Maria
A giggle slips from my lips, and he pauses to look at me. My face heats up, ashamed of my silly and uncool reaction, but Mikhail smiles as he lowers me onto the bed. Stretching out, my body relaxes as I accept the good fortune I deserve. Every bit of it. For years, I was a good girl, and he is my reward.
“I like that smile.” Mikhail unbuttons his shirt, exposing his strong chest. His clothes drop to the floor in a pile at his feet as he watches me, showing off the muscular body he’s proud of. “It’s good for more than just protecting you, Maria.” Naked and hard, he climbs over me on his hands and knees, his body hovering over mine.
Giggling, I know I’ll never be as confident and cool as Mikhail, and in a second, I realize that he doesn’t care. I’m different from what surrounds him daily-ruthless men with guns hidden underneath designer jackets. Being together lets Mikhail lower his guard now that he trusts me.
“And what is that devilish smile for?” He flexes his muscles, and I giggle again. “What naughty thoughts are you thinking?”
My hips wiggle as I pull off my denim skirt, and a wet spot is visible on my plain cotton panties. I reach for the hem of my shirt but stop when Mikhail’s hand touches my stomach. His fingers stroke my skin gently, drawing circles over my belly, and he leans his head down and kisses my bare skin.
My breathing picks up, and my thighs part. I watch Mikhail’s head move lower; his lips brush my softest skin, and I watch instead of shutting my eyes. I remember him having me on the floor before. It felt so naughty then, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of anymore. No more reproaching myself when the sex ends, as if it were a dirty deed. My head tilts on the bed as his tongue slides under the cotton, and moaning, I hold still as his hands pull my panties down.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs.
A smile beams across my face. Is this what it feels like to be confident and in love? My fingers tug hard at his dark hair as his tongue swirls along my wet folds. I hiss as tingles rush from my pussy up my spine into my head, and his mouth vibrates against me when he growls. Closing my eyes, I inhale his scent, a heady mix of leather and bourbon by the fire, and I want to curl up in the sensations surrounding me. Exhaling, I shake as my climax builds, the intensity making me breathless. My heart feels as if it will burst and leave me spent. But not yet.
My legs open wider, and I reach for Mikhail’s hard shoulders, pulling him up so his body presses fully against mine. He hesitates, staring at the raised scar on my side, and carefully shifts his weight off me, but I pull him close.
“I’m not as fragile as you think,” I whisper.
He smiles. “I never underestimate you, Maria.”
Gasping, I move my hips to take him in deeper. It does hurt, but only for a second, and I want to feel that pain as he pushes hard into me, stretching my tightness as we move. My tight nipples brush against his chest as we gradually pick up speed. Clinging to him, I bury my face against his neck as everything turns into an intoxicating dream. I feel drugged by the movement filling me, making me feel everything Mikhail feels while his hips firmly buck against my body.
I sigh, savoring all of it. This is how I want to feel, with the thrill of taking risks and not wasting my life locked away in an ivory tower. Mikhail was the wrong man, but now, he’s the right one for me.
My mouth presses against his chest, tasting the sweat on his skin. His breath comes faster as my thighs shake uncontrollably, and I throw my head back, unable to take anymore. Looking through my lashes, I watch Mikhail no longer deny the unexpected emotions expressed on his face. His eyes flutter, and a deep moan rises from his chest. His forehead falls to the pillow, but he turns his head toward me, revealing love in his gaze.
Lying beside him, I know I belong here in his life. I don’t know why, but this bedroom makes me feel this way. It is filled with his father’s memories-gold medals on faded ribbons, photos framed in gold, and antique clocks that no longer run, but there’s no art on any wall. Still, a family history exists here that intrigues me because it’s a part of Mikhail … and a link to my Bratva past.
As Mikhail brushes his fingers through my hair, I wrap the velvet cover around my bare skin. He’s so tender now, and I won’t have to worry about his autopilot roughness again. Lying on my side, I stare at our reflections in a gilded Baroque mirror opposite the bed. His gaze is adoring and mixed with desire as he spoons closer to my body.
I watch as Mikhail kisses my ear, and he doesn’t seem aware I’m watching him. The sensation heightens all my perceptions to an awe I only feel when staring at a true masterpiece. Love has transformed sex into something euphoric, and I catch a faraway look in Mikhail’s eyes.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and I smile as his lips kiss the curve of my bare back. My hands slide over my stomach, but the soft bump I can feel hasn’t started to show yet. His strong hand covers mine, and we lie together, sharing our emotions as our fingers intertwine over my belly.
I close my eyes and imagine our future child in my arms while Mikhail holds me in his. The future is obliterating the past, forming a family based on love, not vengeance.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.
“Our baby,” he replies thoughtfully.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?”
“I want both,” he says. “But a boy would be a good thing. A boy to carry on the family name and our traditions.”
I stiffen in his arms. “Traditions?” I ask.
His hand presses firmly against mine. “A boy that will grow up to be my heir and successor.” Mikhail’s voice is strong. “I won’t make the mistakes my father made with me. I will lead my son with patience and wisdom and protect him from the pain I’ve felt. He will lose no one. I’ve learned from my father’s mistakes, but my son will learn from my example.”
I wiggle out of his grasp. “And when will our son have the time to be a kid?”
He laughs as if I’m joking. “When he’s with his mother.” He frowns at my sullen expression. “Maria, our child will be born with responsibilities that will match our own.”
“I know.” I get up from the bed and grab my clothes off the floor. “But I don’t want to think about that right now.”
Mikhail watches me in silence as I dress and says nothing when I storm out of the bedroom. I hurry down the labyrinth of hallways and back to the spiral stairs. I race up the tower, where it’s safe, away from him. I stand outside, watching the endless green stretch toward the fence in the distance, and tears come too fast for me to stop them.
Just when I thought we had reached a breakthrough, I learned that my child has become a weapon in Mikhail’s hand.
When will it end?
Will it ever end?