She comes immediately, her muscles gripping around my cock, squeezing and pulsing. I stay deep inside until I’ve caught my breath. And then I still remain inside, staring down at my beautiful captive.
And that’s when I know with total certainty: I won’t be letting her go.
Lucy is mine, and the sooner she accepts that, the better for all of us.
Lucy
COOL SOFT SHEETS touch my bare skin. I wake up in total bliss. My body feels relaxed and wonderful. I smell something wonderful from the kitchen.
I sit up and look around. The sinking sun makes Lake Michigan glow a beautiful peachy pink. I must’ve fallen asleep after sex.
And that sex.
Whoa.
That was how Ravil was at Black Light. After I cried red because he choked a man for me. After he had to win me back. The time he got me pregnant.
I hadn’t forgotten, but that passionate side of him is normally so hidden, I’d started to wonder if I’d made it up. Or embellished. But no. That was the Ravil I’ve been masturbating to. Not the cool, manicured dominant who knows exactly what to say or do to make my body turn inside out. I appreciate that side, too. But seeing him unbuttoned, seeing a glimpse of the real Ravil-that’s the part that means something.
Our child was conceived in a fit of total passion.
Passion we both still feel for each other.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt and pair of yoga pants and test the door handle. It’s open. No giant Russian sitting guard outside the door, either.
On my bare feet, I pad toward the living room where I hear the boisterous sounds of men speaking in accented English. I guess they’ve given up the farce? Or maybe they’ll switch back to Russian when they see me.
I spy Ravil in the kitchen, pulling a tray of perogies from the oven with a hot pad, looking far more domestic than I could have imagined. His face blooms into a warm smile when he sees me. Gone is the inscrutable mask he normally wears. The handsome but cool facade. There’s genuine delight in his expression.
And damn, he looks adorable cooking.
“You didn’t actually make those yourself, did you?” I ask. My voice sounds husky from sleep.
A guffaw sounds from the couch. Maxim tosses an arm over the back of the sofa to twist grin at me. “As if. Ravil only knows how to heat food up.” English. Huzzah!
I lift my brows playfully. “Are you speaking to me now? I’m so honored.” I’m teasing-there’s no rancor behind the words. I simply don’t feel it right now.
Maxim darts a glance Ravil’s way. “I always spoke to you. It just wasn’t always in a language you understood.” He winks at me.
“Stop flirting with my-” Ravil breaks off mid-growl. I’m not sure what he was going to say. My captive? My prisoner? My lover? “-lawyer,” he finishes. He slides the perogies onto a plate.
“Your lawyer?” I scoff, strolling into the kitchen like this is my house, too. Like I’m a roommate here not a prisoner. Like I’m Ravil’s girlfriend.
Was that what I wanted him to say? Surely not.
“I’m Adrian’s lawyer, not yours,” I remind him. “Bear that in mind because you do not enjoy attorney-client privilege with me. Your secrets aren’t safe.”
Dima makes an exploding sound from the table where he’s working. His twin mimes a plane crashing. They’re laughing at Ravil.
The whole scene puts me more at ease than I’ve been since I arrived. Like I’m in on the one big happy family thing they have going.
“Don’t worry,” Dima pipes up, looking my way. “He doesn’t bake for any of his other lawyers. You’re definitely something more.”
I smile because it’s funny to see Ravil getting ribbed. It’s even more fun to see him as relaxed as I feel.
“Come, kitten.” He beckons me over. He has a tall glass of milk sitting on the countertop. “Drink this while the perogies cool. And the answer is no, I didn’t make them. Mrs. Kuznetzov brought them up ready to bake. I have them on daily order for you.”
“And he won’t let us touch them!” Pavel calls from the living room. “Not even the day-old ones. In case you get hungry in the night.”
“That’s good because I seem to want them for every meal.” I reach for one from the plate, but Ravil pulls it out of my reach.
“They’re too hot.”
He plops a container of organic strawberries in front of me. “Snack on these. I already washed them.”
Damn. Ravil is sweet. Sweeter than I want him to be. I could get used to being treated like that. And where would that get me? I’m not staying here permanently-that idea is ludicrous. Ravil doesn’t get to kidnap a woman and keep her.
But would it be so bad? a little voice in my head whispers.
Yes! It would. I bite into a juicy strawberry, savoring the taste. I’ve never sampled one so juicy, so sweet. Or is that my senses are all heightened from the sex and the physical pleasures Ravil constantly throws at me?
“What else do you want?” Ravil asks. “You don’t have to eat perogies, I just wanted them on hand if you craved them again.”
“I want perogies.”
“I guess there’s no doubt that our baby’s Russian, ah?” Maxim says, wandering into the kitchen. He grabs a perogie and bites into it, then exclaims and opens his mouth, panting. “Hot!”
“You should’ve warned him,” I scold.
“He should’ve obeyed my order not to touch them,” Ravil counters.
“Cocksucker,” Maxim mutters, but it’s obviously with affection.
Oleg gets up from his chair in the living room and walks to the door.
“Where are you going, Oleg?” Ravil asks, even though he can’t speak.
“It’s Saturday night,” Maxim reminds him.