Chapter 23
23
Fiona
T he scents of leather, rosewater, saffron, and jasmine flare around me.
Kirill.
I smile, curl into him, then open and close my eyelids a few times. It's still dark in the room, but something tells me it's later in the day. I kiss the scar on the back of his shoulder, then trace it with my finger.
He stirs, glancing over at me with furrowed brows. In a gravelly tone, he asks, "Everything okay?"
"Mm-hmm." I lean closer, pressing my lips against his.
He turns over to face me, sliding his hand through my hair and gripping it tight.
I slide my tongue deeper into his mouth, the ache growing between my thighs.
He groans, and his erection presses against my leg.
I murmur, "How's my husband?"
His lips twitch. "I don't have any complaints right now."
I smirk. "No?"
"Nope." He kisses me deeper.
"What about now?" I tease, sliding on top of him and then sinking over his erection.
"Fuck, Fiona," he mumbles against my lips, adding, "You're going to make me get used to waking up like this."
I softly giggle and then dig my knees into the mattress on either side of him, taking as much of him inside me as possible. I whimper at the stretch and fullness.
He slides his hand to the curve of my breast, teasing my nipple, then moving it higher until it's brushing my throat.
Tingles explode down my spine. I warn, "Don't torture me."
One finger at a time pushes against my clavicle, as if it's a row of piano keys. He releases his hand in my hair and grabs my hip, moving me faster over him.
"Yes," I breathe, returning to his lips, feeling my body light up.
"So fucking wet, little bird," he says, then presses harder against my neck.
I moan, and a quiver runs to my core.
Retreating from our kiss, he studies me, pressing one finger at a time harder than before.
"Please," I beg, pinning him with a challenging, desperate stare.
A flush crawls up his cheeks. He grits his teeth, continuing to study me with curiosity, pressing his fingers harder and thrusting deeper.
Tingles explode in all my cells, and adrenaline pools to the point I feel like I can't handle it. "Kirill! Please," I beg, needing the rush of the high .
He continues to play my neck like a piano, banging on the keys, studying me more intensely as his cock slides faster against my walls, tormenting me further.
"Kirill," I choke out.
"Patience, my queen," he warns, slowing his thrusts.
My cells buzz with life. I close my eyes, begging, "Please. I-I need it."
"Open your eyes," he orders.
I obey.
He tilts his head, torturing me.
A wave of heat rolls over me, and sweat beads on my skin. I'm buzzing with anticipation as I attempt to move faster.
He doesn't let me, holding my hip firmly, taunting, "A queen obeys her king, little bird. You'll come slowly at first." He strokes his thumb over my pulse, gliding his cock in and out of me at a controlled speed.
"Please," I plead, on the verge of euphoria.
"Shh. Your king has you," he murmurs, kneading my pulse.
The adrenaline reaches its limit, slowly flooding my entire existence until I'm convulsing. My eyes roll, and I cry out, "I-I…oh God!" I tip my head back, but it can't move far in his grasp.
"Beautiful bride," he praises, keeping steady.
His scent grows thicker, enveloping me until there's no boundary between us. The high wanes, and he releases his grip on my hip, bringing his hand to the other side of my neck.
I moan, moving faster over his cock, chasing my orgasm. The desire intensifies, and the anticipation of all ten fingers wrapping around me tighter taunts me.
He grunts, his blues turning darker .
"Do it," I order.
His eyes narrow. He thrusts so hard, I'm sure he's inside my stomach, and his fingers curl around my neck, cutting off a portion of my air supply.
Incoherent, muffled sounds fill the air, and I realize they're mine. Zings ricochet in my core.
He squeezes so hard the remaining oxygen disappears. He forces my pussy over him by pushing me down using the heels of his hands on my collarbone just as he thrusts the hardest yet.
A rush of dopamine surges through me, making me see white, then black. My entire body soars, and it's like I'm looking down and seeing us.
He flips me onto my back, loosens his grip on my neck, and brings his lips to my ears, continuing to thrust inside me, demanding, "Come back to me, little bird."
I flutter my eyelids several times and then choke, gasping for air.
"That's it," he praises, kissing my lobe, his hot breath adding to the chaos.
I gather as much air as possible and turn my head. I flick my tongue back into his mouth, not satiated, wanting more.
He doesn't stop thrusting, and his sweat merges with mine. He takes my wrists and pins them over my head. His other hand stays on my throat.
Another wave of endorphins crashes through me. I order, "Again."
His lips twitch against mine. He scolds, "So greedy."
"Yes. I'm your greedy wife. Now, please," I beg.
He pulls his head back, pinning his blues on mine, taking shallow breaths. His pointer finger strokes my chin. He grits something in Russian, and his erection thickens.
"Kirill," I shriek just before he cuts my oxygen off. A deluge of euphoria hits me. Convulsions overpower me, and I violently thrash against him.
His guttural sounds echo around us, and I grip the gold bars of the headboard.
The white stars in my vision turn to black. The out-of-body experience resurfaces, and I don't know how long I'm out.
He sharply barks, "Come on, Fiona. Look at me."
I flutter my eyelids until he comes back into focus just in time for him to growl, "Jesus fucking Christ, Fiona," as he pumps his seed deep into me, filling me and giving me another shot of my high.
He collapses over me, releases my wrists, and we both breathe hard. Our chests push together, and our bodies lie in a pool of arousal. When I can finally breathe, I slide my hand into his hair and kiss him near his ear.
He moves his head, then rolls over, tugging me with him, and stares at me in question.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He hesitates and shakes his head. "Nothing's wrong, little bird. Nothing."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
He softly smiles. "I don't know. I guess I'm happy."
I grin, chirping, "Because of me?"
He chuckles. "Of course it's because of you. Why else would I be happy?"
I bite on my lip .
He chuckles again and strokes my ass cheek. "What do you want to do today? And I promise I'll make it up to you for our hijacked honeymoon."
"Aw, that's sweet of you," I tease.
His tone is laced with remorse when he says, "I'm serious, Fiona. I feel really bad. We didn't get to stop at any of the places that you wanted."
"It's okay. Plus, it's not your fault. Besides, you said we can go on the yacht anytime, right?"
He nods. "Yes, of course."
I kiss him on the neck. "Okay, then. We'll go yachting at a different time. Speaking of time, what time do you think it is?"
He shrugs. "Probably afternoon, I would think."
"When did you come to bed?"
"I don't know. It was late."
"You probably need more sleep," I suggest.
He sits up and turns, planting his feet on the floor. "No, I'm good. And we have some things we need to take care of today."
"What?"
He pulls me onto his lap and pushes my hair behind my ear. "I think you need to go talk to your boss."
I groan. "And we were having such a nice day."
"No time like the present," he states.
I tilt my head, asking, "Why do you always say that?"
"Because it's better to get through things than to let them fester. Once it's done and over, it's over. Stalling only causes drama," he declares.
I think about what he said and then nod. "You're right. "
"Then you want me to take you to work so you can talk to Skylar?" He arches his eyebrows.
I slide off him and mumble, "No time like the present. I better shower."
We shower, and he reveals a vanity full of makeup, hair tools, and perfumes. Another closet, even more amazing than the one on the yacht, displays more designer clothes. I gush, "You really do know how to spoil a girl, don't you?"
He beams, and I decide I really like it when he looks happy. He kisses me on the lips and states, "I'll spoil you all day, every day if you let me."
"Don't tease a girl," I chirp, feeling as happy as he looks. But the feeling doesn't last long.
The issues with Skylar and Adrian aren't going to be easy to work through, and I'm unsure what to expect. But Kirill is right. It's better to figure it out now rather than avoid it.
We finish getting dressed, leave the building, and slide into Kirill's SUV. His driver takes us to Skylar's office and pulls up to the curb.
Kirill asks, "Do you want me to go in with you?"
I think about it for a moment, then shake my head. "It's probably best if I go alone for the moment."
"Okay, I'm here if you need me," he states.
"Thanks." I grab the back of his head and kiss him.
He returns my affection, then groans, murmuring against my lips, "You're not motivating me to let you out of the car."
I softly laugh. "Then let's stay inside and have fun." I reach for his erection.
He grabs my hand, retreats from our kisses, and sternly declares, "Rain check. "
"Ugh, you're no fun."
He winks, gets out of the SUV, and reaches in to help me out.
From behind us, I hear Adrian roar, "You have a lot of fucking nerve!" He then spits out a bunch of Russian.
My pulse goes haywire as I jump out of the SUV.
Kirill turns to face him, claiming, "I'm not here for trouble."
Adrian pins his seething, icy-blue eyes on me, then Kirill, snarling, "Petrovs are not welcome here."
"It's a city street. You don't own it," Kirill growls.
Adrian points at him and warns, "Don't you come near my wife's office ever again."
"Adrian!" I shout, stepping between them.
He scowls at me. "How could you, Fiona?"
Flooded with guilt, I offer, "Adrian, let's go inside and talk."
"Adrian," Skylar frets as she rushes outside.
"Dad," Blue cries out, hot on her mom's heels.
He doesn't look at them, just reaches over me, and jabs his finger into Kirill's chest, threatening, "If you come here again, I will kill you."
I push at his chest. "Adrian, stop."
He puts his hand on my arm. "Fiona?—"
"Don't you touch my wife," Kirill shouts, grabbing me and moving me behind him.
Skylar steps between them, facing Adrian. She puts her hand on his cheek. "Adrian, go inside, please."
"He's not to be here," he seethes, hatred coming off him in waves .
"Dad, please come inside," Blue pleads.
He keeps his gaze pinned on Kirill, gritting out, "You aren't welcome here or anywhere near my family."
"Adrian, go inside," Skylar orders again.
I face Kirill. "Please, get into the SUV."
He stares at me.
"Please," I beg.
He hesitates, then points at Adrian, reiterating, "I'm not here for trouble."
"But you're here, aren't you, Petrov?" Adrian spits.
Kirill's eyes light up.
"Inside!" I shout, opening the door, afraid that Adrian and Kirill will get physical.
Kirill glances at me.
"Please," I plead.
He takes a deep breath, tosses another scowl at Adrian, then tells Skylar, "I'm sorry for the disruption. It was not my intention."
She gapes at him.
"Do not speak to my wife!" Adrian bellows.
I push Kirill toward the SUV.
He looks at me again.
"Please," I desperately repeat.
He finally caves and slides inside.
I shut the door, asserting, "Let's go inside and talk."
"So it's true? You married a Petrov?" Adrian seethes .
"Adrian," Skylar warns.
"No. She doesn't get to marry a Petrov and then come here. How could you?" he accuses, as if I've betrayed him.
Tears fill my eyes. "Adrian, please. Let's talk."
"No. How could you do this, Fiona?" he barks.
"Dad, let's go inside," Blue tries.
He spins and points to the door. "Get inside. Now, Blue."
"Dad—"
"I said to get inside. There's a Petrov around. Get inside. Now," he roars.
"Do what he says," Skylar orders.
Blue whines, "I'm not a kid."
"Get inside," Adrian shouts.
"Now," Skylar insists.
Blue shakes her head and stomps off into the building.
"How dare you bring him around my family," Adrian scolds. "And consider your employment here over."
"Adrian!" Skylar reprimands.
"No. We've talked about this, and I'm not changing my mind. I don't care how long she's worked for you or who her mother is. I will not tolerate Petrovs around my family," Adrian declares.
My insides quiver. "What are you saying?"
His gaze darkens. "What do you think I'm saying? Petrovs are not welcome here. That includes your husband, and you, if that's who you now are."
"I'm still the same person," I cry out .
"No. When you decided to marry a Petrov, you decided whose side you're on," he claims.
"Adrian, please go inside," Skylar repeats.
More anger fills his expression. "And leave you out here with a Petrov? Never." He moves Skylar behind him and then turns to her. "Go inside."
"I'm not going inside until you come with me," she says.
"I mean it, Skylar. Go inside."
She shakes her head. "No. Adrian, you're not staying out here. Let's all go inside. Fiona's right. We need to talk."
"She's not coming in the office ever again unless she divorces him and admits what a mistake this is."
Skylar's eyes widen. She looks at me helplessly.
I reach for the car to steady myself, my eyes watering and my body trembling. I try again. "Adrian, please. Let's go inside and talk."
"I'm sorry, Fiona. We've loved you like a daughter, but I will not stand for Petrovs to be anywhere near my family, especially after all they've done," he says, his jaw ticking.
Hurt fills me, but I feel horrible for him as well. I soften my tone and put my hand on his arm. "Adrian, I'm sorry for what happened to Natalia, but Kirill didn't do it. It's not his fault."
He snarls, "They kidnapped and repeatedly raped my sister in a whorehouse and then murdered her. And you want me to let that scumbag inside my wife's place of work?"
My tears fall faster. I beg, "Please. If you just get to know him?—"
"I'm never going to get to know a Petrov. Never!"
"I'm sorry, but go home, Fiona. We'll talk later. Adrian, let's go inside," Skylar demands, tugging on him and giving me an I'm sorry look .
He looks at her, warning, "I mean it, Skylar. Petrovs will not be near my family."
She nods. "Let's go inside."
He gives me another disgusted look full of disappointment, then makes sure she's in front of him as he guides her inside. Before he disappears, he turns and gives me another heart-wrenching look. Then he slams the door.
I stand there, shaking and sobbing.
Kirill opens the SUV door, warning, "Don't ever tell me to get in the car again. I will never stand by and watch something like that again."
I look up at him, crying harder.
He tugs me into him, adding, "You will not be treated this way."
Feeling like I deserved Adrian's treatment, and still trying to process everything that just happened, I manage to choke out, "It's okay."
"Come, my queen. Let's go," he says.
Not knowing what else to do, I get into the SUV.
He slides in beside me and pulls me into his arms.
I sob until we get back to the penthouse. As soon as we step inside, my phone rings.
My stomach curls again. I answer, "Skylar, I'm so sorry."
She sighs. "Fiona, I'm sorry too."
"Am I really fired?" I ask with more tears forming.
A beat of silence follows and then she admits, "I don't know what's going to happen. We have to let the dust settle and then have a proper conversation."
I sniffle, trying to stop a fresh onslaught of tears, my face already a wet mess .
She continues, "I value and love you, but I don't know how to handle this right now."
I don't know how to respond.
She asks, "Are you still there?"
My voice shakes, when I reply, "Y-yes. I'm s-sorry."
"I wish we could talk right now, but Adrian's too upset. But after what they did to his sister, I can't go against him on this. Give me some time to see if I can get him to change his mind, okay?"
"Skylar, it's not fair," I say.
A moment of silence fills the line.
She lowers her voice, asking, "How could you marry a Petrov, Fiona? Knowing what they've done to our families and others..."
"Kirill isn't like that," I insist.
She sighs again. "Fiona, for your sake, I hope you're right, and we're all wrong."
"You are," I tell her.
"Again, I hope you're right. I'll call you when I can." She hangs up.
I stand there, unsure how I'll ever get the people I love to accept my husband for who he is and not for the blood that runs through his veins.