Chapter 28 #2
Then Viktor’s hand brushes mine, grounding me. “Let’s take her home,” he murmurs.
And with him by my side, I finally feel like I can breathe—and like my little girl can feel safe.
We head back to the car. When we reach the parking lot, I’m holding Sofia’s hand as she walks beside me. Viktor walks on her other side, tall and steady.
We’re halfway across the parking lot when it happens.
A car horn blares at another car which pulls out in front of it. The sound is sharp and sudden. The other car responds with its own blaring horn. Sofia screams.
The sound tears through me like broken glass.
Her whole body jerks.
And before I can react, she yanks her hand free and bolts.
Her small legs pump as she dashes across the lot and away from the noise.
“No, Sofia!”
My voice cracks.
And my heart lurches into my throat as I see the blur of headlights.
The car is coming fast.
Too fast.
I run toward Sofia but stumble.
Viktor moves before I can cry out. One moment he’s beside me, the next he’s a shadow streaking across the asphalt. He scoops Sofia up with one arm, his other hand slamming against the hood of the car to tell it to stop.
Tires screech.
The driver curses.
I collapse to my knees. My vision swims.
Viktor turns, chest heaving, Sofia clutched tight against him.
She’s wailing now, her tiny fingers tangled in his shirt.
“She’s safe,” he growls, his voice raw and protective. His eyes are wild, scanning her as though to check every inch.
I stagger forward, clutching them both. “Thank you,” I sob to him, kissing Sofia’s damp face.
That night, when the children are asleep, my mind keeps going back to what happened earlier.
The way Viktor saved Sofia in the parking lot, not hesitating or thinking about his own safety. Not pausing for a split second—even though he hates touch and can find it extremely difficult.
And the way Viktor soothed my crying daughter and held her in the shoe store. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t have a doubt. He just did what he knew we needed.
And the way he does all these things for us…
It makes me know that he’s an extremely special man.
The rec room is dim now. The leather couch sinks when I sit down, but it’s homey, and I like it.
It’s quiet. No poker tonight. No laughter or loud voices arguing over who gets to do what. Most of the men are out working, leaving just Viktor and me in here tonight.
He sits next to me—close but not quite touching—while the kids sleep upstairs. It’s a small reprieve from the madness that seems to be the Kremlin itself.
Viktor hasn’t said much since we walked in. It’s typical of him, I’ve realized. After spending so much time with others, he needs time to regulate and become calm again. A lot like Sofia.
I curl one leg underneath me, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I take a slow sip of my hot chocolate. It almost seems like this whole stay is a crazy dream. His posture relaxes, an arm draped on the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh.
I drag my eyes back to the book in my lap, trying to displace the memory of those hands along my skin.
I tuck my legs closer together to displace the moisture that pools there.
The sex with him was hot. A lot hotter than anything I experienced before, and it’s haunted my dreams in the best way possible.
But that isn’t where my head needs to be going…
His gaze flickers to the TV, where a black-and-white movie plays on low volume. I turn back to my book, and I think he’s watching the movie until his hand brushes mine.
The barest touch.
Accidental, maybe, but it doesn’t feel like nothing.
I freeze, unsure if I should move and spook him.
His hand stays there. Fingertips grazing the back of my hand. Warm. Soothing. And yet electrifying at the same time.
I lift my eyes from the words I’m not really reading anymore.
I reach for his hand, gauging his reaction as I slowly lace our fingers together. He lets it happen. Doesn’t pull back or wince. He doesn’t even flinch, and that alone makes my heart pound much faster.
He turns to me then, eyes dark and unreadable.
His eyes search my face before dropping to my mouth. And just like that, the air shifts.
I want him to kiss me again. I’ve wanted it for days. To test the theory that it’ll be just as good as it was the first time. But it hasn’t happened. Just brief touches. Moments. Nothing more since that night.
He shifts. His other hand cups my cheek as he stares at me. It’s a look of adoration. Worship, almost. Like I’m some enigma he doesn’t know what to do with. His thumb strokes my cheek. And he leans toward me.
I meet him halfway. Our lips touch. It’s lingering and toe-curling. And it’s perfect.
And then he kisses me again. This time, he kisses me harder, deeper.
His hand slides through the strands at the base of my neck, where my hair escapes my ponytail.
He releases our intertwined fingers, his palm gliding up my waist as I shift closer without thinking, climbing into his lap because being beside him isn’t enough anymore.
A low groan vibrates through his chest when I settle against him, deliberate and careful. His fingers tighten like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
His kiss devours me. Claims me. My heart pounds against my ribs with every brush of his mouth, every tug of my lower lip as if he’s burning the memory into his soul. It’s the same careful attention he showed me before, but hotter now. Less restrained.
Breathless, I pull back, gulping air. “Viktor...”
His eyes flicker to mine—hungry, unwavering. Pupils blown wide. He doesn’t hesitate before diving back in, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, asking permission I willingly grant.
“Don’t stop,” I rasp.
And that’s all the permission he needs.
He shifts beneath me, broad hands sliding to my hip. And I feel him hard and hot beneath me.
Something deep settles in him. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, roughly. I feel it beneath my palms pressed to his chest, the way his heart races to match mine.
The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged and crackling with electricity.
His thumb trails along my side through the thin fabric of my sundress, following the seam to the hem. I shiver at his touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low as his hand strokes the exposed skin of my thigh. Careful and deliberate, making my skin tingle.
I adjust my hips and earn a soft grunt from him as his grip tightens.
“I think about you too much. When I shouldn’t.” There’s something fierce behind his words. “Kissing you makes me feel too much. I forget how to stop.”
I smile, my lips ghosting against his. “Then don’t.”
A genuine smile tugs at his mouth before he closes the distance. The kiss is explosive—like he’s restrained himself for days and is finally letting go. My fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring myself as his mouth moves with intensity.
His hand slides up my inner thigh, thumb grazing my sensitive skin. I shift against him, my thighs tightening around his waist, feeling the tremor that runs through us both.
His lips trail down my jaw to my throat, finding the raised skin of my collarbone. It’s dizzying—no one has ever affected me like this.
His hand slides higher beneath my dress. “Still okay?”
“Very okay,” I breathe, eyes fluttering closed.
The weight and heat of his palm inching toward my ache is possessive and mind-fogging. But it’s his eyes—hungry and reverent—that make me feel like I’ll unravel the moment he touches me where I need him most.
“Viktor...” His name escapes as a needy plea.
The brush of his finger against my core makes my muscles tighten, a gasp tearing from my throat. Each caress winds me tighter. Nothing has ever felt more right than this moment.
His finger traces the wet spot on my panties, and I gasp against his mouth as he claims it hungrily.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, fingers brushing the damp fabric repeatedly. “Shit, Avelina...soaked through, all for me.”
I want to respond, but any words die as he pushes aside the soaked fabric. A needy moan fills the air instead.
I settle deeper into his lap as one finger sinks slowly into me. Pleasure sparks through my whole body as his lips press kisses onto my skin, his finger pumping steadily. A second finger joins in, stretching me more, and my eyes drift closed.
“No, look at me,” he demands, his commanding tone sending shivers through me.
It shouldn’t be that hot. But God, it is.
I lift heavy lids to meet his gaze.
“Good girl,” he whispers before claiming my lips again. His tongue tastes and devours me. “Such a fucking good girl. I want you to remember who did this to you. Who made you come.”
I moan my understanding.
“Tell me,” he commands.
“You,” I manage, voice strangled as his fingers work faster. The wet sounds fill the space between us. His thumb rubs my clit in tighter circles, driving me higher.
His movements speed up, guiding me to the edge. I need just a little more…
His thumb swipes my clit again, his touch rougher now.
“Please, Viktor…”
“Let go. I’ve got you.”
My muscles tighten around his fingers as he presses just right. And I crash over the edge harder than ever before. The coil in my stomach springs apart as he lazily draws out my release.
He smiles—that devastating half-smile—as he withdraws his fingers. And when he settles me back on his lap, his hardness hits my over-sensitized body just right, making me moan.
“Viktor,” I gasp.
“Tell me to stop...”
But I don’t want him to stop. We’re in a communal space. It’s reckless. But being with him makes me want to abandon common sense entirely.
My hips roll against him, earning another low sound from his throat.
“I need you, Viktor.”
His fingers work his belt buckle. He frees himself, dragging his tip through my folds until I shudder and see stars.