Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Kirill
That little temptress.
Not even a cold shower could ease the boiling in my blood.
Having her once wasn’t enough. She departed my room with the coyness of a siren, but left behind her clothes, including her white underwear.
I used that piece of fabric to jack off in the shower.
Her tight cunt was the closest to heaven I could imagine.
Surprisingly, I lasted, but not long enough to flip her on all fours and fuck her from behind.
I slammed my palm on the tiles as I ejaculated. “Fuck.”
Trust. I needed to win her trust in order to do all the filthy things to her. The desire to fuck her raw. To have her mouth wrapped around my cock while she choked on it. Lucy on all fours, at my mercy, her hands gripped behind her back while I rammed into her repeatedly.
Now that I’d experienced how her body felt against mine, the highlight was watching her come.
She was glorious. And dangerous to my sanity. Lucy kept stirring disturbing epiphanies inside me. I did not deny it. That was A1 sex. Sounded cliché, but it was different. It felt different.
Months of wanting to fuck the sass out of her and I hungered for more.
I could have sought relief elsewhere at any of those gentlemen’s clubs.
Blow jobs, meaningless sex. But just the idea left a distaste in my mouth because I wasn’t lying to Lucy about the vows I said to her.
I could have convinced myself that they didn’t count, but I would be lying to myself.
This marriage had an invisible shackle on my dick whether I liked it or not. And Lucy held the key.
I must have spent a long time in the shower because when I walked into the kitchen, Lucy was already there chatting with Sorcha.
It appeared they were discussing dinner for the next few days. My housekeeper was smiling as she was writing my wife’s wish list.
“Apple pie, cream puff, I do like dulce de leche cake…my favorite one is from that food truck I told you about. They have it on Wednesdays, so maybe you can send someone to get it.”
“I can go,” Sorcha said. “I know which one you’re talking about.”
“Are we having just dessert for dinner this week?” I gravitated toward Lucy and put a proprietary hand on her hip, drawing her against me and planting a kiss at the side of her temple the way I saw Ivan do to Irina.
That might have been premeditated on my part, but I could get used to doing this affectionate gesture.
Lucy stiffened for a second, but later melted into me.
I liked that. She also smelled fantastic. Although I preferred my scent all over her and I couldn’t wait to dirty her up again.
“Don’t worry, there’s real food in there,” Lucy said with amusement. “Sorcha is making a prime rib on Wednesday. You’ll be home, right?”
“I will. How about you?” Will you be around Trevor again, I didn’t say aloud but my tone came out sharper.
Lucy leaned away so she could stare up at me, eyes narrowing. “I’ll be home this week. I was going to ask you…” There was a hesitation on her part by the way she worried her bottom lip.
I raised a brow to prompt her.
“The basement is unused except for storage. I wondered if I could use part of it for my work.”
“There are spare rooms in the house,” I told her. “Why the basement?”
“It’s a bigger contiguous space, and you’ve seen my apartment, right?”
A cringe warred with a grin. The grin won. “Yes. I’ve seen your apartment.”
“The staff would be off-limits.”
“I’m not sure working in the basement is healthy,” I told her. “No one can check on you. And you’re not known for eating your meals on time.”
“Who told you that?”
“Lottie.”
“You talked to my mother?”
“I was concerned about your eating habits and your hypoglycemia.”
She looked at me strangely. “It’s not life-threatening.”
“Yet,” he said. “That could lead to diabetes, right?”
“It can also lead to seizures and loss of consciousness,” Sorcha put in.
Lucy clamped her mouth shut. “A soda would fix it during an emergency.”
I glanced at Sorcha. “We’ll consult with a nutritionist.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, I’m not that bad.” Lucy huffed indignantly.
“I will determine what’s bad or not. I don’t like the idea of my wife fainting in the street. And it’s not the first time. Didn’t you tell me that at the funeral you were in danger of passing out? I’ve read it could lead to a coma.”
“It’s better to get a handle on it while you’re young,” Sorcha said. “My mother had a terrible time with it.”
“I’m sorry,” my wife said, but she looked properly chastened. Still, she glared at me. “I thought you wanted me to be managing your household, but it seems you want to do it.”
“If I have to.” I levelled at her. “No more skipping breakfast.”
She offered another annoyed sigh, but then it seemed she knew when to back off when she said, “I’m getting hungry. Sorcha is making stir-fry if that’s okay with you. Healthy stir-fry.”
My mouth twitched. “Sounds good to me.”
After dinner, we retired to the TV room. Lucy was a streaming junkie. I barely had time to watch anything except the political news and the stock market. I could do that in my bathroom with the TV mirror. I multitasked and hated wasting time on anything that didn’t serve the bratva’s purpose.
So, sitting down beside my wife, watching a show about a serial killer with a code, seemed like a waste of my time. I only had to be reminded of the times Aralina conned me into watching a show with her. Frequently, it was when she was sick and she turned those pleading blue eyes on me.
With Lucy, I was driven to find out what my wife did with her time besides accompanying me to events or doing her fixer jobs. Although right now it wasn’t a scandal, I knew she was still trying to figure out what the Kings were up to.
“This feels weird.” Lucy walked into the room with a bowl of popcorn.
“What’s weird?”
“You being in here.” She plopped down beside me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m willing to give it a try.”
“Well, first you need to relax.” She laughed. “Lean back against the couch.”
I was sitting stiffly. This room was rarely used, but I could tell it had recently been aired out and the furniture had been moved around.
“You need a newer television. This one’s a dinosaur.”
I sighed. “You’re in charge of the house. You’re not using the credit cards I opened for you.”
“I know,” she replied with a hint of apology. “It’s just a pain to change credit card numbers on the websites I have recurring payments.” She started the show, but paused it and added, “It’s not that I’m turning my nose up at your money. It’s just simpler…”
“Especially when we divorce?” I gritted.
“Well, yeah…”
The problem when I married Lucy was I had no hold over her other than the prevention of a mafia war. In terms of wealth, we were evenly matched. The difference between us was that she had a whole fucking family for support.
I rarely had support in mine. Ivan and I still clashed. Maksim was fine as long as the bratva business brought in money for Zahkarov Holdings to clean, and we didn’t have the scandal from last year that put a bullseye on our financial investment firm.
“Can you humor me and use it when you can?” I asked mildly. “It would appease the ego of your overbearing husband.”
Lucy laughed. Fuck, I loved her laugh.
She pressed play on the show while putting the popcorn between us, and I wondered if this was good for her hypoglycemia? It was her snacking at the wrong time. Maybe I should eat the bad snacks for her.
I took a handful of popcorn and started eating.
“So this is a reboot of the original show,” she said. “He used to be the blood spatter analyst for the police department. Now he’s using his knowledge to evade the police.”
“I could use someone like him in the bratva.” I continued consuming the popcorn for her even when my stomach and palate protested at the amount of butter she’d slathered on the kernels. I was determined to keep my wife healthy even when she was unconcerned about her condition.
We watched four episodes that night. Not surprisingly, I enjoyed the blood and gore.
It relaxed my mind. I could get used to this.
Simply wasting time on the couch with my wife.
And though sex entered my mind, I wasn’t willing to disrupt the easygoing pace of our evening.
That was a novelty. Relaxing together without being at each other's throats.
But after Lucy called it a night, the tension rebounded and agitated the air between us.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said, jumping up from the couch.
“Not so fast.” I clasped her hand and yanked her back down. She fell across my lap.
Before I could say anything, she squeaked, “Okay, I need some more time.”
“We’ve already had sex, so you’re not treating me like a one-night stand.”
She rolled her lips. “I’m not.”
My eyes trailed down her body. She was wearing a tee. I could make out the outline of her bra, but also her nipples. “The couch seems sturdy enough.”
“Someone could walk in.”
“We should renovate the house and put a door to the TV room,” I muttered. “In fact, put a door on every room.”
“I have a few ideas.”
I weighed my options. She was willing to put her stamp on my house. I was finding out I would like it very much.
I bent down and kissed her slowly, trailing fingers down her body. Lucy responded and clasped her fingers over my neck. I could fuck her, but at this moment, I wanted something else.
I lifted my head, satisfied to see the neediness glaze her eyes. “Kirill?”
I set her on her feet and stood.
The backs of my fingers stroked down her cheek. “You get a reprieve from sharing my room. But only if you spend my money.”
Then I left her standing there before I gave in to the urge of carting her off into my bedroom.
I’d been coming home early for the past three days to have dinner and spend time with Lucy.
Aside from watching her shows, she picked a night where I could help her clean up the basement space because she refused to hire a crew.
She fortunately asked Sato and the gardener to help her move her whiteboards and desk from her apartment.
She also suggested repainting the walls and updating the light fixtures.
It was a finished basement, but I told her I wanted a whole HVAC installed and made sure the air quality was optimal.
She argued it would cost too much money, and I argued she hadn’t spent a damn dime of mine yet. I knew this because I kept checking the account I opened for her. Morning, noon, and fucking nighttime. As if her spending my money made the marriage more legitimate.
Little did I know I would regret it.
That Thursday, I came home to see an atrocious yellow painting in the foyer.
“What the fuck?”
There used to be a brown, black, and white abstract artwork hanging on that wall.
My wife sashayed to my side, a serene look on her face. It reminded me of the morning after our wedding.
“Do you like it?”
“What happened to the painting on the wall?”
“That boring thing?” Lucy said, unimpressed.
“That boring thing,” I gritted, “was one of the last works of Katsumo Oda.”
“I don’t know him.” Worry etched her face, but my temper was getting the better of me. “Uh, is he famous?”
“Where is it?” I asked softly.
“I had Sato move it to the basement.”
“Lusenka,” I said in my most patient voice. “The basement doesn’t have the proper controlled environment for a two-million-dollar artwork.”
Her face paled, and I immediately regretted my harshness.
“It’s two million,” she whispered.
“When I bought it five years ago. I’m sure the price skyrocketed after his death.”
“I’ll have Sato put it back,” she said.
“Thank you.” But apparently, my wife wasn’t done.
I passed the living room, and it was like someone had vomited multicolored confetti all over it. She replaced the leather furniture with orange and yellow pieces and multicolored striped throw pillows.
“You don’t like it?” she asked from behind me. Her voice was small, and I wished I could conjure up the right emotion and not make her feel like she’d done wrong. I’d already been harsh with the yellow monstrosity in the foyer.
“I’m trying to decide,” I breathed. Fucking hell, my wife had great taste in clothes, but I should have listened when she said she wanted to leave the domestic side to Sorcha.
“You have all-leather furniture in the house. Everything is brown and sterile.”
“I like the minimalist and clean look.”
“It’s boring.”
“And that’s not hideous?” I pointed at the striped pillow.
“Well, at least it has a more pleasant personality than you!” she fired back and flounced off.
I breathed a heavy sigh and turned around.
Sorcha stood there, wringing her apron, with a pensive look on her face.
“What?”
“Miss Lucy, er, needs some guidance with home decorating.”
“I can see that.”
“Maybe gently suggest she hire an interior designer.”
“I need a drink.”
“Dinner is in an hour. You were early.”
“I wanted to have a drink with my wife before dinner,” I said wryly. “But I think I’m drinking alone.”
Sorcha shot me an apologetic look before she retreated. Well, marriage wasn’t all roses it seemed.
Sato walked by right before I entered my study.
I glared at him. “You knew how much that painting cost.”
He shot me the same apologetic look Sorcha had. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She was so excited to find that piece.”
“Where did she find it anyway?”
“A flea market in Brooklyn.”
“How much was it?” I walked through my office and paused. My gaze zeroing in on the thing sitting on my windowsill. “What the fuck?”
“It was eight hundred dollars, but Lucy haggled it down to six fifty. She was very pleased.”
I turned to Sato and pointed at the window. “Please tell me that’s not a plant.”