Chapter 24 Stefan
STEFAN
The first raindrop hits my shoulder as I hold Olivia against me. Then another. Then a dozen more, cold and sudden.
“We should get inside,” I say.
But I don’t move.
Neither does she.
The rain comes harder, soaking through what little clothing we’re still wearing. Her bra is translucent white. Olivia tilts her face up, letting the water stream down her cheeks and pool in the hollow of her collarbone. Her eyes are closed. Her lips are parted.
I want to devour her.
“Olivia.”
She opens her eyes. The rain has plastered her hair to her face, and she’s shivering, but she’s also looking at me like she wants exactly what I want.
“I said, we should—”
She kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. Her hands fist in my wet hair as she yanks me down to her level.
I respond instantly, my body lighting up like someone flipped a switch. My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her ass, lifting her against me. She wraps her legs around my waist and I can feel her heat even through our soaked clothes.
“Stefan,” she gasps between kisses. “I need—”
“I know.”
I carry her to the nearest flat surface, which happens to be a storage bench near the railing. I set her down on it and she immediately reaches for my pants, fumbling with the button.
“Let me,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“I’ve got it.”
She does. She gets my pants open and shoves them down my hips, her hands greedy and impatient. I return the favor, hooking my fingers in her underwear and dragging them down her legs.
The rain is coming down in sheets now, turning the deck slippery. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. Olivia shivers again, but when I open my mouth to offer one more time to take her under cover where it’s dry and warm, she presses a finger to my lips.
“Don’t you dare,” she says. “Don’t you dare stop.”
So I don’t.
I push inside her in one hard thrust and she cries out, her back arching. I freeze, afraid I’ve hurt her, but she digs her nails into my shoulders.
“Move,” she demands. “Stefan, move.”
I set a brutal pace, one hand braced on the bench beside her hip, the other gripping her thigh to keep her steady. She meets me thrust for thrust. Her body takes everything I give her and demands more.
It’s not making love. It’s not even sex, really. It’s anger and fear and relief all tangled together, both of us trying to prove something neither of us can articulate.
The rain pounds down on us. My hair is dripping into my eyes. Olivia’s skin is slick under my hands. Every time I drive into her, water splashes between our bodies.
“Harder,” she gasps. “Can you— Oh, God, yes, like that.”
I slam into her with enough force to make the bench creak. She throws her head back and I lean down to bite her throat, tasting rain and salt and her.
“Look at me,” I growl against her skin. “I need you to fucking look at me.”
Her amber eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. Her mouth is swollen from my kisses. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re mine,” I tell her. “Say it.”
“Yours. All yours.”
I can feel my orgasm building, coiling tight at the base of my spine. But I refuse to go over until she does.
I slide my hand between us until I find her clit and brush it with my thumb. She keens, her inner walls clenching around me.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Come for me, little fox. Let me feel you.”
She comes with a cry that’s half my name, half incoherent sound, her body trembling in my arms. The feel of her pulsing around me drags my own orgasm out of me, and I bury myself deep as I empty inside her.
Then Olivia starts laughing.
It’s not hysterical laughter. It’s genuine, surprised, delighted laughter. I pull back to look at her.
“What?”
“We just had sex in a thunderstorm,” she says between giggles. “On a yacht. While we’re both supposed to be processing trauma. We’re a really fucked-up cliché.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Yes, we did. And yes, we are.”
She cups my face as her laughter fades into something softer. “I don’t regret it.”
“Neither do I.”
I kiss her again, slower this time. Gentler. When I pull away, I tuck a strand of wet hair behind her ear.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get dry before we both catch pneumonia.”
I help her up and we make our way to the covered section of the deck, still mostly naked, still dripping. I grab a blanket from the storage bench and wrap it around both of us.
We sit on one of the padded loungers, Olivia tucked against my side, and watch the rain hammer the ocean. Lightning flashes on the horizon. The yacht rocks gently with the waves.
It should be peaceful. And it is, mostly. But I can feel the tension still radiating off Olivia.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Olivia.”
She sighs. “My mother called. The second I turned on my phone, there she was.”
“Of course she did. What did she say?”
“She was thrilled about the partnership. And even more thrilled about the baby.”
I wait. There’s more. I can tell.
“She said I’ve locked you down,” Olivia continues quietly. “That the baby is the ultimate commitment. ‘He’ll have to stay involved now’ were her exact words.”
Anger flares hot in my chest. “She thinks you got pregnant on purpose.”
“Mhmm. And she thinks I’m smart for doing it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
I tighten my arm around her. “You know that’s not true, right? You know I don’t think that.”
“I know. But hearing her say it...” She trails off. “It made me wonder if maybe part of me did want that. To trap you. To make sure you couldn’t leave.”
“Olivia—”
“I know it’s crazy. In my heart of hearts, I know I didn’t plan this. At least, not consciously. But what if somewhere deep down, I wanted it to happen? What if I’m just as manipulative as she is? What if that’s just my DNA and there’s no point pretending otherwise?”
I turn her face toward mine. “Listen to me. You are nothing like your mother. Nothing.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because your mother would never question her own motives. She’d never worry about being manipulative. She’d just do it and justify it afterward.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “You’re too good for that. Too honest.”
“I don’t feel honest right now.”
“That’s because you’re human. Humans have complicated feelings about complicated situations. That’s allowed, Olivia. You don’t have to paint inside the lines she gives you.”
She searches my face. “Do you feel trapped?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little.” I pull her closer. “When I first made you that offer, I didn’t want attachments. I wanted an heir and a clean business arrangement. That was it.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m glad you’re in my life. I’m glad you’re carrying my child. I’m glad we’re doing this together. Honestly, ‘glad’ feels like such an inadequate word for what all those things mean to me.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I kiss her forehead. “Ten years from now, I want to wake up and see you in my bed. We’ll watch our kid run around the house, probably destroying something expensive, and we’ll argue about what to have for dinner and where to go on vacation.
I want that, okay? All of it, Olivia. The boring parts and the messy parts and everything in between. ”
She’s quiet for a moment. “What are we to each other in this future?”
“Partners. Lovers. Soulmates. Whatever you want to call it.”
She pulls back to look at me, her eyes wide. “Soulmates? You believe in soulmates?”
“I do now.”
“Since when?”
“Since you.” I tuck her hair behind her ear again. It keeps falling forward, wet and unruly. “I think a soulmate is whoever you keep choosing. Over and over again. Every day. Even when it’s hard. Even when you want to run.”
“That’s very romantic for a crime lord.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughs, and the sound fills something hollow in my chest. I lean down to kiss the water droplets off her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. She shivers, but not from cold this time.
“Stefan,” she murmurs.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
She doesn’t have to say what exactly she’s thanking me for. I know. I think I’ve known from the start.”
“Always.”
We sit like that for a while, watching the storm. The rain starts to ease up, the thunder moving farther away. Olivia’s breathing evens out and I think she might be falling asleep when my phone rings.
I almost ignore it. But it could be important. It could be about my mother.
I extract myself carefully from Olivia and grab my phone from where I left it near the cabin door. Three missed calls from Taras and a text: Call me. Now.
I dial him back, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake Olivia.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mikayla is getting worse, Stefan. Last night, she was screaming about how she failed you, how she doesn’t deserve to live. Today, she’s even more violent. We had to restrain her so she didn’t bash her own skull in against the wall. What’s next?”
“I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
“When will that be?”
“Soon.”
“Stefan—”
“I said I’ll deal with it.”
I hang up before he can argue further. When I turn around, Olivia is watching me. “Everything okay?” she asks.
I force a smile. “Just business. Nothing to worry about.”
“Was that about your mother?”
“Yes.” The lie comes easily, to my shame. “We might have a lead on where she is.”
“Really? Where?”
“I don’t have details yet. Taras is following up.”
Olivia sits up straighter. “When will you know more?”
“A few days, maybe.”
She nods, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. She wants to know more. To help. And if I tell her about Mikayla, she’ll insist on talking to her. On trying to understand why Mikayla betrayed us, on finding some way to fix it.
I can’t let that happen. Mikayla is too unstable, too dangerous. I won’t risk Olivia getting hurt.
“Come on,” I say, holding out my hand. “Let’s get you dried off and fed. You need to eat.”
She takes my hand and lets me pull her up. As we head inside, guilt gnaws at my stomach. I just told her I want honesty between us. I just painted this picture of our future together, built on trust and choice. And then I lied to her face.
But it’s for her own good. To keep her safe. That’s what matters.
… Right?
I push the doubt away and focus on getting Olivia warm and comfortable. The lie can wait. The truth can wait, too.
Everything can wait as long as she’s safe.