19. Alek
19
ALEK
I don’t know what she was thinking, coming here. I don’t know why she thought it was a good idea to continue our argument in a public place—at Sal’s , no less—or how she even knew I’d be here. But a small part of me, the part that she’s started to thaw out despite all of my best efforts, felt like shit as she walked away and it hit me just how I’d talked to her.
Earlier today, I was holding her hand while looking at the picture of what might be our child. And now, hours later, I’m telling her to fuck off.
I saw the gleam in her eyes as she started to walk away, and I know I made her cry. Something twisted in my gut at the knowledge as I watched her go, and I only managed to stay put for a couple more minutes before I got up to go after her. I couldn’t let her go out into the dark alone, not when I didn’t even know how she’d gotten to the bar. And it’s a damn good thing I did.
I don’t know who the three men are that are standing in the back lot of Sal’s, but I can guess who they’re affiliated with, considering that Dahlia was approached the other night by someone whose identity I feel almost certain I know as well. And the sight of one of them with his hands on Dahlia makes my blood run first cold, then hot with rage.
“Get your fucking hands off of my wife.” The words come out in a snarl as I bolt forward, already drawing my gun as I rush the one holding Dahlia. I see her eyes widen in shock the instant before I slam into him, one arm thrown out to grab her and pull her behind me as I throw my weight into the man holding her.
I hear the click of a gun, and shout for Dahlia to get down. She screams as the sound of a bullet zips through the air, pinging in the gravel at my feet, and without a second thought I whip around and pull the trigger, dropping the man who shot in an instant. His body hits the gravel, blood pooling around his head, and Dahlia lets out a shocked cry from behind me.
“Get down !” I yell again, dodging a punch from the man who grabbed her. I shove my left hand into my pocket, thrusting my fingers into the brass knuckles there, and whip my fist around, the metal crunching into the man’s jaw as I see the other remaining backup raise his gun.
I’m quicker than he is. Another shot, and that man is down too, bleeding out next to his associate as I swing at the man who grabbed Dahlia again. He goes down to the gravel, and I step over him, leveling my gun at his forehead as I reach down for his right hand.
“You made a big fucking mistake, coming after my wife,” I snarl. “You don’t touch her, you understand? In fact, I’m going to make sure you never fucking touch anything, ever again. Not with that fucking hand.”
Rearing back, I slam my booted foot down onto his hand, the bones snapping under my weight as I grind it down into the rocks. The man lets out a strangled cry of pain, writhing underneath me, a string of Russian curses spilling from his lips as I grind my heel into his fingers.
“I’m going to let you live, but only so you can go back and tell your boss what happened,” I snarl. “You understand me, svoloch ? You tell him not to fuck with Alek Yashkov, and not to fuck with my fucking wife.”
“I—” The man blubbers something else in Russian, but I barely register what he says. I aim my gun at his mangled hand, and pull the trigger.
“You should get help before that bleeds out,” I growl at him, stepping back. I turn around, looking for Dahlia, and I see her staring at the scene in front of her, her face bone white. In two quick strides, I’m next to her, my arm around her waist as I shove my gun back into the waist of my jeans and lead her towards where my motorcycle is parked.
“My driver?—”
“Tell him I’m taking you home. Tell him to keep quiet about all of this. Now,” I tell her sharply. Dahlia stares at me, and for a moment I think she’s in too much shock, that she’s not going to be capable of doing any of that. But to my surprise, she nods, swallowing hard, and reaches for her phone.
“Are you alright?” I ask her sharply as she sends the message, shoving the phone back into her pocket.
She gulps again, glancing back at the mess in the parking lot. “His hand—” she whispers faintly. “Part of it was?—”
I look back at the man peeling himself up off of the gravel, mangled bits of his fingers left behind where I shot them. “He shouldn’t have fucking touched you,” I growl. “Get on the bike. We need to get out of here.”
Dahlia nods stiffly, and I can feel her fingers trembling as she wraps her arms around my waist as we both get onto the motorcycle. I have the sudden urge to pull her in closer, to wrap her up in my arms and hold her close, and the feeling startles me like a shock to the heart.
I haven’t felt that in so long. It’s not a feeling I thought I’d ever have again—it’s not one I wanted to ever have again. I can feel myself rebelling against it, trying to ice out the emotions that this woman makes me feel.
Why her ? I made a mistake, going home with her that night. And yet, it’s a mistake that I’ve wanted to repeat every night since, that I want to repeat tonight, and tomorrow, and…
I shove the thought out of my head, revving the engine of my bike as I peel out of the parking lot, Dahlia clinging to me. I drive as fast as I think I can without her potentially losing her balance, the urge to get her home and to safety needling at me.
The rage I felt when I saw that man’s hands on her was something feral. Something so primal I couldn’t contain it. And now, the need to protect her, to get her to safety, feels like it’s overwhelming everything else, even the part of me that wants to find out how the fuck these men—if they are who I think they are—have found me again.
Right now, all I can think about is Dahlia. And that’s dangerous in more ways than one.
I nearly skid as I pull into the mansion’s courtyard, leaving my bike there as I help her off of it and scoop her into my arms.
“What are you—” she starts to wriggle against my chest, and the scent of her fills my nostrils, sweet and enticing and warm. “I can walk!”
“You’re undoubtedly in shock. I’m taking you upstairs.” My tone of voice brooks no argument as I carry her up the stairs, and I give in to the urge that I felt on the bike, the urge to hold her as close to me as I possibly can.
I stalk to her room, grabbing the doorknob and shoving the door open, kicking it closed as I carry her inside. Dahlia wriggles again, sucking in a breath that almost sounds like alarm as we near the bed, and I set her down gently just in front of it.
We’re too close. There’s maybe an inch of space between us, and my body is rioting, screaming for me to take what I’ve been craving ever since that first night. Instead, I push her jacket off her shoulders, reaching for her sleeve and nudging it up as I look at the bruising fingermarks on her arm where the man grabbed her.
“Alek, I’m fine…” she starts to protest, trying to wriggle away from my touch, but I don’t let her go.
“I should have shot off his whole fucking hand,” I growl, the sound low and dark as I look at the bruises. “How dare he fucking touch you? I should have fucking killed him, and sent one of the others back as a message?—”
“What do you mean?” Dahlia looks up at me, her eyes widening, and I can see that she’s still too pale. I should go and start a hot shower for her, get her into bed and leave her there—anything except acting on any of the filthy thoughts rioting through my head right now. “Alek, what’s going on?—”
Without meaning to, my thumb drags down the side of her arm, over the unbruised flesh, and I hear her suck in a sharp breath. When my gaze meets hers again, I see that her eyes are hooded, suddenly glassy with desire just from that small, gentle touch, and arousal roars through me like a wildfire.
Before I can stop myself, I slide my other palm behind her head, fingers twisting in her hair as my mouth drops to hers.
A groan tears from my lips as they press against her mouth. She tastes so fucking sweet, her lips soft and plush and full, giving way underneath mine as her back arches and she lets out a shuddering moan. Whatever either of us have said to the other, it’s clear that every protest of not wanting the other, of saying I wouldn’t fucking touch you if you were the last person on earth , was all a lie.
My cock stiffens at the first touch of my mouth against hers, from soft to painfully hard so fast that it makes me dizzy, the thick shaft straining against the front of my jeans. I close the inch of distance between us, backing her up against the bed, and when I feel her legs hit the side of it I keep going, taking us both down to the mattress as my knee pushes between her thighs, wedging them open.
The pressure of my cock against the front of her body makes me groan against her lips again, and I sweep my tongue into her mouth, desperate for more of her. Her hands drop to the edge of my shirt, trying to pull it up, and I grab both of her wrists, pinning them above her head as I grind into her. The motion rubs the seam of her jeans against her, and Dahlia cries out, her hips bucking against mine as she seeks out more of the sensation.
I need more. I feel like I’ve been drowning, desperate for a gasp of air, starving and begging for a bite of nourishment—and Dahlia is all of that. It’s the same hungry feeling that I had when I took her home from Hush, and as I grind into her again, moaning as the friction races down my shaft, I can’t help but think that no matter how many times I fuck her, I’ll never stop being hungry for more.
Is that what I’m going to do? Fuck her again?
I know as well as anyone else that feeding an addiction does nothing to cure it. But goddamn it, my addiction is here every fucking day, staring me in the face, sniping back at me, tempting me with her gorgeous body and setting me on fire with every infuriating word that comes out of her mouth.
I need her. I can’t fucking stop.
Dahlia moans into the kiss again, writhing under me, and I tear my lips away from hers, dragging my mouth over the edge of her jaw. I nip at the corner just beneath her ear, biting and sucking my way down her throat, and her head falls back, her hips arching in a steady rhythm as she bucks against my cock.
“You’re going to make me come,” she breathes out, her legs spreading wider, as if she’s as lost as I am. “Oh god, Alek?—”
The way she moans my name nearly tips me over the edge. I feel pre-cum slicking my cock, every throb pushing me closer to coming in my fucking jeans over this woman, and I want to be inside of her when that happens.
God, I want to fucking fill her up. I want to watch her face while I come inside of her.
“If you come, I want it to be on my tongue or my cock,” I growl, nipping at her collarbone. I shift my hands so that both of her wrists are gripped in one of them, reaching for her shirt with the other. I drag it upwards, getting a view of the black lace bra beneath it, and my cock throbs painfully again as I let go of her wrists just long enough to get her shirt off.
I don’t know how long I can take this. Even in just her bra and jeans, she’s so fucking gorgeous that I’m desperate to get inside of her. I shove her bra up, freeing her breasts beneath it, and I drop my head to one, sucking her nipple into my mouth as I roughly bite at it, kneading the other with my free hand.
“Alek!” She cries out again, her thighs trembling, and I can feel how close she is to the edge. “I can’t—I’m going to?—”
When I bite down on her nipple again, I fucking feel her come. Her entire body goes tight, her legs wrapping around my hips as she bucks wildly against me, grinding herself against my cock, both of us with our jeans still on. I dig my teeth harder into her nipple, and her moan turns into a wail, her back arching deeply as she comes hard against me.
I let go of her breast with a sucking pop , looking up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes. “I told you not to come yet,” I growl, pinching and twisting her other nipple between my fingers as she moans helplessly. “Now I’m going to punish you, zhena .”
Wife. The word spilling from my lips against her skin makes my cock throb as I slide down her body, and I don’t understand why. I don’t want a wife. I haven’t in five years, not since I learned the sharper edge of love, since I discovered the bitter taste of betrayal. I don’t want Dahlia as a wife.
And yet, the thought of possessing her so thoroughly, of her being mine and no one else’s, makes me so fucking hard that I moan against the taut flesh of her stomach as I slide down further, fingers yanking at her jeans as I jerk them down to her ankles.
“Keep your hands above your head,” I order her sharply. “In fact?—”
I stand up, sliding one arm beneath her waist and moving her, shifting her so that her head is on the pillows. I climb onto the bed, yanking off her shoes and socks and jeans until she’s in nothing but her panties and the disarray of her bra. “Grab the headboard,” I order her. “And don’t fucking let go, unless you want this to end.”
Dahlia’s eyes are wide, but she obeys, curling her fingers around the bars of the headboard. I catch sight of the bruising on her arm again, and I grit my teeth, a fresh wave of fury and possessive need washing over me.
No one touches her except for me. And I’m going to wipe away every trace of his touch on her, until she only remembers mine.
I lean down, pressing my mouth between her thighs as I spread them firmly apart, running my tongue over the lace there. Dahlia lets out a gasping moan, and I shudder, tasting her through the fabric. She’s soaked for me already, and my cock pulses, the urge to reach down and stroke myself as I lick her tearing through me.
But if I do, I’ll come—and come to my senses. I don’t want that, not when I’m so close to having her again. Not when she needs me badly enough right now, too, to not throw me out of her bedroom.
Not when I’m so close to feeling the hot clasp of her around my cock again, this time until I fill her up with my cum.
I lick her again through the lace, and then I grab the fabric with my teeth, jerking it to one side as I slide my tongue under her panties.
She’s hot and soaked, and the taste of her makes me dizzy with need. I shove my tongue firmly inside of her, curling it as I lick her from the inside out, feeling her thighs tremble under my fingers as she moans helplessly. She tightens around my tongue, and the need to have her do that around my cock feels almost unbearable.
I thrust my tongue inside of her again, and then drag it out, feeling her flutter against it as I slide it all the way up to her swollen clit. When I circle the hot flesh with my tongue, I feel her pulse against me, her hips arching up to grind against my mouth.
“Please—” she starts to beg, her hips twisting underneath me until I loop my arm under one thigh and press my hand against her stomach, pinning her to the bed and holding her still. “God, Alek, I’m so close?—”
I pull back, looking up at her as she lets out a squeal of protest. “Greedy girl,” I growl, leaning in to flutter my tongue over her clit again, letting out a puff of warm breath against her warm flesh. “You came before you were allowed, and now you want another?”
“ Alek.”
“ Fuck, I love hearing you beg.” I lick her clit again, and I feel the sudden, startling urge to smile as I look up her body at her pleading face. “You’ll beg many more times before I let you come for a second, zhena .”
I keep my word. I bring her to the brink again and again, until she’s soaked and trembling, the duvet damp with her wetness as I revel in the taste of her and the feeling of keeping her on the edge, hearing her cries and pleas.
Finally, I slide my tongue over her clit, looking up at her as I circle it. “You can come for me now, zhena ,” I growl, and I fasten my lips over the swollen flesh, sucking it into my mouth as I bury my face against her.
The sound she lets out is nearly a scream. She bucks against my hand, my mouth, writhing as much as she can with the way I have her pinned, and her arousal floods my tongue. I taste her, smell her, every part of her filling my senses, sweet and thick as honey as I flutter my tongue against her clit and revel in the way she soaks my face. She comes harder than I think I’ve ever felt her come before, moaning my name, and when I shove two fingers roughly into her, thrusting them deeply into her core as she tightens and ripples around them, I feel a third, smaller orgasm pulse through her.
I rise up on my knees, my cock pulsing painfully against the zipper of my jeans, and Dahlia looks up at me with glassy eyes. Her gaze instantly falls to the thick ridge between my thighs, and her tongue flicks out, licking over her lip as she looks back up at me.
The temptation to crawl up her body, pin her hands and thrust my cock into her waiting mouth is strong. Maybe for a few minutes, I reason with myself, my fingers going to my belt. I want to see her lips wrapped around me again, feel the heat of her mouth—but that’s not where I want to come tonight. Someone tried to take her from me tonight, and I’m going to claim her the way I haven’t yet. I’m going to leave her dripping with my cum, her pussy so full of it she’ll be leaking my cum for days.
“Don’t let go of the fucking headboard,” I remind her with a growl, moving up her body as I yank down my zipper. My cock springs free the moment my jeans come undone, and Dahlia’s eyes go round as she sees it again up close, long and thick and impossibly hard.
“Is this the biggest one you’ve had, zhena ?” I growl, wrapping my fist around my length. When she doesn’t answer immediately, I tap the slick head against her lower lip sharply, leaving a gloss of my pre-cum over her lips. “Answer me, gertsoginya .”
Dahlia’s gaze flicks down to my cock, and back up to my eyes. She nods, and I slap my cockhead against her mouth again, hot desire rippling down my spine. “Out loud,” I growl, and she moans, her lips parting.
“Yes,” she whispers, the hot puff of her breath against my tip making me throb. “I’ve never seen one so big before.”
“And you won’t,” I growl, pushing my cockhead against her lips. “Because mine is the last fucking cock you’ll ever take, zhena .”
Do I mean that? Somewhere in the back of my lust-fogged brain, I recognize that those are words that made no sense for me to have said. I’ve never thought of this marriage as real or permanent, and yet, as Dahlia’s plush lips wrap around my cock and pleasure races over my skin, my balls tightening, aching as she starts to suck my cock, I feel certain that I’d kill any man who ever tried to touch this woman in any way, ever again.
She’s mine. Mine, mine, fucking mine . The word is a chant in my head as I thrust my cock to the back of Dahlia’s throat, savoring the sound of her choking on it, feeling the muscles tighten around my tip as I struggle not to come yet. I don’t want to keep her, and I don’t want to let her go. I believe that she’s telling me the truth, and I don’t trust her, all at the same time. She’s a conundrum, something so confusing that having her near me makes me feel as if I’m going mad, tearing me apart when I haven’t even yet begun to put myself back together.
Her hot mouth tightens around my length, and I jerk myself free, shuddering as pre-cum drips from my cock and for a moment, I think I’m going to lose control.
I start to move down her body, and Dahlia’s fingers loosen around the headboard. “Don’t let go,” I snap, something like panic coiling tight in my stomach. “If you let go, I’ll leave.”
“You’ll leave like that?” Dahlia looks pointedly at my cock, a little of her fire returning, and I glare at her.
“I’ve jerked off plenty of nights, zhena . I can finish in my fist as well as in you, if you can’t obey me.”
Her eyes narrow, but her fingers tighten around the headboard again, and desire lances through me. For my spitfire of a wife to give in, she must want my cock more than she’d ever admit, and that alone makes my stiff length tremble, on the verge of spilling my cum before I can get inside of her.
“Take your clothes off,” she begs as I kneel in between her legs, pushing her thighs apart wider as I fist my cock and angle myself towards her swollen, soaked entrance. “I want to see you, Alek?—”
“No.” I bite out the word, rough and grating with need and frustration. I can’t wait any longer to fuck her—I’ve drawn this out too long already, and now she wants to fucking talk. “I blindfold you, or I stay clothed. Your choice, zhena .”
I don’t want to blindfold her tonight. I want to watch her face as I fill her with my cum. I want to see the look in her eyes. But I won’t allow her to see me naked. And I made a mistake, last time, so desperate for skin on skin that I didn’t think about her feeling my scars, as well as seeing them. I thought I would never see her again, and so as long as I didn’t have to see the pity in her eyes, it wouldn’t matter.
But it did, because now she’s in my life, and she has questions. Questions I don’t want to deal with tonight, or any other night.
Dahlia swallows hard. “I want to see your face,” she whispers, and something about those words—something about the way she says them, makes my chest feel as if it’s tearing open.
I can’t think about that. I can’t ?—
Fuck. I need her. I need pleasure, I need the clasp of her around my aching cock. I’m dizzy with it, my thoughts scrambled, and I brace one hand against her hip as I press the thick, swollen tip against her entrance, my hips snapping forward as I slide into her in one long, hot thrust.
Dahlia cries out, her moan filling the air as her hips arch, the sound almost a wail as I thrust again, harder this time. I’m almost too big for her, and when I look down, I can see how tightly she’s stretched around me, her clit a swollen nub of flesh just above where I’m slamming in and out of her. The sight alone is so erotic that I can barely stand it, and I press my thumb to her clit, rolling it against the swollen bud as I grip her hip with my other hand and fuck her as hard and fast as I’ve been dreaming of every time I’ve fucked my own hand.
That’s never felt as good as she does, though. She’s hot and wet and tight, a silken clasp against my straining, needy flesh, and I grit my teeth, moaning as I thrust into her again and again. Dahlia clings to the headboard for dear life, her sounds of pleasure joining mine as I thrust into her again, hard, and I feel my muscles wind tight as I tip too close to the point of no return.
“Pull out—” she gasps, and I look down at her, shaking my head as I slam into her once more and lean forward, pinning her to the bed as I rock myself as deeply inside of her as I can go.
“Oh no, zhena ,” I growl. “You’re already pregnant. So tonight, I’m going to fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum. Right…fucking…now?—”
Dahlia’s eyes go wide as the orgasm hits me, and I grind into her, rubbing against her clit as I feel my cock swell. She cries out, her head falling back as she feels the first hot spurt inside of her, the sensation triggering her own orgasm as she starts to writhe and buck underneath me for a fourth time, clenching around me with every spurt of my cock. She comes hard on my length, every spasm increasing my pleasure as we come together, and the feeling of her full and hot with my cum sends me into another series of orgasmic shudders as I stay there, locked with her as we both try to catch our breath. My shirt is sticking to me, wet with sweat, my jeans hanging open, and I can see the reddened flesh on the inside of her thighs where the denim ground against her skin.
“Alek—” she breathes my name, her hands loosening again from the headboard, and I jerk back, slipping out of her as I rear away and slide off of the bed. I catch a glimpse of my cum pearling from between the lips of her pussy, soaking the edge of her panties, and my cock twitches as I shove it back into my jeans, doing them up quickly.
Dahlia looks at me for a long moment, and there’s something almost like recrimination in her eyes. I don’t need to ask why. I didn’t answer any of her questions about what happened tonight. I just fucked her, raw and rough, while keeping up as many walls as I physically and emotionally could while I was inside of her. I kept my clothes on. I wouldn’t allow her to touch me. I know she wants to know why—I can admit, in the rawness of this moment, that as my wife and the mother of my child she deserves to know why.
But I also know that telling her would feel like flaying the skin from my own bones.
“Goodnight,” I grind out, retreating to the door. I take one more look at her, flushed and wrecked in her own bed, her bra and panties askew and every inch of her body showing how thoroughly fucked she just was.
And then I yank the door open, my cock already half-hard again for her as I disappear out into the darkness of the hallway.