Chapter 64
64
The next day…
Quinn
I don’t remember much about getting to Roman’s house last night. He carried me in his arms, laid me on crisp white sheets, and then lay beside me, stroking my arm as I drifted.
When I wake up, the clock says it’s one p.m. I slept without stirring for many hours in a dreamless oblivion where nothing troubled me.
Julian can’t find me now, even in my imagination. Roman isn’t here, but he left me a note in his familiar looping handwriting.
Moya zhena,
I haven’t gone far, I promise. There was some leftover business to attend to this morning, but I’m all yours after that.
There are clothes and toiletries for you. If the guards are still outside when you wake up, don’t worry. I’m just paranoid about your safety unless I’m home. If they’re gone, I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.
All my love,
I look out of the panoramic windows. This bedroom is high up, and from the view over the river, I guess it’s an Upper West Side property.
His room is weirdly austere, with clean lines and featureless, functional decor—no color, no personal touches.
He told me he never liked the house much, but it fits with his persona of a cold, closed-off, brutal man with no emotional connections. Maybe all it needs is a woman’s touch.
I shower, then check the closet and find it crammed with beautiful clothes, all in my size. Beside them are Roman’s suits and shirts, his shoes lined up neatly underneath.
I dress in a coffee-colored midi dress and weave my hair into a scruffy fishtail braid. There’s no one outside the door, so I venture into the corridor, drifting past expensive-looking artworks until I find the stairwell.
Roman is indeed in the kitchen, and as I open the door, he turns to face me, snatching his pistol from the countertop.
“Woah!” I cry, ducking behind the island.
“Shit.” He puts the gun aside and holds his arms out to me, and I run into them. “Fuck me, Quinn. I didn’t realize how on edge I still was.” He points at a baking dish. “I’m making your cinnamon rolls. They won’t be as good, but I’ve remembered the recipe.”
I step back and take in the sight of him. His navy blue silk shirt is dusty with flour, and splodges of dough are on his pants. He looks down and chuckles.
“Ah. I don’t own an apron, believe it or not.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. “It’ll wash out. Maybe. The shirt wasn’t too expensive, was it?”
He kisses my nose. “Too expensive for me? Hell, no. I got a closet full of them.”
“I saw. Do we live here now?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Nah. It’s a house, not a home. We can for the time being if you like, but I like your apartment because it’s yours. Let’s get a new place. You can choose, and I’ll pay for whatever decor you pick out.”
I peer into the baking dish. “Okay. This kitchen isn’t big enough anyway, but these rolls definitely are.”
He shrugs. “I like them that way. More to enjoy. Soft, squishy, warm…”
I wriggle out of his grasp, laughing. “You’re talking about the buns, right?”
“Sure am.”
He slaps my ass, then catches my wrist, pulling me to him. I can’t help but melt into his embrace as he tilts my chin, his silver eyes searching my face.
“Seriously, rusalka . Are you alright? You slept for so long; I was starting to worry.”
“I had to,” I say. “I was tired, and everything ached. I feel a lot better now.”
Roman’s expression softens, and he lowers his lips to mine. His passion for me burns as brightly as ever, but his kiss is tender, almost reverent.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” he murmurs into my mouth. “God knows I don’t deserve a reprieve, but I feel lighter, like a heavy weight has been lifted.”
“It’s not just getting me back.” I wind my hands through his hair, my nails raking his scalp, and he groans. “You didn’t bring destruction upon your sister and her husband. It was Silvio, all of it. You did protect Bianca, just as you protected me. That’s a truth you can build on.”
“I should have been more vigilant?—”
“I lied about Julian, and you thought Silvio was dead.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. And I couldn’t have done what I did if you hadn’t made me believe in myself. I don’t feel like a victim, Roman.” I stroke his jawline with my fingertip. “I’m a survivor. We both are.”
His lips are soft, moving against mine with a tenderness that moves me deep inside. To think I doubted he loved me—it seems ludicrous now.
He never once lied to me, but I lied to myself time and time again, never daring to believe that something so dysfunctional could blossom into true intimacy.
“Hey, beautiful,” Roman murmurs in my ear. “Would it be forward of me to worship every luscious inch of you in the privacy of my room?”
“Since when did you care about being forward?” I laugh. “But I’m disgusting, Roman. I need to wash.”
“You’re no less gorgeous than you were on our wedding day.” He kisses the back of my hand with a flourish, and I giggle. “But I want you to be comfortable. Let’s get clean so we can get dirty again.”
I’m shocked to see the enormous copper bathtub in Roman’s bathroom. I haven’t soaked in a bath since childhood; showers are valuable space savers in New York’s brutal apartment scene.
Roman runs it hot and adds a fragrant oil, then surprises me by stripping and climbing in.
“Come join me,” he says. “This bath is great but uncomfortable when you need to lie back and relax. Let me be your pillow.”
I take off my clothes, but when I glance at Roman, he’s frowning. The familiar surge of self-consciousness doesn’t come because I know he loves my body, so what does he see?
“You’re marked.” He points at the livid red rings around my ankles. “Your wrists, too. Jesus Christ, how did I not notice before?”
Clouds gather in his eyes. “I wanna take care of you, Quinn, but I can’t lie; seeing you injured, even slightly, makes me sick.”
“I’m not hurt,” I say, getting into the water and settling back in his arms, my head on his chest. “Not really.”
“I know. You’re made of strong stuff.” He tips shower gel onto a sponge, working the lather over my breasts and stomach. “Feel good?”
“So much. Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me your gratitude,” he says, massaging my scalp with his strong fingers. “I get to love you. I’m fucking blessed.”
He washes my hair, and I dunk my head to rinse it. Under his cleansing touch, the filth and degradation of my captivity dissolve into nothingness, and I feel renewed.
“I think you’re clean now,” Roman says. He traces the curves of my tits where they crest the water’s surface. “ Moya koroleva . You’re my queen, and you alone made a king your slave. How does it feel?”
“Better than anything.”
I arch my back slightly, inviting him to explore further. He takes the hint and cups my breasts, squeezing gently before teasing my nipples with his thumbs. I open my eyes and look up at him, the desire in his gaze making my heart race.
He leans down and kisses me, his tongue exploring my mouth as his hands continue to roam over my body.
He breaks away from the kiss and moves his hand down my stomach, tracing a path to my pussy. I hold my breath as he begins to circle my clit with his fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure to make me moan, and I grip the edge of the tub, my knuckles turning white as the sensations become more intense.
His cock grows hard against me, and he shifts so he can slip it between my soapy thighs.
“That’s fucking hot,” he murmurs. “Do you want to come, or do you need my cock to get you there?”
I can barely speak; my attention is focused on the sensitive spot that grows ever more swollen as he works it. The heat of his shaft as it slides against my pussy lips adds to the sensation, and I drop back onto his chest as his hand grips my neck.
“Use your big girl voice.” Roman’s fingertips press along the length of the tendon, his other hand moving insistently between my legs. “What do you want?”
“Let’s get out of the water,” I gasp. “I want you inside me.”
“Such a good little slut.” He bites my earlobe and releases me, helping me to my feet. “Out you get.”
We grab towels, and I stare as he rubs himself down. His erection is solid and straight, the tip a deep plum color, and he grasps it, watching me from beneath heavy lids as I dry off.
“Bed.” He opens the bathroom door. “This is gonna be rough, Quinn. I haven’t got a chance in hell of holding back.”