Page 37

37

ERIK

“ L ift your arm for me? Excellent. And the other? Good. Any weakness here? No? Excellent. Can you tell me, if Amalie has a white cat and a ginger cat, how many cats does she have in total?”

It’s difficult to keep a straight face as the doctor runs through countless tests to examine my cognitive capabilities and physical functions after being in a coma for over a month, and that last question makes me chuckle.

“Two. She has two cats.”

“Excellent.” The doctor smiles at me and scribbles something on her pad.

“Did the nurse explain to you the extent of your injuries when you arrived here?”

“Yes. Broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, internal contusions, bruised kidney, cranial trauma resulting in a small brain bleed, and, uh, this.” I pat the bandage covering my bare chest where the nearly-healed gunshot wound rests underneath.

“Exactly. Minimal, given how you ended up here. You are one very lucky man, Erik Izmaylov.”

“Thank you. I practice good Karma.”

My doctor chuckles and closes her pad.

“I’d like to keep you here for another day or two just for observation, but other than that, I don’t see any reason you can’t go home at the end of the week.”

The end of the week.

That’s too long.

I need to get home now.

It was surreal to wake up here and learn that I’d been in a coma for six weeks when tackling Viktor off that roof felt like it happened only moments ago.

Even now, I still feel the fabric of his shirt in my clenched fists, the wind in my hair, and the sickening flip of my stomach as we fell off the roof.

How can that be six weeks ago?

What the fuck have I missed since then?

The doctor takes her leave, and I scramble out of bed.

Just as I reach the drawers holding my clothes, the door opens and footsteps stumble inside.

Looking up, my heart lifts as my mind goes to only one person.

Anastasia.

Face to face with Faina, it’s difficult to hide my disappointment.

“So it’s true,” she gasps, her cheeks flushed from rushing here.

“When I got the call, I almost didn’t want to believe it.”

“Surprise.” I force a smile, then resume rummaging in the drawers for clothes.

There are some fresh, clean clothes in here that I recognize.

Did Anastasia bring them?

Or Faina?

“We thought you were dead. I was kind of looking forward to pulling the plug?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“After what you did to Anastasia, maybe I should have.”

Tension jolts across my shoulders and our eyes meet.

“I don’t regret how that started,” I say as calmly as I can manage.

“But it didn’t make my feelings or my loyalty to her any less real. Do you think I would have done what I did if I weren’t completely head over heels for her?”

“You threw yourself off a roof,” Faina replies sharply.

“How does that protect her?”

“Viktor shot me,” I snap.

“When I woke up, I thought I was dead for good and God was giving me one last chance to save Anastasia, so I took it. What the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

Faina’s eyes narrow slightly.

“And yet you’re back in the land of the living.”

“Luck was clearly looking out for me.”

“Six weeks too late.”

“Are you just here to twist the knife deeper?” I snap, shrugging on a T-shirt.

Tension pulls across my chest, radiating a low ache from my gunshot wound.

“Or will you tell me what the hell is going on? Where’s Anastasia? Is she okay? Is the baby?”

The irritation on Faina’s face fades and her shoulders slump down.

“Anastasia is fine. Physically. So is the baby. Viktor’s knife missed by half a centimeter, and the tip did nick the sac, but the wound was so small that it closed up.”

Relief pours through me like liquid gold.

But why does Faina look so unhappy?

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”

Faina nods.

“She’s shut down. Not just her. Everything. She’s convinced that she’s living on borrowed time because so many people were injured or killed. Ivan nearly died. Rocky nearly died, and the Italians are pissed. She’s completely closed herself off and I’m worried about her. I can’t reach her. She’s protective over her baby, but that’s it. I’m really worried I’m going to lose her.”

“Shit.” There’s a lot to unpack.

More than I can process at the moment, but it’s clear that staying here until the end of the week is not an option.

“I need to see her.”

“She might not even let you in.”

“She will. Can you drive me?”

Faina looks me over with an arched brow, then sighs.

“Fine. But if you stress her out, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing.”

Faina fills me in on every detail on the drive back to the estate, but her words become more impactful when she lets me into the estate and a deadly silence greets me.

There really is no one here.

The entire place looks abandoned from the outside, and it’s painful to think that Anastasia is just wandering around this big, empty house by herself.

Given what she’s been through, I don’t blame her.

Six weeks.

I can’t believe it’s been that long.

Taking the steps two at a time, I track Anastasia down to her bedroom where warm air drifts out from the ajar bathroom door.

Steam pours through the gap.

I breathe in, and despite the rooftop feeling only days ago, the scent of her perfume and vanilla soap creates an ache in my chest like I haven’t seen her in years.

As I step forward, the bathroom door opens and Anastasia walks out, wrapping a large, fluffy towel around her damp body.

She stumbles to a stop when she sees me, and her mouth falls wide open.

“Hey,” I say softly, torn between looking into her wide, gorgeous eyes and the huge bump swelling from her stomach.

Anastasia makes a soft, pained noise and then immediately bursts into tears.

“Hey!” Darting forward, I throw my arms around her and pull her close with one arm, then cup her damp cheek with the other.

“Anastasia, what’s wrong?”

“You’re… you’re not real,” she sobs, shoving her fists into my chest.

“You can’t be real!”

“I’m real,” I say firmly.

“I’m really here. I’m okay.”

“No. No, no, no! You’re in the hospital. Oh, my God, you were in a coma!”

“I was. I was. But I woke up yesterday. Faina told me you refused to see her so she couldn’t tell you. So she came to get me. I’m here. I’m here.”

A deep, painful wail rises past her lips and she sags into my hold, sobbing in deep, powerful waves.

“I-I never… never thought I’d see you again!”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, and her heartbreak brings tears to my own eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I never should have left you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You died,” she gasps, weeping against my shoulder and continuing to push me away with her fists, then drag me back with desperate hands.

“I saw you fall and I saw your body lying there and I thought?—”

“I know.” I hush her softly.

“I know. I know. But I’m here. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“You bastard, you left me!”

“I know, I know.”

Each rough sob that tears from her cuts through me like a blade, but there’s something amazing about hearing those noises.

Having her in my arms, hearing her voice, and feeling the emotion pour from her makes me feel alive for the first time since I opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” She lifts her head and gazes up at me with tear-filled eyes, then she glances down at my body.

“You’re not hurt anymore?”

“A little, but nothing I can’t handle. But you… oh, my God, look at you, Anastasia.” I don’t dare touch her belly after Faina made it very clear how protective Anastasia has become over her body.

In my mind, watching Viktor stab her only occurred a few days ago, so it’s a struggle to see her standing here, completely fine.

I’ve never known terror like I felt in that moment.

“You left me,” she whimpers, fat tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

Before I can reply, her lips crash against mine and all thought of explanation and reason flees from my mind.

I want her.

Every fiber of my being aches to be reunited with her, as if her touch will bring me into the present and prevent my mind from lingering in the past.

Conscious of her swollen belly, I cup her face with both hands and kiss her back hard, swiping her tears away with my thumb.

Each kiss is wet and short as her sobs keep bubbling up.

In between gasping for air and kissing, she slowly gets a handle on her grief as kissing me becomes more important.

We should talk.

Talking becomes pointless as my desire for her overflows any other sense of reason.

She pushes me backward continuously, walking with me until my legs hit the bed, and gravity takes care of the rest.

I fall backward and she immediately crawls over the top of me.

The towel falls away, and suddenly, I have a lapful of naked Anastasia.

Her skin is damp and dewy from her back, her hair remains dry and piled on top of her head, and as she kisses me deeply, I slide my hands cautiously down her body until I can grasp her waist.

Then she sits up and stares down at me with both her hands planted on my abdomen.

It’s impossible not to look.

A thin, pink scar runs a few inches up on her belly.

Our eyes meet for a brief second, then I move my thumb gently over the swell of her belly and caress the scar.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop this.”

Sniffling slightly, she slides one of her hands over the top of mine, then moves her other hand up my chest to hover over where my gunshot wound is hidden beneath clothing and bandages.

“I couldn’t save you either.”

“Hardly comparable,” I murmur.

She prods my chest.

“Don’t. I should have saved you.”

“No,” I say firmly, caressing up her arm until I’m cupping her face with my palm.

“It’s my job to save you, and I failed. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re here now,” she whispers, nuzzling into my palm.

“So are you,” I remind her, distantly aware of what Faina told me about how reclusive Anastasia has become.

“So are you.”

Those are the last words we speak.

With joined hands, my clothes quickly end up on the floor and our lips lock together in a dance of constant kisses.

Highly aware of how heavily pregnant Anastasia is, we end up on our sides with my body wrapping around her from behind.

She grumbles slightly about the position, but those quiet complaints are muted the moment my cock slides inside her, and suddenly, everything is alright.

It’s like two Lego pieces clicking into place or the brief moment when the sun and the moon pass each other and fit together perfectly.

We belong with one another.

And being intertwined sets the world back on its correct axis.

Fucking Anastasia is like wrapping my cock in satin.

She’s exactly as I remember, exactly as I crave and yet somehow, she’s hotter and sweeter than ever.

I’m quickly addicted to kissing her constantly and thrusting into her with slow, controlled movements just so I can hear the sweet, soft moan pull from her throat like a strand of silk.

My arms wrap around her and she clings to me, rocking back into my thrusts the best she can in her condition.

I remain careful and controlled, lavishing attention over her swollen lips and hot, kissable neck.

Her body slots against me perfectly, and each thrust drives me to reach deeper and deeper inside her, where I belong.

I will never leave her again.

When we come, we come together, and all tears are forgotten as Anastasia loses herself to the pleasure that consumes her.

I fuck her through her orgasm, rocking into each rhythmic clench of her pussy around my cock as I fill her up to the brim.

Then we collapse, panting and breathless in each other’s arms.

I hold her close, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead as she nuzzles into me.

This is where I belong.

I no longer feel like I’m walking in a weird dream where the world left me behind.

“Thank you for coming back,” Anastasia whispers against my neck.

“I’m always here,” I say softly, catching sight of my phone lighting up with a message on the floor.

“You’re not alone, Anastasia. I’m here.”