18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
T oula
There was no news by the end of the week, and no other raids had occurred. It caused unease among all of us, the tension mounting within the Russian’s base. The men drove themselves to the brink of madness, completing the tasks, questioning if they were doing enough.
It was late in the evening when I made a plate and walked down to my Russian’s office. He hadn’t surfaced since I’d seen him for a few minutes this morning during breakfast. Knocking lightly on the door, I waited.
“Come in.”
I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me. Stopping to inspect him, I could see where the week had taken its toll. The suit coat and tie I had seen him wearing earlier were laying on the back of the chair in front of his desk. His dress shirt, wrinkled and cuffed at the elbows, looked like it had endured a long day of sitting. His hair stood up on all ends as if he had run his fingers through it a million times, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. My Russian couldn’t have been sleeping more than a few hours a night. He never went to bed with me, and he was gone before I awoke each morning.
I walked over to the couch and curled up into the corner. “Come eat,” I told him as I raised the plate in his direction.
He dropped the pen in his hand, pushed his desk chair back, and stretched. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned before he stood and came over to me. I thought he’d sit next to me and eat, but he took the plate from my hand and placed it on an end table behind me.
Before I could register what was happening, my Russian had caged me against the arm of the couch. He laid down on top of me, his head on my shoulder, his eyes closed. I turned my face towards him, giggling when his nose tickled the crook of my neck. I felt his arms circle my back, and I wrapped mine around him.
The stillness in the room was a reprieve from the outside activity. My Russian had been correct when he’d said Irini would have never been comfortable here. I didn’t mind it, but after this week full of unknowns, I wanted my Russian to have a bit of peace before the next catastrophe stole his attention.
His stomach grumbled.
I reached behind me for the plate I’d brought in. “Sit up,” I told him, pushing on his shoulder.
“Feed me.” He opened his mouth.
Has he lost his freaking mind? I wanted to reach out and run my fingers across his forehead, smoothing out the creases. It would have to wait for another time. He opened his eyes, staring back at me. He was a made man, a Bratva boss with razor-sharp intuition. Of course, he caught me watching him.
“Feed me, Toula. I am withering away to nothing. ”
I smiled and shook my head at him. “It’s your problem if you get heartburn.”
“Nothing four antacids can’t cure.” He smiled at me and opened his mouth.
Still shaking my head, I stabbed one of the dolmades with the fork and brought it up to his lips. “Am I supposed to make airplane noises, too?”
“Kinky.” He took the bite that I was offering him, groaning in appreciation.
“You don’t have to flatter me. My cooking is inferior.” I meant is as a joke, but there was a touch of bitterness underneath. Adrik’s comment about tracking all Russians for restaurants had made me wonder if they were eating my food out of sympathy.
“My brother’s been talking,” he said before taking a second bite. I didn’t respond. “I don’t want to say something to him unless he crosses a line with you. However, I’ve only received compliments from everyone else. Most people didn’t know what to expect, so they’ve given you a wide berth to find your footing. In fact, I was proud you stepped up, and the men were appreciative,” he told me as he opened his mouth for another bite. After he finished, I returned the plate to the table.
I quickly changed the subject, not wanting to squabble over his brother. “Has my father called?” I wasn’t interested in the outcome either way, but I thought it was a safe enough topic.
“Yes.” My Russian shifted, burying his nose further into my neck and tightening his arms around me.
I didn’t know if I should push the issue. We were an unmarried couple sharing the same bed, even though my Russian was barely there. I didn’t want to rock any boats. Boats sank. They sank with bodies in them .
“He asked about you.”
“Oh,” I said, leaving the conversation open. My stomach tightened, the butterflies dancing a jig as I waited for his response. I doubted I wanted to hear what they had discussed. My father didn’t always have my best interests at heart. He could have ordered my Russian to return me to my family. However, I was finding my way here, forging my path. Separation would cause more harm than good.
“I told him you were well and practicing your wifely duties.” He chuckled, his smile widening.
I bopped him on the top of his head. “You couldn’t have said that. My father wouldn’t have taken kindly to the implication, and you’re still breathing.” I placed two fingers at his neck, pretending to check his pulse.
“I did.” He laughed so hard that his whole body shook. “I told him you were alright. You’re safe here, which he already knew. I just filled in a few more details about your daily habits. Cooking, school, monitoring your club, yadda yadda.”
“Is that a technical term?” It was easy to tease him. I’d never had a relationship before, and I wasn’t sure if this was normal, or if it would even last.
“Yup.” He was still smiling.
I kissed the top of his head. “When am I supposed to go back?”
“You’re not. I told him to consider it a part of the marriage contract. Try to leave and see how fast I tie you down.” All his humor quickly disappeared as he shifted further back on my shoulder. His eyes watched mine.
It was supposed to be threatening, but my body liked that idea. I wrapped one leg around the back of his knee to hold him tighter, subconsciously rubbing against him .
“Sunday is family dinner, so we’ll go early, and you can pack up anything essential you want to bring here.” His arm wrapped tighter around my waist. My father had sent Angelo with a packed suitcase the day after the raid, so I had some of my clothes and toiletries.
“My father’s allowing this?” I was in disbelief. The only thing I could think was that there was something in the marriage contract that had scared my father. He wasn’t normally so agreeable, but he’d backed down to my Russian on more than one occasion.
“He doesn’t have a choice.”
“What about school?” My stomach tightened at the thought of not being able to graduate in the spring.
“Ivan knows you’re heading back to class on Monday. I’ll introduce you to the driver before you leave with them.” He nuzzled his nose in the hair that hung over my shoulder. “They don’t have a problem wearing jeans.”
I laid my head back against the arm of the couch and laughed, but I was still uneasy. I needed to ask about graduation, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding ungrateful.
“After your graduation, we’ll be married,” he said. “Do you need a proposal?”
I choked on air, turning my head towards the back of the couch to sputter and cough.
He chuckled again. “I want the world to know you’re mine, Toula. However, it’s more important to me that you know you’re mine. I would propose if you asked me to, but marriage is non-negotiable.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I was warm all over, and the only cure was going to be getting him naked upstairs in our bed. I tapped him lightly on his shoulder. “Sit up.”
He pushed into a kneeling position, bracketing my legs between his, but I could slip out of his hold. I sat on the edge of the couch and held my hand out to him. He didn’t hesitate to link his fingers with mine.
Leading him out of the office, I wrapped my other hand around his bicep.
He let me enter the bedroom first, and I instantly turned around to look at him.
“No one takes care of you. Let me be the one who does.”
His brow furrowed, contemplating my words. With a small shake of his head, he gave me control over this moment. It wouldn’t last long, but I’d take every second I could. His dress shirt collar was open, and I rubbed my knuckle against his smooth skin. I wanted to grip his shirt in both hands and tear it open so that the buttons scattered across the room, but I didn’t. Instead, I took my time, walking my fingers from the open collar to the line of buttons. Popping each one open, I laid a light kiss on the revealed skin before moving further.
He had tucked his shirt into his dress pants, and I thought tugging it out wouldn’t be sexy. I placed one last open-mouthed kiss against the middle of his chest, and I let my hands drift down to the top of his dress pants. Sliding his belt through the buckle, I unzipped the fly to run my knuckles down the small bit of skin above his boxers. Gracefully, I kneeled in front of him, untying his shoes and removing his socks.
I should have been nervous. I was kneeling in front of a man, but this wasn’t about being subordinate to him. This was turnabout, and it was fair play to be the one in control. I was the one in power, completely dressed, and he was at my mercy. I grabbed the material at his thighs and yanked his dress pants and boxers to the ground. He stepped out of them, kicking them to the side. I wanted to make him feel good. To make him crave me, and only me .
I started at his feet and brushed my hands over the tops. letting them wander up his shins, over the red stars tattooed on his knees, until I reached his thighs. There was definition to the muscles there, and I traced the indents with my tongue. First the left, then the right, before sliding my hands to the backs and massaging the muscles.
On the next pass, I brushed my hands north until I reached his hips. Using him for leverage, I reached up to trace my fingers along the V-shaped grooves carved into his hips. Discovering each one with my tongue, I heard a hiss. Smiling, I left an open-mouthed kiss on his stomach.
We communicated best in silence. He didn’t tell me to stop. He didn’t rush me. Yet, I didn’t need the visual of his hardness to know that he was enjoying himself.
I was feeling brave. I squeezed the firm muscles of his ass. Gripping each side tight, I engulfed his dick in the warm, wet heat of my mouth. This had seemed like a good idea, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed.
Grabbing his hands, I guided them to the back of my head. He understood my silent message and threaded his fingers through the hair there. Gripping the strands tight, he guided me up and down his length, never pushing farther than I could take.
“Good girl. Now, suck in your cheeks.”
I did as I was told, and his fingers tightened in my hair, causing the roots to burn against my scalp as he continued leading me. My hand left his thigh, and I wrapped it around the bare skin of his dick that I couldn’t reach with my mouth. Accidentally squeezing him as he dragged me towards his head, I heard him let loose a low growl, his sounds implying he liked it. I kept up the constant pressure, gliding along his length.
“You’re doing so well.”
I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. There was this visceral need to make sure he knew I was the only one who could make him feel this way.
He moaned, low and deep. “So pretty with my dick in your mouth.” He paused, taking a few staggering breaths. “Take me, Toula. Make me yours, moya malenkaya lisichka.”
His praise ignited some deep desire to drive him out of his mind. He was coherent, and while I appreciated his guidance, I wanted him delirious. Consumed by so much passion, he couldn’t remember his own name. I clutched the globes of his ass and thrust him forward, taking more of him into the back of my throat.
I moved on my own, sliding up and down his length, maintaining the pressure in my cheeks. I was steering myself, and the quicker the pace, the more groans dropped from his lips.
“Stop,” he commanded.
I didn’t listen, continuing my pace.
“Lisichka, stop. I’m going to come.” He tried to hold my head still by my hair, but he’d lost control. His body shuddered, and with one last moan, his dick sputtered in my mouth.
I’d won, and before I could think about it, I swallowed.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
I shifted back to sit on my heels. “If I wanted to kill you, death by pleasure isn’t it.” I let him catch his breath before I said, “I told you earlier I wanted to take care of you.”
His smile became feral. In a heartbeat, I was off my knees and thrown on the bed. “You just sucked my soul out of my dick.” His knees bracketed my legs as he climbed over me—the lion seeking his prey—and I would lay at his feet in sacrifice. “You’re right where I want you. ”
My lips parted, and Ilya took it as an invitation to invade. To conquer. His lips pushed against mine, tasting the remnants of us. I arched my body into him. I wanted to feel this man surround me. Swallow me down so that I had no clue where I ended and he began.
I went to wrap my hands around his back, but he gathered both in his left hand. Holding my wrists above my head, he kissed me again. I tried to reach any part of him I could with my body, but he shifted to the side, out of reach.
He broke the kiss and chuckled at my frustration. “Only good things come to good girls who wait.”
“You’ve made me wait long enough.” I wasn’t in the mood.
Leaving my hands above my head, he kissed my temple, working his way down. There were kisses on my nose, my cheek, my jaw. A lick at my ear made my body shudder.
Switching my hands into his right palm, he started to suck and lick at my neck. It felt amazing, but I wanted more. Needed more. I stared at the top of his head, trying to get his attention, but he wasn’t looking directly at me. I tried moving, but he trapped me underneath him. Finally, I just let out a huff of frustration.
“Easy,” he whispered against my neck.
I was still huffy, but the more he continued sucking my neck, the more I found it hard to remember why.
His left hand came up and cupped my cheek. It slid down my left side, popping the buttons of my blouse one-by-one until there was a small strip of skin visible between the two halves. His lips moved from my neck to my chest. Kissing down my sternum, he whispered words of Russian against my skin.
I didn’t know what they were, and now was not the time to stop and ask. They were beautiful, and I could only assume they were words of love and adoration. Releasing my hands, my Russian undressed me, throwing my clothes into the pile with his across the room. There was something domestic about seeing the laundry mixed like that. Sitting up, I reached for him, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and turning my lips up for a kiss. He didn’t deny me.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” I whispered against his lips. His smile widened, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
He held me closer to him so that we were chest-to-chest, and my legs wrapped around his waist as he kneeled on the bed. “You love me, huh?”
“I don’t want anyone else but you.”
I wasn’t sure it was possible, but his smile became even bigger. “Finally.” He swooped in with another soul-sucking kiss.
When we broke a part, I laid my head on his shoulder. “Take me like this. I need to be close to you.”
He held me a little tighter. “Se agapó.” Whatever voids I had in my heart, those holes were now filled.
My Russian shifted me onto his lap. Slowly entering me, he stopped every so often to let me adjust to the feel of him. It was my turn to whisper into his ear about all the ways I loved him in Greek. I told him how grateful I was for him. How I was glad that he had opened my eyes to what actual love in our world looked like. What it felt like. He didn’t understand any of it, but I unleashed a torrent of emotion.
Lifting me until just the tip of his dick was inside me, he let me fall back down into his lap at my pace. We both groaned at the contact. Kissing him again, I continued to raise myself and then slide back into his lap until the pressure to orgasm was almost unbearable. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back.
“Come for me, moya malenkaya lisichka. Come all over me and make me yours. ”
Gripping his shoulders, I anchored myself to him as I continued to move.It was too much for me, and in a way, not enough. I saw stars—red, blue, orange—shooting against the backs of my eyelids.
Later, I lay in the crook of his shoulder, his hand drifting up and down my back in a gentle caress. No words were necessary, but I traced the tattoo above his heart with my fingers. There was something about it that called to me.
“How much do you know about Bratva tattoos?”
“Some. Isn’t it that each tattoo represents a sin you’ve committed?”
“Something like that. I was a made man at fourteen. It wasn’t my choice. We chose this life to avoid being orphaned. It seemed like our only option.” He wrapped one of my curls around his finger, gently winding and unwinding it as he spoke. “When you become a made man, it’s a tradition to tattoo the red stars. They remind you to never bend to the enemy. I have mine touched up on my anniversary, so that I never forget.”
I let him continue.
“The X’s on my knuckles are for the enemies I had a direct hand in eliminating.”
I shifted in his arms, so that I could look at his left hand laying on the bed. I had seen them before, but this was the first time I studied the ink. There were four individual black X’s on his left hand that were as big as his knuckles. Sitting up, I grabbed the hand that had been on my back. There were five more X’s, but one had a T next to it. Holding his hands, I knew. He didn’t have to tell me.
“Junior’s X is the one on your wedding ring finger.” I looked at the six on his chest, surrounded by barbed wire, and then at the XT on his ring finger. It was making sense, but I needed him to tell me .
“It’s on my ring finger because when I marry you, my wedding ring will sit above it. It’s the price I paid to have you. I’d do it again if the result was the same.”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed the XT.
Laying back in his arms, I traced the Roman numeral. “This?”
“Lust—the sixth cardinal sin.” He sat up and caged me in his arms, forcing me to lie back on the pillows. His weight surrounded me as he rubbed his dick against my center. “I’m constantly guilty of that one where you’re concerned.”
When he entered me in one smooth motion, my back arched. “We have that in common.”