24

When Valentina brings my lunch, I say to her, “Tell Ravil I refuse to eat unless he joins me.”
By the way her eyes widen, I can tell she understands me. She’s still been speaking Russian until now, but she bobs her head. “Okay. I will tell Ravil now.” She hurries out like the baby will starve to death if I don’t eat in the next thirty seconds.
I have to admit, it sometimes feels that way.
Ravil throws the door open two minutes later, his ice blue eyes clouded. “What are you doing?” he demands.
I stand up and walk toward him, shrugging. “I wanted to apologize.”
His face softens, his shoulders lose their tension. He shuts the door and holds open his arms. “Come here, kitten.”
I didn’t know I wanted him to hold me, but I instantly step forward into the circle of his arms. In his embrace, my own tension and anxiety drains away. Ravil doesn’t even let me speak, he cups the back of my head to tip my face up and devours my mouth.
He walks me backward as he kisses the hell out of me. I kiss him back. It’s like the night after birthing class all over again. His hands roam all over my body, tugging my blouse over my head, stripping off my bra. He grips my hair and tugs my head back. It’s a rough act-rougher than he’s been before-but then he kisses down the column of my neck. His open mouth drags across my collar bone. His thigh presses between my legs, giving me something to grind down on as I rock my hips.
“Are you going to let me apologize?” I gasp, my mouth finding his neck as he lowers his head to suck one nipple.
“No,” he says. “I was being a child. Forgive me.”
My heart lurches and skids. I think of all the fights Jeffrey and I had. They weren’t horrible, but there was a lot of blame thrown from both sides. It was usually me who just swallowed the whole thing, so we could move on. Jeffrey was never big enough to apologize.
Funny, I never even realized it until now, when Ravil proves himself to be a much bigger man. I suck on his neck, probably hard enough to leave a mark.
It makes Ravil wild. His breath turns to panting like mine. He pushes me onto the bed and spreads my legs, letting me roll to my side for comfort as he licks into me, my top leg tossed over his broad shoulder.
“Ravil!” I burrow my fingers into his hair and tug it. I’m as desperate as he is, and it’s for something more than sex. It’s for communion.
It’s for baring myself to Ravil and seeing him bared to me. In true vulnerability. This is true passion. Not just the product of raging hormones but something more.
Something significant and bold. Something to be revered.
Ravil slides a finger inside me and strokes my inner wall, and I whimper and squirm not wanting to come until his manhood is inside me.
“Please. Ravil?” I beg.
“You taste so good, Lucy.”
“I need you in me.”
“Blyat,” he curses and rises, unzipping his pants to free his length.
I shiver in pleasure the moment he pushes in. He presses his thumb to my anus as he rides me, which shouldn’t feel as pleasurable as it does. Especially when he works it inside me. There’s nothing like the dual sensations of having both holes filled at once. It’s a pleasure overload.
He fucks me that way, each stroke making me more and more desperate to come, the coil of need tightening and tightening.
“I’m going to fuck your ass today, Lucy,” he says roughly.
“Okay,” I say. He’s pushed my boundaries continually. I’m still embarrassed by anal play but no longer afraid of it. I’m not afraid of anything Ravil wants to do to my body. He’s proved over and over again he knows how to make it good.
He pulls his thumb out first then his cock and leaves me to get lube. When he returns, I watch him over my shoulder as he spreads my cheeks and dribbles lube over my back hole. He rubs some over his cock, too.
Thankfully, he goes slowly, applying steady but gentle pressure to my anus until I relax to let him in.
“Push a little,” he tells me.
I do, and he slides in. It’s too big, and I draw a sharp breath, but once his head is in, it gets better.
“All right, kitten?”
“Yes,” I pant.
He eases the rest of the way in, inch by inch until he’s all the way seated, and he gives me a moment to get used to the sensation. Then he begins a very slow pump.
My eyes roll back in my head. It shouldn’t be so pleasurable.
Ravil rubs my clit hard and fast.
I moan and hiccup, moan again. He begins to pick up speed fucking my ass, pushes in deeper, pulls out farther. Everything feels good. Stretchy, full, but good.
Ravil fucks my pussy with the cone of his fingers put together, and I cry out, needing desperately to come.
“Not yet,” Ravil warns.
“Please. Oh please, oh please, oh please. I need to come now. Stop. More! Oh God.”
Ravil’s breath grows erratic. I open my eyes to watch him, watch his passion take over his face, watch him lose control.
His fingers tighten on my hip, the ones in my pussy falter.
He makes a choking sound then shouts as he shoves in deep. He lets out a stream of Russian that sounds like praise. Maybe gratitude.
I don’t come. I don’t know-it feels too weird with his cock in my ass, but then he pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy some more, and my legs thrash as I come all over his fingers, my anus almost painfully tight around his cock.
“Ahh-ah!” he groans. He leans over and kisses my shoulder. “That’s an apology,” he says with satisfaction when he straightens.
I let out a puff of laughter and watch him as he eases out. He helps me up and propels me to the shower, stripping off his clothes and stepping in behind me.
I turn to face him under the spray of water. “I’m sorry I offended you,” I say. I want to be able to say, “I’m sorry I misjudged you,” but the jury’s still out on that.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Don’t. I was a cunt.”
“You weren’t.” I pick up the bar of vanilla-scented soap and roll it around in my hands getting them soapy. Then I set it back down in the soap tray and press both my palms to his tattooed chest, spreading across his pectoral muscles and down his rigid abs. “What do these mean?” I ask.
Ravil backs up, and I follow. He leans his head back against the tile and sighs, catching my hands. “I don’t want to tell you, kitten.”
“Haven’t you realized yet that the things I make up in my head might be worse?”
He winces. “Doubtful.” He touches a large tattoo on his right pectoral. “This is the symbol for the brotherhood and inside it, the symbol of my first cell-the one in Leningrad.”
He points to one on his right ribs. “This is the cell in Moscow. Igor’s cell. He is still my boss, but I won’t be bending knee to his successor.”
“Is there one for your cell?”
He shakes his head. “No. I have no need for these old ways. I’ve woven a different network here in Chicago.”
“What are these?” I touch the ones across his knuckles.
His face grows stony. “Kills.”
I suck in my breath, trying to keep a poker face, despite my shock. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d guessed that’s what they meant. Still, it’s different to hear it said out loud.
“The placement on the knuckles is to intimidate. To let my adversary know these hands have choked the life out of others.” His eyes are dead when he tells me.
I should run. I should be afraid. But instead, my instinct is the opposite-to lean in. I press my body against his and wrap my arms around him, as if I might impart the same comfort he offered me with his embrace earlier.
He sucks in a surprised breath then lets it out, his arms coming around me. “I would never, in a million years, wish this life on my son,” he murmurs into my wet hair.
A sob breaks my throat, and I bury my head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I offer although I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for.
For his pain.
For judging him.
And yes, for trying to keep Benjamin from him.
I know now, with far more certainty, that Ravil will make an excellent father.