Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
I try my best to ignore the broody stare of the gray-eyed Russian sitting at the back corner table as I wait at the bar for Keith to finish making pink mocktails for two women who just came in.
With the start of Thanksgiving break and most of the students gone, business is slow.
It seems like forever since I worked a shift at the Bierkeller, but I was ready to get back to my “normal” routine.
I need normal.
And Aleksander with his intense energy and imploring eyes isn’t helping me achieve that.
It’s been weeks, and I’m still livid. I know I’m being immature by ignoring him, but he’s being just as immature by stalking me.
He blatantly follows me around, making sure I see him.
Every-fucking-where I go, he pops up. In class.
At the grocery store. At home. When I go for a run.
When I take Fénix to the park. And now here at work. And the guys aren’t helping.
Tristan and Aleksander have been joined at the hip since Boston.
Constantine made the ridiculous excuse that Aleksander was helping him with his coding project and asks him to come over all the fucking time.
And Hendrix…apparently, he and Aleksander are best buds now.
And I hate admitting that seeing them together, laughing and talking or just hanging out, makes me insanely happy.
But my insides turn to absolute mush when I see how Aleksander is with Fénix.
He loves on my child as if Fénix was his own son.
And that, right there, is the truest form of emotional blackmail to my conflicted heart.
While waiting, I check my phone for any new messages and smile when I see the photos Constantine texted me. Tristan is fast asleep on the sofa, holding a sleeping Fénix in his arms.
“Oh my god, that’s adorable.” Shelby drops her tray onto the bar top.
I swipe to the next picture, and we burst out laughing when we see Hendrix drawing a rudimentary penis on Tristan’s forehead with a marker.
Mentally facepalming at his juvenile antics, I tuck my phone away. “He’s been in a weird phase where he draws dicks on everything.”
“At least he doesn’t draw all over the walls.”
“Yet.”
She snort-laughs. “Speaking of children, how’re you holding up?”
Propping a hip against the bar, I release a downhearted sigh. “I wasn’t prepared for the separation anxiety.”
Being away from Fénix, even if it’s only been a few hours since I got here, has been excruciating. How are working moms able to do this every day without their hearts breaking into a thousand pieces?
Shelby removes an elastic hairband she’s wearing on her wrist, gathers her long, dark hair, and secures it in a ponytail. “I think I cried my entire shift the first time I left Christian with Mom. Got good tip money that night. You may want to try it.”
With our busy schedules and her son’s bout with the flu, we’ve been like ships passing in the night. I’ll need to plan a girls’ night out with her and Raquelle soon. After being surrounded by male energy twenty-four/seven, I’m desperate for some female companionship.
“Invitation to spend Thanksgiving with us still stands,” I remind her.
“I wish we could, but Grandma would kill me if I skipped out on the family turkey supper. After feeding us, we’re put to hard labor. Christmas decorations. By the time we’re finished, her house looks like a Vegas casino that can be seen from space.”
Constantine has the same plan. There are boxes upon boxes of stuff he bought that are currently taking up the space that used to be Hendrix’s room. I can’t wait to see what the inflatable dinosaur looks like.
Froth sloshes over the lip of the pitcher of beer when Keith sets it down on Shelby’s tray. He adds four empty pint glasses.
“Thanks,” she tells him and promptly carries everything over to a group of after-work businessmen watching the football game on the big screen. I keep my wary eye on the blond who prefers looking at Shelby rather than the game being played.
“Bryan is harmless,” Keith says good-humoredly.
“As long as he looks and doesn’t touch.” Because the second he crosses that line, he’s going to wind up with ten broken fingers, and the wedding ring he’s sporting shoved up his ass.
“Table six.” Keith plops an IPA down in front of me and winks.
“Winking kind of gives you away.” I roll my eyes at his husky chuckle and grab the bottle by the neck.
Those damnable light-gray eyes quietly follow me as I walk over. “Would you like to order anything else? You must be hungry after staring at me for three hours.”
He slides out the chair next to him. “Sit with me.”
“I’m working.”
“Your break is coming up.”
It’s infuriating that he knows that. “Which I’ll be spending in the back room, eating cold pasta salad.”
“I miss you.”
God damn him. I miss him too. I see him every day, but it’s the emotional distance that hurts.
I know it’s a chasm I created, but I didn’t know any other way to get through to him and make him understand that going after Viktor on his own—Pyotr notwithstanding—was reckless and dangerous.
We’re stronger together. His battles are my battles. That’s what loving someone—
Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!
“Shelby will close out your tab.” I ram into someone in my haste to get away and get beer spilled all over me.
“I am so sorry,” the guy stutters, immediately lowering his head and backing away when I pull at the bottom of my shirt that’s suctioned to my stomach.
I don’t need any kowtowing Society bullshit right now. It just makes me angrier, especially when I can feel Aleksander’s looming presence at my back.
“Not your fault,” I tell the guy and storm off.
Just as I open the door to Keith’s office, Aleksander pushes his way inside, his intimidating size blocking the only way out. “This avoidance crap is getting old.”
I toss the contents of my bag before remembering that I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes with me to change into. “So is your stalking.”
“I wouldn’t have to stalk you if you’d just talk to me.”
My disbelieving laugh is loud in the small room. “That’s the funniest lie you’ve ever told me. You’ve been stalking me since the day we met.”
“We met when we were six,” he replies matter-of-factly.
If glares could melt flesh and bone, he’d be a puddle on the floor. “You know what I mean. And I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
Spotting one of Keith’s dress shirts hanging from a hook on the wall, I grab it and take it into the bathroom. Of course, Aleksander follows me in there, too.
“If that’s what needs to happen. Hit me. Yell at me. Do whatever the hell you need to do, so we can get back to being us.”
I yank off my sodden tee and toss it into the trash, then slip on Keith’s shirt over my sports bra. He’s much bulkier than I am, and the hem reaches my knees. It smells like his aftershave, but I’d rather have that than smell like a brewery for the rest of the night.
Rolling up the long sleeves, I meet Aleksander’s steely gaze in the mirror. “There is no us.”
Stepping close, his finger lightly brushes over the curve of my shoulder, and goose flesh instantly erupts all over my body. He’s barely touching me, but I feel it everywhere.
“There has always been an us, Songbird.”
My breaths grow shallow when his finger moves slowly down the sleeve of my scarred arm to my hand. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
I squeeze my eyes shut when his thumb lightly sweeps over the trio of my diamond wedding bands. “That’s why.”
His hand furls around my wrist, and with a gentle tug, he turns me around. It takes me a moment before I’m able to look up at him, and when I do, the quiet heartache etched into his face almost destroys me.
“I took a vow of forever, Aleksander. That means something to me.”
“I would never ask you to break that vow.”
Needing an anchor to steady me, I grab hold of the belt loops of his jeans. “I can’t be the woman you want me to be.”
“I never wanted you to be anything other than you.”
Why does he have to make this so hard?
“Then what do you want from me?”
He lifts his hand to my chest and presses his palm flat over my racing heart. “I just want a small place inside here. This is my home.”
“I have to admit, that was a bloody good line.”
I jump a good five feet at the sound of Hendrix’s voice and crack my elbow against the side of the porcelain sink. Motherfucker, that hurt. Rubbing out the ache, I move away from Aleksander.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Hendrix leans a casual shoulder on the jamb like he has all damn day.
“We were just talking.”
He quirks a haughty blond brow, his blue eyes roaming down the open shirt I haven’t buttoned up yet. “I can see that.”
I yank the ends together. “I got beer spilled on me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s Keith’s shirt.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hendrix’s caustic derision doesn’t seem to faze Aleksander. “Don’t be a dick by trying to make her feel guilty.”
“Is there something she needs to feel guilty about?”
“No,” I immediately refute, even though I’m feeling the exact opposite.
Never taking his eyes off Aleksander, Hendrix crooks his finger. “Come here, Firefly.”
A faint alarm bell goes up when I can’t get a read on his exact mood, but I go to him without hesitation.
And that is my first mistake. Never underestimate Hendrix Knight.
Gripping the front of the shirt, my feet fly off the floor when I’m hauled out of the bathroom and slammed against the office wall.
“Don’t you fucking move,” he says, but I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or to Aleksander.
And I honestly don’t care. Arousal explodes like a Molotov cocktail, the fucked-up part of my brain craving more of his punishment. Pain and pleasure. They are my addiction, and Hendrix knows just how to play me.
“Let her go. Now,” Aleksander says, his tone laced with menace.
I can’t stop the moan Hendrix pulls out of me when his tongue invades my mouth, his kiss both possessive and dominating.
“Did you know he likes to watch us through the cameras? Watch all the filthy things we do to you. How much you love it and beg for more.”
Wait. What? My startled gaze flies to Aleksander.
“Fuck you,” he snaps, not denying it.
“I’m not the person you want to say that to, am I?” Hendrix bites my lip and licks away the bead of blood that wells.
He snakes his hand under my waistband, and my legs give out when he teases my pussy, his fingers sparking an intensity of pleasure with every stroke of my clit.
“She’s so fucking wet,” he says, bringing his middle finger to his mouth, effectively giving Aleksander the middle finger while sucking my essence like a lollipop.
Heat fires behind Aleksander’s cloud-storm eyes. “Stop.”
Undeterred, Hendrix nips a line up my throat, his breath hot on my cheek when he says, “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”
I’m ashamed of the thrill that races through me when I see the evidence of Aleksander’s arousal straining the fly of his blue jeans.
Hendrix positions himself behind me, his wide palm hot against my stomach. “You think you can take what’s mine, Stepanoff? I fucking dare you.”
I know the beast that lives within the heart of my husband. The twisted one created by Natasha Zephyros. But I don’t sense that animal trying to escape its chains. No. This is different.
Aleksander’s posture goes rigid at Hendrix’s challenge, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. He says nothing when Hendrix cups between my legs, then claims me with a deep, sensual kiss that melts every bone in my body.
“You want this, baby girl?” he asks, his voice low in my ear, seeking my permission before taking this any further.
I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t. I should tell Hendrix no. That I don’t want this. But I can’t bring myself to utter the words.
My eyes meet Aleksander’s. I’m about to cross a line I won’t be able to come back from. And it terrifies me that I don’t want to cross it—I want to hurl myself over it.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” His praise sends shivers surging through my body.
Curving a hand under my thigh, he widens my stance.
Taking his time, he glides fingertips over my belly chain before slipping them under my yoga pants, and I moan at how good it feels when he sinks two fingers inside me, his thumb doing delicious things to my clit that have my moans growing more desperate.
Wanting more, I rock my hips forward, following the movement of his fingers as he fucks me with them, the glorious sensations amplified knowing Aleksander is there. Watching.
Hendrix pinches my nipple through the thin, stretchy material of my sports bra, and a jolt of hedonistic electricity crackles from my breast to my clit, coiling into a hot ball of desire in my core.
Reaching an arm back, I guide his mouth to mine.
Our tongues dance, our kiss as pornographic as the way he’s touching me while Aleksander silently looks on.
It’s debauched and inappropriate, but it feels so fucking good.
“He can’t take his eyes off you. He wants you so fucking badly. Show him how beautiful you are when you come.”
It takes mere seconds before my orgasm hits like a comet striking the ground, obliterating everything in its path, its power a violent, unrelenting force that sends me soaring.
But along with euphoria is guilt when reality comes crashing back.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, sweet girl.” Hendrix presses a soft kiss to the curve of my neck, his fingers still deep inside me.
The office door cracks open. “Hey, country girl. Keith needs…” Shelby freezes like a deer caught in high beams. “Never mind,” she squeaks and quickly slams the door closed.
Her interruption is a metaphorical bucket of ice water being dumped over my head.
Rushing to put my clothes to right, I fumble with the buttons as I push them through the small buttonholes.
“I, uh…I…I need to…” Securing the last button at the neck, I tie the shirt ends in a knot at my waist. “I need to get back to work.”
I can’t look at either one of them as I clumsily head for the door, my feet tripping over themselves because my legs are useless noodles.
“Want a beer?” I hear Hendrix ask Aleksander as I literally run out of the office.
Shelby is all giddy smirks when I get to the bar. “Soooo,” she says, drawing out the long ‘o.’
Hendrix and Aleksander stroll past us without a word and head to the back table.
I know my face is as red as a ripe tomato. “We are never, not ever, going to talk about it.”
“But—”
“No.”
“I have so many questions.”
I fan my face with a bar menu. “Not one word.”
“But—”
“No.”
Keith grabs a bottle of tequila from under the bar and lines up shot glasses for a giggling group of sorority girls wearing matching sweaters with their Greek colors and insignia. He does a double-take when he glances our way. “Is that my shirt?”