Chapter 18
Standing in the bathroom, I run my fingertips over the edge of the bandage on my chest. Steam billows out from the shower behind me where Artem stands under the hot stream.
When we returned from his father’s bunker, I took a long, hot shower while he got rid of the dead raccoon on the porch and finished bringing wood inside for the night. While the heat from my shower worked its magic on my tense muscles, I thought over what Artem had told me on the drive back.
He explained Seamus’ disappearing act when he was a small boy, how his mother had to navigate single motherhood with no family to support her. She’d come to Boston from Russia with her sister and brother, but when she became involved with Seamus, an Irishman, they’d turned their backs.
Artem had grown up years before any little boy should have to, and then when his stepfather died, he’d had to do it all over again. This time taking on the responsibility of two little girls. And then he’d lost them all.
What if being with me makes him lose everything he’s built for himself?
My thoughts are cut short when the water turns off and the shower door slides open.
My eyes flicker straight to him, watching his muscles tighten and lengthen with his movements as he drags the towel across his skin. So many tattoos cover his chest and arms, but there are almost as many scars.
Battle wounds of a warrior who stands in protection for my family. For me.
He catches me looking in the mirror and grins.
“Don’t get cocky.” I roll my eyes and unwind the towel from my hair, letting the wet tresses fall down my back.
He wraps the towel around his waist, tucking the end in before stepping out of the shower.
I get a glimpse of the bandage on his arm and laugh. “Don’t we make a great pair?”
He eyes my chest. His muscles tighten.
“Does it hurt still?” He stands behind me, the heat from his shower radiating against my back.
“No.” I lie. It throbs a little but if I tell him that he might think twice about touching me. And right now, all I can think about is him getting his hands on me.
“What about your arm?” I meet his gaze in the mirror. The vicious hunger there makes my heart speed up.
“A scratch.”
“When do you need another shot?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Not for two days.” He picks up the brush on the counter and drags it through my hair. “Your hearing is back to normal?”
“It is.” He shifts his stance, gliding his left hand up my back, into my hair where he makes a fist. He drags my head back until my neck is exposed and I’m leaning on his shoulder.
His skin remains damp and warm from the shower, but nothing compared to how wet and hot he’s making me. I press my body back into him, needing more contact with him.
“You were a good girl for daddy today,” he whispers in my ear. A shiver shoots straight down my spine and between my legs.
He presses the back of the hairbrush to my hip. “I’m still going to spank you, though.”
My body stiffens, but my insides melt into a goo that should be studied by scientists. They might be able to find a cure for this insanity.
“But you just said I was good.”
“You were a good girl.” He drags his tongue along the side of my neck. “My very good girl. But sometimes I want to see your ass red for no reason. And you’ll be daddy’s good girl and take it, won’t you, Babygirl?”
He tightens his fist in my hair, sending electricity zipping through my scalp. But it’s all connected to my clit. Every bite of pain he gives me anywhere on my body answers directly to my libido.
I moan without even trying to fight it. What’s the point? He knows he can take whatever he wants from me, and I’ll give it freely. Where is all the control I had before he showed up in Boston?
For years I’d been able to keep myself from showing him or anyone around us how much I really wanted him. I never mentioned him to my brothers or their wives. If they brought him up in conversation, I forced myself to appear uninterested.
Now? He gets close to me, and I can barely control my breathing, much less any other part of my body.
“You haven’t said yes, daddy. Does that mean you need some convincing?” He scrapes his teeth along my neck, and I groan again.
“No, shit, I mean yes…” I press my ass into him, feeling his hard length and wiggling until it settles between my asscheeks. “I mean yes, daddy. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
He chuckles, biting down on my earlobe. “That’s my good girl. Take off this robe and bend over the sink. I want you to watch me as I paddle your ass.”
My throat closes around a low sound trying to climb out.
“You’re still holding my hair,” I say catching his eyes in the mirror.
He lifts his brow. “Figure it out.”
I want to roll my eyes at the arrogance in his voice, but I don’t want to ruin this moment. Instead, I keep my gaze locked with his while I untie the robe and let the satin material glide over my shoulders and fall into a puddle at our feet.
Pride floods his eyes. “Good girl. Now bend over.”
I lean forward, pressing my forearms against the chilled bathroom counter. He moves with me, keeping his grip firm but not pulling on my hair.
Stepping to my side, he lowers his gaze to my ass. He wets his lips, a man starved.
“Your ass is so pretty. I fucking love your curves.” Holding the brush, he grabs a handful of my asscheek, squeezing. “When I heard you telling Kaz you were cutting out carbs because your ass was getting too big, it took everything in me not to step in right there.”
He pulls my hair, bringing my head back more and smiling at me.
“Thank god you love those vatruskas so much.” He smiles as he mentions the danishes I’ve been known to devour on occasion.
“Was that you always asking Kaz’s housekeeper to make them?”
He laughs. “I may have mentioned how much you enjoy them.”
“Breaking into my apartment and putting security cameras, stalking me the last year, and now this? Maybe I should be the one holding the hairbrush.” I lift an eyebrow.
He raises his hand and brings the brush down hard against my ass. The impact pushes me forward half an inch, and I grunt from the initial contact. The sting spreads a moment later, but it’s lost in a new burst of pain with the second smack.
“I was kidding!” I try to laugh, but he’s lost to his rhythm.
Heat spreads quickly across my skin, first my ass, then blossoming in my chest, then lower to between my thighs. Each thump of the brush ignites a new flame of arousal until I’m moaning.
His fingers tighten in my scalp, creating a new sensation. Hot tingles mix with the sting of the brush.
“Your ass is so pretty, Babygirl. Nice and red.” He rubs the back of the brush over my abused skin. Dropping the brush to the countertop, he opts to use his hand next, slapping and grabbing my ass as though I’m his plaything.
I’ve never been more wet for a man in my life. When I catch his reflection in the mirror, he’s biting his lip. There’s a large knot of muscle in his jaw, as though he’s fighting to remain in control.
I arch my back, lifting my ass up toward him, and he growls. It’s pure animal, the way he looks at me now.
“Fuck, Babygirl. I need you.” He strokes his hand over my ass, down my thighs.
I reach behind and hook my fingers into his towel, tugging until he brings his eyes to mine.
“I need you, too.” The words are heavy, hanging in the air for a long moment before they crash to the floor. His expression softens as he understands I’m not talking just about this, about his touch and his cock. I’m talking about him.
When I bring my gaze to meet his, my breath catches. Emotion, filled with everything we’ve never put into words for each other, fills his expression. It’s not something I hear him say, but something I feel. A warmth, new and more intimate than the heat of his hand, spreads through my chest.
He releases his grip on me and pulls me up to my full height, spinning me to face him. He pushes my hair away from my face and kisses me everywhere. He kisses my cheeks, my chin, my forehead, the tip of my nose, before he claims my mouth.
I slide my hands around his waist, shoving the towel away. He steps into me, deepening the kiss. We’re swimming in passion. I’m barely able to keep myself from drowning. And I’m not sure I want to.
His breath is hot against my skin when he finally breaks away and presses his forehead to mine. I lick my lips, the taste of him lingering. Reaching between us, I wrap my hand around his cock, drawing a pained groan from him. I stroke him, and his fingers curl, biting into me as he grips my face.
“On your knees,” he commands in a growl.
As I sink to the floor, he wraps his hand around his thick shaft, stroking himself until I’m eyes-to-cock with him.
“Open, Babygirl.” He brushes the head of his dick across my lips. “Open for daddy.”
I wet my lips, then do as he says, his cock sliding in before I’m ready. I press my hands to his thighs to balance myself.
There’s a hint of pain in his groan when I wrap my lips tight around him and begin to suck. He’s heavy against my tongue, thick enough to fill my throat when he pushes further down. I swallow him, and he mutters something in Russian.
I swirl my tongue beneath him, finding the sensitive spot and flicking over it.
Another curse in Russian.
I wrap my hand around the bottom of his shaft, stroking him as I suck on his cock.
He lets loose a string of curses, and he moves his hand back into my hair. Either to keep me from stopping, or to keep himself upright. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.
In the past doing this, being on my knees for a man, left me feeling dirty and gross. But here with Artem, it’s different. It’s empowering. This man has the strength of a black bear, but he’s barely able to hold himself up right now because of me.
“Enough,” he barks.
Before I even register he’s said something, he grabs me under my arms and lifts me to my feet and then up over his shoulder.
“Artem! What’s wrong?” I push against his back when my stomach hits his shoulder.
“I need more than your mouth.” He carries me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He kicks the door shut with his foot, then tosses me onto the bed.
He climbs onto the bed, blanketing me with his body. Framing my face with both hands, he kisses the breath right out of me. When he’s finished, he lines up our eyes and the emotion swimming in his mirrors mine now.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. I can hear everything his soul is saying.
I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him back down to me, and kiss his cheek, then his mouth.
“I thought you said you needed me,” I tease, biting on his lower lip.
“Is your chest okay?” He lifts up.
“If you stop now, Artem, I think I’ll have to kill you.”
“Tell me you’re not in pain,” he orders, lowering his eyes to the bandage on my chest.
“It’s just a cut. I’m fine. No pain. At least not there.”
His eyes warm again. “Where does my baby hurt?”
I slink my hand between our bodies, wrapping my hand around his shaft and dragging his cock through my soaking wet folds.
“Here.”
“Then I better kiss it and make it all better.” He winks, then disappears down the length of my body.
I start to protest, because I don’t want his tongue, I want him inside me. I want to be filled with every part of him.
But then he spreads my thighs and lowers his head between them, and I’m lost.
He eats me as though he’s been starving in the woods for decades. I’m barely able to make sounds as his tongue darts and swirls. When I move my thighs, he yanks them apart again, slapping them.
The sting increases the fire burning inside me, and I shove my hands into his hair.
With a growl, he pushes up and blankets me again, plowing straight into me.
I forget to breathe.
“Fuck, Babygirl.” He bites my neck, then licks away the sting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
“Yes.” I nod, surprised my vocal cords are working. “So fucking hard.”
He smashes his mouth against mine, thrusting into me again. And then we’re lost to the rhythm.
The room fills with our moans. He kisses me, I kiss him, both of us starved for each other.
He pulls back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild with arousal and something else.
I touch his cheek, knowing what he wants to say and needing him to say it.
“I’ve watched you from the shadows for too long. No more.” His throat works as he swallows hard. “I’ve said it before, but you need to know, Elana. I mean this when I say it. You are mine. I won’t let you go now. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you.”
Tears sting the back of my eyes.
“I’m yours,” I say with a nod. He stills, needing more. He wants it all. I’ll give it to him. “Forever, Artem. I’m yours. I’m insanely in love with you.”
The weight of a thousand lies lifts from my soul as I make my confession.
“Good.” He nods.
I pinch his shoulder. “Good?”
He captures my mouth again, slowly fucking me again. “You’ve made me a man obsessed.”
He drags my head back and runs his tongue over my throat.
“You’re all I think about. All I crave.” He bites on my earlobe. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
I’ve heard Alexander say it to Megan enough times to know the phrase. He loves me.
I fist my hand in his hair and pull his head back. When his eyes flash danger, I smile.
“Good.”
He growls and shakes away my hand, thrusting hard into me. When my body tightens and my climax is a breath away, he bites my earlobe again.
“Be a good girl. Come for Daddy.”
On command, my orgasm tears through me. He drives harder into me, fucking me straight through the tsunami of pleasure. He bites down on my shoulder, pulling my hair.
“My good girl,” he grunts, fucking me harder as his own release sweeps him up.
Moments go by. Our ragged breathing the only sound. A thin layer of sweat covers us, but it’s no matter. There’s something else here with us now, something bigger, more important.
He loves me.
Slowly, he pulls away from me, settling beside me and pulling me into his chest. He kisses the top of my head. My ass throbs, my scalp stings, but my heart is full.
“Elana,” he says softly, holding me tightly. “We can’t hide away here forever.”
I cover his mouth with my hand, not wanting to hear the next thing he says. Not because I disagree, but because I’m not ready. This is all I want, the warmth and love of being in his arms.
He pulls my arm away and rests my hand on his chest. “Elana.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“We’ll come up with a plan.”
I snuggle into his chest, wincing at the discomfort from my wound.
“All right. A plan.”
“But not tonight.” He holds me tighter, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt from the bed, the cabin, the state.
I hold him back. “We’ll make a plan tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then.”