Page 18 of Scarlet Sins (Yegorov Bratva #2)

Chapter Fifteen

ERIN

Nerves eat at me as I sit in the seat next to Demyan while he drives.

It’s just us as far as I can tell. No driver, no guards. At least, no guards visible. We left early, Sasha clinging and crying as we went. Not even the promise of treats could calm him. And my heart hurts.

Demyan’s quiet, almost cold, like he has been since the day he spent with Sasha.

He’s been busy, but… but I’m too scared to ask what’s up.

What if this weekend is his way of letting me down, breaking my heart by telling me he’s going to marry Stefina?

I have to ask. I have to say something.

“Demyan —”

“Sasha’s fine,” he says softly. “Alina texted you twenty minutes ago with a pic, right? He’s having fun and is over the separation anxiety. It’s good.”

I just nod. It wasn’t what I was going to say. I wanted to ask… Hell, I just wanted reassurance we’re fine.

I almost laugh. It’s like I’ve done some kind of one-eighty, from being mad at him to wanting him to mollify me .

My hormones are all over the place. One minute I’m mad, the next I’m wanting to cling. I don’t remember such a roller coaster with Sasha, but maybe that’s because I didn’t have my heart on the line.

I sigh quietly. I’m not sure what I expect here. He’s got a lot on his mind. And if I’m being fair and nonemotional, nonhormonal, I know his quietness, the chill in the air I seem to feel has a lot to do with Stefina.

He’s never, not once, shown a lick of interest in her, a smidge of happiness or excitement. Not even warmth. Just cool politeness.

This whole forced-on-him marriage is hard on him, too.

If I’m being fair and logical.

I frown as I look out the window as we pass into Wisconsin. Thing is she’s just always perfection when she walks in. Her gym-sculpted body, the designer outfits, her makeup, hair, even the expensive perfume that trails her is all on point.

Stefina’s a woman who turns heads. She’s manicured and feminine and is always, always shown her best.

Me? Half the time I’m wearing whatever Sasha’s wearing: dirt, paint, food. My hair’s not perfect. Not even back when I was working my full-time job and didn’t have Sasha, when I could go to get my hair cut did it look like hers. She looks like she just stepped out of a salon.

And now mine’s sometimes mussed by Sasha. Or it’s in a messy ponytail.

The only designer thing I own is the dress Demyan bought for me and I wore out. There are other clothes he’s added to my wardrobe, but things I wear, nice dresses, jeans, tops. Like he took one look and summed me up.

I don’t want designer shit. I’m just sick of being second best, of comparing and coming up short.

And not even the fact Demyan reassures me about everything can shake the feeling I’m going to end up heartbroken .

What if they marry and she decides she wants the children with them? I don’t have the power to fight that.

I swallow, the sudden rush of tears threatening to spill free.

“Hey.” Demyan reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it. “I’m driving, but I’d keep holding your hand if I wasn’t.”

He puts my hand on his thigh as he returns his to the wheel.

A small sound escapes me. I don’t expect this. At all. “Demyan?”

“ Lyubimaya ,” he murmurs, “no negative thoughts. We’re together and this weekend is for us to put all the shit behind us. I want to show you what you mean to me. This weekend is just about the two of us. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say, nodding.

But I wish it was that simple. How can I just make it about us when I still haven’t told him about the new baby? And how the hell can I just forget my fiancé is marrying someone else?

Lake Geneva is gorgeous, but he drives through the populated area, past the marina and then the big properties where the rich live. He turns onto a small road into the hills and we end up at a cabin.

It’s not your normal, run-of-the-mill cabin.

It’s off a private, winding road, and as we get out, it feels remote, set in the woods, with spectacular views of the mountains and a glimpse of the lake around the side where a big porch is.

But Demyan punches in a code to the high-tech pad next to the door, and then he turns the handle.

“Come on in.”

Though we’re remote enough, far enough away from other properties we could be deep in the wilderness, there’s a fire crackling in the fireplace and the air’s scented with lemon and honey from the furniture polish.

It’s not huge, but it’s roomy, a kitchen and dining area off to one side, a big, fat, comfy-looking sofa and chairs around the fireplace, and then off to the other side, up a few steps, is the bedroom, which is separated by filmy curtains, pulled back to showcase the king-sized bed with cream-colored covers, a corner pulled back and red roses lying on that spot.

Just down from the steps is the en suite.

I go up and pick up the roses, their perfume heady as I smell them. And my heart beats fast.

He could have gone opulent, somewhere as indulgent as the hotel suite where I met him.

But this is modern rustic. A simple setup with all the amenities and I know if I opened the fridge, it would be full, just for us.

It’s romantic and low-key and a place where I can relax and indulge myself in Demyan.

He’s in jeans and a light black sweater, his pale-blue eyes almost ethereal as he watches me, leaning against the wall.

Tall, lean, the right level of muscular, a man who doesn’t have to try and impress with his masculinity, he naturally exudes that and power and a deep level of sexiness that steals my breath.

And suddenly I’m an innocent virgin, ready to taste passion for the first time, trembling with both nerves and anticipation. Not to mention a healthy dose of desire.

But I’m not an innocent virgin. And I’ve tasted the passion that Demyan brings. It’s what I want, need; it beats a drum in my blood; I can’t quiet. And I know the reason I didn’t try to date after Sasha was born is this man.

No one could ever hope to stand up to him.

No one could ever hope to reach me like he did and does .

I know what I want to do. I want to relinquish my fear and anger and frustrations about this marriage he might be forced into. I want to pretend it’s all okay and sink down into him, let him touch me the way I crave. I want to give myself over to him.

But I have to tell him the truth first.

About our new baby. I’d planned on it, but I think it has to be now. Turn the page, start fresh. “Demyan —”

“Enough,” he says, straightening, that quiet command in his voice tapping into a part of my brain he made come alive the night we conceived Sasha. His domination, that thing I crave, fucked up as it is.

I’m melting on the spot because of that tone.

But I try to push through. “Demyan —”

“I said enough.” He strides to me with purposeful movements and stops right in front of me, our bodies almost brushing and my skin so alive it’s almost sparking.

“I’ve been as accommodating as I can be.

Letting you slink off to sleep with Sasha, using our son as a shield.

I’ve let you turn me down when your body says take me. ”

“I’ve even kept my hands to myself when you look at me like you want me to come in my fucking pants. So. Enough. Either you want me or you don’t, Erin.”

“I do, you know I do, but?—”

“No buts.”

And he hooks a hand in my hair and pulls me to him, taking my mouth in a deep and savage kiss.

I thought I wanted the soft, reverential romance of when he rescued me. A tenderness that whispered words of love.

But I was wrong. I want this, his domination, his taking, his passion so wild and needing he just states it—rough, naked, savage.

And I kiss him back as hard as I can, our tongues touching and dancing. He’s danger and home; he’s fire and the dark glowing embers beneath the flame. And I want to be consumed.

Demyan lifts his head.

My hands shake as I tug at his sweater, but he pulls them away as he leads me to the lounge area, hand still in my hair, holding my head as he watches me.

The crackle and pop of the fire is like a sweet song and the heat radiating is nothing like the heat blazing from him as he lets go of my hair and puts pressure on my shoulders. I go to my knees.

I want his cock and I go to free him. “No. On your back, dress off, and stretch out.”

The tremble in me shimmers harder as I kick off my shoes and do as asked, flinging the cotton dress to the armchair.

Then he looks down at me. “Fucking glorious.”

Demyan drops to his knees. He kisses me again, tracing a line from my mouth to the swell of my breast, down over my chin and throat. Then he lifts his gaze to mine.

“Hands up over your head and keep them there.”

I can barely breathe. I want him to tie me up so I can’t move, so whatever he does is on him and I’m at his mercy.

I’m there, anyway.

He runs fingers down over my flesh and I shiver, my pussy throbbing for him. It’s been so long, too long, and I’m the only one to blame.

With a flick of his fingers, he undoes the front clasp of my bra and then lowers his head to suck one nipple, his teeth nipping, sending an electric shock down to my clit, and then he does the same to the other.

He strips off my underwear, and his mouth follows down, licking a path, and he sucks hard on my clit, making me shriek and writhe.

He laves me with his tongue, his lips sucking on me, teeth scraping so I’m on edge, wanting more, wanting him to back off and he continues, adding his fingers, sliding them up into me, thrusting a beat until my body starts to undulate and the pressure-pleasure builds, sliding into pure pleasure and if he?—

Demyan stops as I tremble on the edge of orgasm. A wicked smile blooms on his face as he pulls all the way back, stripping down and taking my hips, turning me so I have to get on my hands and knees.

“Arms down. Face against the fucking rug.”

I do as he asks the orders, turning me on more, and I need to come. I’m so turned on I’m shaking hard.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Lyubimaya .” He leans over me and his cock nudges against my thighs. “Tell me not to do this. I dare you.”

“No.”

“No?” The mock in his tone is tinged with something that calls something I need.

“No, I want to. I want this.”

He doesn’t answer, just slides a hand around my belly and thrusts into me, holding me in place, a hand on my stomach, one on my hip as he takes me hard and fast, the thrusts deep, so deep I can feel them hit in my soul, and I whimper.

Demyan doesn’t relent; each slam of his cock into me is ripping a strip from me, laying me bare for him, and the pleasure is fire now, but I need to reach that pinnacle, the holy grail.

Like he knows this, the hand on my stomach lowers and he slides down, between my thighs to my clit, and he starts to thrum it.

Each thrust into my pussy is a welcome invasion and he stretches me, each hit a note of resounding pleasure that sings out in my veins and still I’m not there.

I clutch at him with my pussy, like I need to milk him, like I need him to stay.

I can’t stop. I’m flying high in the air and he presses down on my clit and I scream as I shatter, coming hard, spasming on his cock.

But he doesn’t come.

He pulls out as I’m coming and the emptiness is criminal. I moan out my protests, but all he does is flip me to my back and pull up my knees so I’m wide open to him.

He looks down and grins. It’s a feral look, like he’s admiring all that’s his.

And he is.

I’m his.

My pussy is his.

My heart.

My everything.

I want to scream it out as the pleasure waves keep hitting. I want to scream out I love him more than I can think, but I don’t. I love him, he knows that, but to tell him the extent of that ownership and have it thrown back at me down the track is more than I can bear.

He plunges back into me, pressing my thighs in against me and I’m open and wide and can’t move because he controls it all in this position and he invades all the spaces in me.

“I want you to come again for me. Show me how you’re mine.”

I whimper. And he bites my throat, thrusting deep and steady, this position hitting different places and setting off different fires inside me.

The pleasure starts to roll again as he hits a certain spot that’s so good it’s almost too much.

I try to wiggle to move away but I can’t so when that wave of orgasm hits me, my clit’s mashing against him and he’s hitting that spot in me and it’s too much, too, too much, but he doesn’t stop; he just pushes through the intensity until it spills out into a sea of bliss that I ride on.

Someone—me—is crying out, moaning, sobbing, calling to him.

And he kisses me as he starts to thrust differently, harder, deeper, and a darker pace. This is for him.

He’s pushing those threads of pleasure in me to the edges of what I can endure, and it turns to too much again, but he doesn’t stop, and he grunts, groaning.

A deeper knell begins in me, something that starts to shake all of me and I cry out his name as a wave of ecstasy hits me hard, and I start to clench on him.

Demyan cries out and kisses me, and he jerks, his cock twitching and spilling inside me as he comes, too.

“Oh, fuck, fuck. Erin. Jesus, so good. You’re so fucking spectacular. My own personal goddess. I worship at your feet. And you fit so tight around me, so hot and wet. Fuck.”

He collapses, rolling us so I’m on top. I let my legs drape on either side of him and I put my head on his damp chest.

The race of his heart echoes mine and I hold him close, his still hard cock inside me. He came so deep.

If I wasn’t already knocked up, he’d have probably done so with this. Or maybe that’s just how my fucked-up mind works.

Truth is, I want his children. I want that bond. We have Sasha, and I want Sasha to have siblings. I want a tribe. I want Demyan there, my lover, husband, master in the bedroom.

I try to steady my insane thoughts. I’m tripping on the pleasure that still rocks through me like tiny thrills.

Demyan lightly runs his fingers along my spine and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

I have to tell him .

The fire is warm and the scene is right.

And if he gets mad I didn’t tell him earlier, I can seduce him all over again.

I take a breath.

But Demyan speaks first.

“So, Erin, are you planning on telling me you’re pregnant anytime soon?