Chapter 40
40
DARYA
I t’s late that night when Roman and I finally take the elevator to our suite on the floor above the children.
“You had a chance to talk to your mother?” I say as he closes the door behind us.
“Yes.” He nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ll be okay. It’s just going to take time to get to know one another again, I guess. I spoke to your father, too.” He gives me a small smile. “I’m beginning to think Sergei will outlive the damned apocalypse.”
I don’t miss the reluctant admiration in his voice. I’m glad; after all we’ve been through, the only thing that matters to me now is that everyone I love is still alive.
“I should probably have checked on him again.” I frown, glancing at the clock on the desk.
“Rosa is with him. And the hospital has a direct line to the suite.” Roman walks toward me, his eyes roaming over my body. I feel the familiar thrill of his nearness. “They’ll call us if anything changes. It’s only one floor below us, Darya, and I have guards posted everywhere.”
His arms snake around me, and I fall against him, clutching the hard wall of his body to reassure myself that it’s real.
“I know we’re safe.” My words are muffled against his chest. “But I don’t like the children being anywhere I can’t see or touch them right now.”
His stubble scrapes my temple as he nods. “I get it, believe me.” He tilts my head up, his thumb stroking my cheek. “But right now, I’m far more concerned about seeing and touching you . Without clothes on, preferably.”
I give a small, choked laugh. “I’m surprised you can even think of that, given how badly you’ve been hurt.” I touch the sling holding his arm, and he moves swiftly sideways, keeping his injured shoulder and side away from me while still holding me firm with the other.
“Even half dead and with no heartbeat, I’d still be thinking about getting naked with you, milaia . Give me your mouth.”
He takes it without waiting for an answer, and I close my eyes and lose myself in it, because I need this every bit as much as he does. I need the vital reassurance that we are both still here, that despite it all, we have survived. Given the hell we’ve all just lived through, that in itself seems nothing short of a miracle.
“Christ, I need you.” He pulls impatiently at the buttons of his shirt with his good hand.
“Let me.” I push his hand away and undo the buttons, easing the shirt over his injured shoulder. I can’t help sucking in my breath when I see the state of the body I love so much. Apart from the two bullet wounds, one in his shoulder and one through his side—perilously close to a whole host of vital organs, according to the doctor—Roman’s torso is a mass of blooming bruises and open cuts. His face is little better.
“I’ve had worse, milaia .” He captures my hand as it roams over the expanse of his chest, his dark eyes on mine reassuring. “I’m fine.”
“You nearly weren’t.” My hand stops just beside the wide bandage on his side. “Any of these could have taken you from us forever.”
“But they didn’t.” He cups my face, his eyes searching mine. “You know what this life is, Darya. No matter what we do, it won’t ever change. There will always be blood and bullets. We will always have enemies. Men who want what we have and who are prepared to kill to get it.”
My hands roam his body, the heat of his bare flesh beneath my fingertips, the lethal force of him hard against me. He shivers faintly beneath my touch, but he doesn’t move. It’s like he knows I need this, to touch him, to know he’s here, that he’s real.
That he’s survived.
“I know.” My lips graze his collarbone, and I inhale the delicious woodsy scent of him hungrily. “I’ve always known that, Roman. I’m not afraid of what might come at us.” I look up to find him staring at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I’m just afraid of losing you ,” I whisper.
“I know.” For once, he doesn’t attempt to argue with me. Instead he cradles my face in his good hand, his eyes holding my own. “I’ve been afraid of that too. I didn’t realize how afraid I was until I was running away from Ofelia and Masha, toward a pack of men with guns.”
I tremble, my stomach lurching with the thought, but I don’t flinch away from him. I can tell he needs to say this.
“I’ve lived most of my life alone.” His voice is gravelly with exhaustion and emotion. “I thought that was just the way it would always be. I never expected to live very long, and I’ve always assumed the end would be violent. It always seemed... irresponsible to allow anyone to depend on me. All I ever hoped for was that I’d build a legacy strong enough to look after Mikhail’s children after my own death, which I figured would come soon enough.
“But then in Miami, when I left Masha and Ofelia under that banyan tree and ran toward the men coming at us, I realized I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want our children growing up like I did. Or like you had to.”
He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment before he goes on.
“You’ve had to be so strong. All those years you had to run, never feeling safe. Suddenly I realized that by racing toward those bullets, I wasn’t being brave or strong. Sacrificing myself was only going to condemn you to the same darkness we’ve already had to live through. And worse.” His hand slides to rest on the swell of my belly. “I’d be condemning our child to that same life,” he says roughly. “All of our children. And I couldn’t do it, Darya. I won’t do it.”
I cover his hand with my own, feeling the safety of his broad palm covering me. “I’m glad.”
“I used to think it was a weakness.” He touches his lips to my face between sentences. “That if I had a family, it would make me fear the bullets. But it doesn’t. The fear makes me stronger. It makes me smarter. More determined to survive, to build an empire that can hold us all, keep us safe. Our world might always be one of violence, but I’m not afraid of having a family anymore, Darya. I want it. I want it all. I want it with you. And I want to make sure nobody can ever take it from us.”
He pulls back from me and cradles my face in his hand. “I know I should have done this properly, with the right ring, and not around a hospital bed with our children watching.” He gives me a slightly crooked grin, and my heart skips a beat. “I’d get down on one knee, but neither one is working too well right now. I just want to make sure you know that I’m in. I’m all in. Now and always. So I have to formally ask you: Darya Petrovsky, will you marry me?”
My world slows down to the blood pumping through my body, the sensual seduction of his skin next to mine, the mindless abandon I feel when I drown in his dark eyes.
The safety I feel when his arms are around me.
The incomparable thrill of his body inside my own.
And the overwhelming rightness I feel nowhere but when I am with him.
“Yes, I will marry you, Roman Borovsky.” I put my hands on his face and draw it down to my own, my body needing his like a flower reaching for rain. “I will stand beside you forever, and help you build everything you dream of. And I will love you, with my whole heart, until the day I die.”
“You’re all in,” he says huskily, his good arm slipping around my waist and pulling me hard against him.
“I was all in from the moment you ordered your first coffee,” I whisper, feeling the delicious thrill start to uncurl in my belly.
“Is that right?” Roman chuckles, his lips drawing a trail of fire up my neck toward my mouth. “You mean that instead of trading insults with you, I could have just done this?” His mouth lands on mine, and I open beneath it with a small cry, my body already liquid heat in his embrace. His kiss is hungry and thorough, his tongue taking my mouth with a subtle power and intensity that leaves me shaking and panting, pressed hard against his naked chest. He is hot and restless under my touch, his skin like fire, his good hand roaming over the thin knit dress covering my ass in a way that makes me want to climb him like a fucking tree.
He slides the hem of my dress higher. Then he hits the bare skin at the top of my stocking, and his hand comes to a sudden halt while his mind assimilates what he’s feeling.
Then his palm splays over my thigh, his thumb tracing the frilled line of my garters slowly upward.
“I like these,” he murmurs in my ear. He raises my knee so my booted heel rests on a nearby chair. His thumb strokes the bared upper skin of my thigh, tantalizingly close to where I really need it. “Maybe we should spend more time in cold climates.”
Then his hand roams even higher, and I gasp as his thumb presses my swollen clit through the silk.
“You know, I planned to fuck you hard and fast.” Roman’s thumb makes tiny movements that have me gasping, aware of every slight change in pressure. “I pictured you naked the entire flight over here, and every moment since. I thought I needed you too badly to wait. I wanted to just get my cock inside you.”
Oh, God.
My hips jerk toward him, my knee opening wider, aching for more than just his thumb. I want my underwear off. I want his mouth, his cock. I want him against me.
“But now that I have you here,” he goes on, swiping a slick of moisture from my inner thigh, “I don’t want to rush a single moment.” Suddenly his hands are gone. My eyes fly open to find him staring at me, his arousal blatant beneath his suit pants. My dress is hitched up to my waist, so I’m standing with one high-heeled boot up on a chair, exposing my soaked underwear over my garter and stockings.
“Lose the dress,” he says roughly.
My skin on fire, trembling as if it were my first time, I pull the dress over my head, revealing the black silk-and-lace bra that matches the rest of my lingerie.
“You know,” he says in a low voice, “this reminds me a lot of the first time I ever fucked you. Do you remember that night, Miss Petrovsky?”
Heat rushes between my legs. “I remember,” I say breathlessly.
“I think we both learned a lot that night.” Roman reaches for the Scotch bottle and pours himself a glass, his eyes roaming over my body. “I discovered how much you like following orders, for example.”
My body rocks toward him involuntarily, summoned by even the memory of that night.
Roman seats himself in a wide sofa chair several feet away. I almost groan with frustration.
“Take your bra off.”
Oh, that low, sexy, commanding voice.
It puts me in the same trance it always does, my hands unclipping my bra like they belong to someone else, every nerve in my body attuned to his commands, the center of me swelling with every caress of his eyes.
“You’re so wet I can see it from here.” He states it in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, but after all this time, I can hear the telltale rough edge right behind the facade, sense the fierce control he’s exerting to keep his own arousal in check. It’s part of our game, part of what makes the tension between us so incredibly hot. And just like him, right now I need every moment of this sweet torture.
I want to lose myself in hedonism, in the dark heat that takes us both to a mindless ocean of sensual bliss where there is only our bodies, and the slow journey toward earth-shattering release.
“Your nipples are swollen, Darya.” My hands reach up to touch them, but he shakes his head. “No. I want to watch them from here.” He puts down his glass of Scotch and reaches for his belt buckle, his eyes not leaving mine. “Would you like to see what your body does to me, Darya? What thinking about you does to me?”
His cock leaps free, and my body ripples with lust. My breasts feel like they’re going to explode. I whimper aloud as my eyes rest on his pulsating shaft.
“Did you know you just licked your lips, Darya?”
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. All I want is him. I’m lost in the semi-hypnotic state where all I can hear is his voice. All I can do is obey.
“The first time I saw you do that, I knew I couldn’t rest until I had my cock in your mouth.”
“Oh!” I clench my fists to hold back from touching myself. I know better than to try to take control.
“Then I saw those gorgeous tits, and I knew your mouth would never be enough.” Roman’s cock twitches, and I gasp, a rush of moisture slicking my thighs.
“You know, I’m torn right now.” He takes a leisurely sip from his Scotch, but I can see the dark, almost black color of his eyes, the whiteness of his knuckles around the glass. He’s barely holding on right now, no matter what he says, and that knowledge, the power it gives me, is the most intoxicating aphrodisiac I’ve ever known.
“Do I make you touch yourself like I did that first night?” He tilts his head to one side as if he’s contemplating this. “Or do I make you come over here and spread that pussy over my face, so I can lick every part of you?”
“Oh God!” I can’t hold back my cry, nor the sudden, convulsive jerk of my body. I’m barely aware that I’m clutching my own breasts until I see Roman’s mouth curl into a diabolical smile.
“And just because you got impatient,” he says evilly, “now you have to wait.”
But he doesn’t tell me to take my hands away. And by the way his cock leaps, he’s clearly enjoying the way I’m playing with my nipples. Which is good. Because I really couldn’t take one minute more without something touching me, even if it’s myself.
“Take your panties off,” he growls. “Leave the boots on.”
I peel the silk and lace away, almost embarrassed by how swollen and wet I am, until I see the sudden glazed look in Roman’s eyes and the drop of moisture glistening on his cock.
He takes a long swallow of Scotch, his eyes not leaving my throbbing mound.
“Put your foot back up on that chair like before.” His order is low and intense, and he’s rock-hard as he watches me. I can only imagine the self-restraint he’s exerting to refrain from touching himself. I put my heel up on the chair, rolling my knee out so my swollen lips part under his eyes. His harsh intake of breath doesn’t escape me. “Open yourself for me,” he growls.
I slip my hands down to my pussy and slowly spread the outer lips apart, biting my lip at the unbearable sensation of air hitting my most intimate folds.
“Slip one finger inside yourself. Show me how wet you are.” Roman is grinding out the orders, his shaft leaping at every word, and by the way he’s devouring the Scotch, he’s nearing the limits of his control.
Which is a good thing. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I slide a finger inside myself and groan at the inadequacy of it. I’m so fucking wet I need a lot more than what he’s letting me have.
“Show me,” he growls, and I hold up my glistening hand, slick with my own juices. His cock swells to an impossible width, but still he doesn’t touch himself. I know he’s loving the tension, forcing himself to delay pleasure as long as he can, but it’s also driving me out of my fucking mind with lust.
“Come here.”
Oh, thank God.
Roman has taught me how much power there is in theater, so I don’t move quickly. I take my heel down, then walk slowly toward him, rolling my hips with each step, holding my breasts up toward his eyes. I halt just beyond his reach, knowing how insane it will drive him.
“Turn around.”
I do, slowly, loving his sudden, harsh intake of breath. I arch my back so my ass is thrust toward him.
“Spread your legs wider.”
Once I would have felt shy, knowing how I look, exposed like this. But Roman has changed all of that, made me revel in every aspect of our mutual arousal.
“Your pussy is stunning,” he says in a low voice. “Swollen and dripping wet. I can’t wait to get inside you.”
“Oh!” I groan, rotating my hips under his eyes, knowing how much he loves to watch me move like that.
“I’m going to lick every part of you until you’re screaming. And then I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
“ Yes .” I’m panting now, my knees bent as I thrust my ass toward him, begging for him to take me. My hands are on my breasts, gripping my nipples. It’s only when I open my eyes that I realize he’s staring at me in the mirror opposite, his jaw clenched fiercely, his eyes flashing hellfire.
He’s close to losing it, and I love it.
“Come to me now.”
I turn on shaking legs and cover the last distance to him. His legs are spread, cock pounding hard against his belly, his Scotch glass discarded on the table beside him. I stand between his thighs, waiting.
“Knees either side of me,” he rasps, and I place my dripping core wide over him, knees on each of the large armrests. He stares at me for a moment, then his one good hand comes under my ass, his large, scarred palm cradling my entire body weight, and he covers me with his mouth.
“ Aaaahhhhhh! ”
I hope the suite is as soundproof as the penthouse, because I just screamed loud enough to bring the entire London police force down on our heads.
He licks me with a slow, deliberate precision that is mind-blowing, considering the clearly desperate state of his own arousal. I shake as I try not to grind onto his tongue, knowing that will only result in longer torture. My world is reduced entirely to the delicate, lazy ministrations of his tongue, my breath caught in my throat as he expertly strokes me inexorably toward release, but never quite granting me that final explosion.
“God, Roman. Please,” I pant.
He doesn’t answer, just licks me until I’m shuddering, my breath hitching and my hips jerking uncontrollably.
Just when I think I can’t take it a moment longer, he raises me slightly, then drops me back down—directly onto his cock.
I scream again as he fills me completely.
“Don’t move,” he growls. For a moment we just stay there, me with my legs spread impossibly wide, him completely still inside me.
Then his hand slips between us. He thrusts up into me so deeply I feel speared and spread, and then his thumb presses my clit.
I explode around him.
My orgasm takes me by surprise, a wrenching, almost vicious release, so all-encompassing it wracks my whole body. I clench around the iron thickness of his cock, my orgasm crashing against him like waves on a lighthouse, and he holds me in place and rides it in complete stillness.
When I finally open my eyes, he’s white-faced with the effort of restraint, staring at me, his lips a thin line. I’m still grinding against him when he stands up, bringing me with him.
“You can’t,” I gasp, struggling against his grip. “You can’t lift me one-handed—”
“The fuck I can’t.” He throws us both down on the bed and kicks off his pants, still inside me.
“My boots—”
“Leave them on.” He surges into me then, all restraint gone, his mouth on mine full of all the demand he’s kept under rein this entire time. He takes me with the battle rage and fierce desperation of near death, with the wild edge lent by fear and fury.
He takes me like the warrior he is, and he claims me for the woman I am.
He pounds deep within me until the world disappears and there is only the place where we meet. He drives me into screaming submission again and again, and when he finally hits his own bone-shattering release, his primal roar seals the bond between us like a covenant.
I am his. He is mine.
We’re all in.
Now and forever.