Chapter 15 - Valentin
The hot water licking at my bruised ribs feels like a balm, and I sink deeper into the tub.
The steam rises around me, and every movement I make sends agonizing pain through my body. Within minutes, the heat begins to help and eases the ache just enough to make it bearable.
The night is dead quiet, and I close my eyes, reveling in the sounds around me: the gentle chirp of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.
Just then, I hear a twig snapping and sit up straighter, scanning for the source of the sound. My body relaxes the minute I see Gela standing at the edge of the pool area, looking ethereal with the moonlight high above her.
She's still in those jeans and that blouse from earlier. Didn’t she go to bed? Had she stayed up? Just seeing her again makes me feel like an idiot for walking away, all because she'd told me it was ‘just sex.’
I should have fought harder.
“Valentin, what happened?” Her voice is gentle and afraid, and her gaze flickers over my ribs, where the bruises are the darkest.
“Come here,” I say hoarsely, extending a hand.
She remains frozen for a split second, but something in her gives way, and she walks over without a word to sit at the edge of the hot tub. She dips her feet in and looks down at me with her brows furrowed in concern.
“What happened to you?”
While the water acts as a balm, I realize there’s something else I truly need to forget about my shitty day. Without thinking, I reach for her wrist and slide another wet arm around her waist and drag her in with a swift tug.
She falls into the water with a surprised squeal, still fully clothed, and to my surprise, she’s laughing.
“Valentin!” she splutters, pushing wet hair from her face. “Are you insane? My clothes—”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling her even closer until she’s breathless and staring right into my eyes. The blood gushing in my head is so damn strong, and delivering one message to my brain: she feels like gravity.
Without thinking, I kiss her.
For a moment, I wonder if I pushed her too far, for she stiffens. But the very next second, her arms wind around my neck, and she melts against me.
The kiss is soft, a whisper in the night, and I cup her face. She lets out a tiny little pants and tilts her head up to kiss back stronger, and when I slide my hands down to the curve of her ass and squeeze, she gasps.
I slide a hand down her neck and feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers. I carry on lower, over her collarbone, down to her breast. Even through her wet shirt, I can feel her nipple harden to the touch of my fingers. I pinch gently, drawing another soft moan from her that I catch with my lips.
My other hand grips her waist, pulling her closer, guiding her to straddle me. She follows willingly, her thighs wrapping around my hips as she settles on my lap. I can feel her heat against my hardening cock, and she feels light like air, floating in the water.
There’s only one word that comes to my mind. The moment, the sounds, the warm water, and her—everything feels soft.
I trail my lips down her throat, and she gently weaves her fingers through my hair, grazing deliciously at my scalp. I reach for her buttons and slowly start to undo each one, watching the trail of droplets settling down her cleavage.
I move to pull her blouse off her shoulders when a sharp pain shoots through my side. I can't prevent the groan and wince, and am forced to stop until I can catch my breath properly.
“You’re hurt badly, Valentin. We need to stop.” Gela sounds worried as she gently pulls back and places a soft arm on my back, but only after she makes sure there’s no bruise there. “You still didn’t tell me what happened, you know?”
I sigh and float back to rest against the hot tub. “It's nothing I want to bother you with.”
“I’m a big girl, I can take it,” she huffs and swims closer, settling down beside me, shoulder to shoulder. “These bruises don’t look like nothing.”
Her hands are gentle as they explore the extent of my injuries, and, ignoring the agony, I find myself leaning into her touch.
“One of our shipments got hijacked today,” I admit finally. The concerned look in her eyes makes me want to be honest with her, even if it means showing I failed. “We tracked it to an abandoned warehouse, but it was a setup, and we were ambushed.”
“You think it was the Zakharovs?” she asks, her voice dropping.
I nod. “We think so, but aren’t certain as yet. Leonid, Iosif, Miron, and I managed to get out, but not before taking a few hits.”
“Are your brothers okay?”
The question surprises me. She's asking about my family's well-being, something I never expected from her.
“They're fine. Leonid took a bullet to the arm, but it was just a graze. Iosif and Miron got lucky with some scrapes and bruises.” I brush a wet strand of hair from her face. “Like I said, nothing to worry about.”
“And you in a lot of pain?” Her fingers trace the worst of the bruises, a large one spanning my left side.
“I've had worse,” I say and try to face her properly, but immediately regret it when the pain shoots through me. “But tonight, I got thrown against some shelving and probably have a cracked rib or two, though.”
“A cracked rib or two?” she squeals. “Oh my god. Have you seen a doctor?”
“I called him. He said I just need rest and painkillers. There’s not much else he can do for me.”
“And yet here you are, pulling women into hot tubs.” She smiles and shakes her head in disbelief.
“Only one woman,” I correct her, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “And it seemed worth the pain.”
She blushes at that, and it's so goddamn endearing that I almost pull her in for another kiss. But she moves away slightly, creating space between us.
“Your client is clean, by the way,” I say, changing the subject to something safer. “I had him thoroughly checked out. TriCore Solutions is legitimate.”
Her eyes widen with surprise. “Y…you looked into it?” she asks.
“I saw you getting scared of trusting new clients. You don’t deserve that, Gela Jones. Your work speaks for itself,” I explain.
Her expression softens, and she reaches for my hand. “Thank you,” she says softly. “Come on. You need to get dried off and rest.”
I want to protest just so I can have some more time with her, to pull her back down into the water with me, but the fatigue hits me suddenly. The adrenaline that had been keeping me going all day finally drains away, leaving me bone-tired and aching.
She stands up, and the water drips off her clothes, which cling to her skin like a second skin. I realize then that I need her by my side, for she’s the only thing that calms my racing heart.
I let her help me up and surrender to her care. She drapes the towel around my shoulders and guides me out of the pool area, through the house, and up to my bedroom.
In my room, she leads me to the edge of the bed and urges me to sit. Her hands move to the waistband of my wet boxers, and I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Don't get excited,” she warns, but there's a flush to her cheeks. “I'm just getting you out of these wet clothes.”
I lift my hips to help her, trying not to wince as the pain shoots down my spine. Soon, I'm sitting naked on the edge of my bed while Gela, still in her wet clothes, pats me dry with a towel. Her touch is soft, cautious around my wounds, but every brush still sparks heat under my skin.
“Behave,” she mutters when she notices, but I hear her amused.
“What? Hey! I can't help it,” I grin. “It's what you do to me.”
“I swear if you weren’t hurt, I’d smack a towel at you.” She rolls her eyes and walks over to my cupboard to grab some clean clothes for me.
Then, she comes back and helps me into them. By the time she's done, I'm starting to feel dizzy with exhaustion.
“Get in bed,” she says, and I listen, sliding under the covers.
But as she turns to leave, I catch her wrist. “Stay, please. I…don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I’ve played it cool too long now. But at the back of my mind, I always wonder if she’ll change her mind once I tell her how I feel.
I wonder if she’ll understand. While I’m not prepared to confess my heart’s desire with all guns blazing, little wants like these seem too precious to waste away by not shooting my shot.
She looks down at her wet clothes. “But I need to change!”
“Just grab one of my T-shirts from the cupboard. Take whatever fits.”
She looks like she's about to argue, but then I ask her again. “Please.”
I sound tired and worn even to my own ears, and I think she understands how much I need this—her—because she sighs and moves to my closet. I watch as she pulls out a black t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
“Turn around,” she commands, and I obediently roll onto my side, facing away from her, and let myself smile.
I hear the rustle of wet clothes hitting the floor, the soft sounds of her movements as she dries herself, and then the whisper of cotton sliding over skin.
The thought of her naked in my room, sliding into my clothes, sends a sweet thrill down my spine.
“You can look now,” she says when she’s done, and I roll back to face her.
She stands at the edge of the bed in my t-shirt, which hangs to mid-thigh on her shorter body, and a pair of my boxers that she's had to roll at the waist to keep up. Her hair is still damp, and she looks so perfect I can barely breathe.
“Come here,” I say softly, already sleepy, and lift the covers on the empty side of the bed. Just sex, she had said. But her taking care of me, wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed—this can’t be just sex.
I wonder if she feels the same way.
She slides in beside me, and though we don’t touch, I feel myself relax.
She tenses.
“This doesn't change anything,” she whispers, staring up at the roof.
“Just sleep,” I murmur, turning to lie on my back too. “That's all.”
And then, I hear her breathing even out. We just lie like that, with our faces to the roof, shoulder to shoulder, but never touching.
Soon, I find myself in that half-awake, half-asleep state, and the last thought I remember having, just before I drift off, is that I could get used to falling asleep with Gela Jones in my bed every night for the rest of my life.