To dissect and go around in circles because it feels like Max is there.

She wants, like most of us, to have the conversation drawn out. But Demyan… I can see him taking her, saying I don’t want to talk at face value.

And I think he loves her so much he’s as lost as she is.

“Max would be so angry,” I say, “that he isn’t here, that you have to do this alone. I mean, you have people, but that part of you that’s part of him. He’d be furious with that alone.”

She wipes her eyes. “I know. His heart was too big.”

“No. It was the perfect size for you.”

We sit and drink and she keeps topping hers off until it’s pretty much coffee-flavored booze, but I don’t say a thing about it. “I thought he was the most perfect man when I saw him and I got so nervous he thought I hated him.”

“Max might tell you that, but he knew. The night you both met, he called and told me he’d just met the woman he was going to marry, whether she knew it or not.”

And the look on her face is priceless. The love that shines is something she’ll cling to, because I can see the light flare in her as a missing piece falls into place and she now holds something precious.

“Now,” I say, “do you want to know about the Max before you met him?”

“Please…”

“Well…” And we talk about Max, swapping stories and there’s a healing air in the room. For her and for me, too. Since I lost Max, too. And it hits me that I have.

We both laugh and cry and finally she squeezes my hand. “I loved him so much and I always will.”

“And he’ll want you to be happy.”

“What about you? Are you? Demyan… he can be difficult. He shouldn’t have gone about things the way he did, but our father…”

“He’s explained some. I’m just… confused.

He basically forced me into this, and Sasha deserves a dad and I’m racked with guilt, but I thought I was doing the right thing.

” I run a hand over my face, trying to make sense of the word salad I’m speaking.

“But then I see him with Sasha and I can see his heart. I guess… I guess I’m holding back?

We’re getting clos er, and he’s demanded I move into his room, that we get married. ”

“And?”

“I think I want to give it a go. But I also feel he’s keeping secrets. Like, where’s he going right now?”

“Trust me, I know how difficult he is, how closed off. But he’s not the type who lets someone in very easily.

Actually…” She takes a breath. “I’m seeing sides of him around you I’ve never seen before.

He’s actually softer, more open. And the demand?

He doesn’t have women here. The penthouse?

Probably, or somewhere else he owns, but here?

This is the heart of the family. You in his room? That means something.”

“He told me your father was a hard man.”

A muscle works in her jaw. “Demyan thinks I never saw, but I did. My father was so good to me and a monster to him, and I hated it. So he learned to be hard and cold and never let anything touch him. He looks at you and there are times I don’t see the mask. He looks at you like you’re special.”

“I gave birth to his child.”

“That’s the excuse. He doesn’t look at you like a mother. He looks at you like you’re the woman he wants in his life. And I think that scares him.”

Her words fill me with a strange sense of hope that borders on confidence.