21. Arsen
21
ARSEN
The door is closed, but a steady stream of insults pours out from the gap underneath. I’m half-concerned that she’s too busy calling me a “pompous, disagreeable motherfucker” to remember to breathe.
Knocking seems pointless—no way in hell she’d hear me—so I push the door open instead.
Laila’s blonde hair flies wildly as she twists around to face me. Her phone is ringing in her hand. She’s rolled up the sleeves of my oversized shirt so they’re folded over her elbows. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s our wedding night.”
The phone goes quiet and she scowls. “Is that supposed to mean something? Last I checked, it was a fake wedding.”
I shut the door behind me. “The wedding wasn’t fake . We’re legally bound to one another now.”
She opens her mouth, another retort all teed up and ready to be launched, but her phone starts ringing again. She looks down at it, her lips curling with disgust. “Pigheaded fucking bastard.”
All at once, it hits me that Laila might have been cursing someone else.
“What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong with my life right now?” She barks out a humorless laugh. “It’s my father. He keeps calling and texting. I block him, but then he just finds another way to reach out. So we keep playing this stupid fucking game. And I keep thinking about jumping off a bridge.”
“I take it you’re not on good terms.”
“There are no ‘terms.’ Not since he walked out on us when I was a little girl. That was it for me. I would’ve happily cut him off.” The phone is white-knuckled in her hand and she’s back to pacing across the room. “But my mom and her bleeding heart…”
Frowning, I try to keep up, but I’m distracted by the way Laila has started limping midway through her rant.
“I can’t believe she told him she has cancer,” she growls. “What was she thinking? He’ll never leave us alone now.”
She winces, stopping long enough to massage a fist down her leg, directly over the scar I’ve seen up close and personal. I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it.
“Now, he’s sending flowers and cards.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s disgusting.”
“Maybe he’s trying to apologize.”
“How can a man in your line of work be naive?” she seethes. “He’s not coming around because he’s concerned about her; he’s coming around because he wants his damn house back!”
She drops down heavily on the fainting couch in front of her bed and stretches out the scarred leg.
“Mom got the house in the divorce,” she explains as she digs knuckles into her hip. “Charles fought for it, but even a soulless motherfucker like him couldn’t come up with a convincing argument for why his ex-wife and daughter should be homeless. So he lost the house, but he never lost hope of getting it back some day.” She winces again and presses both palms to her thigh.
“Is your leg giving you trouble?”
She peels her hands away immediately. “It’s nothing. It flares up when I get stressed. Between you and my father, I’m amazed my leg’s not literally on fire.”
She glares at her phone sitting next to her, and my jaw tightens. “Give me your phone.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to read his texts.”
“No.”
“I’ll take care of him for you.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, thanks. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“And yet you’re here,” I remind her. “In my house. In my bed.”
“Are you trying to pat yourself on the back for kidnapping and extortion? Because I wouldn’t, if I were you. It’s a bad look.”
Gedeon’s words float back into my consciousness. She’s nice. To whom, though? It sure as fuck is not me.
“Don’t be stubborn. Asking you was a courtesy.” I drop down on one knee in front of her.
She stiffens, leaning away from me as though I’ve just pulled out a weapon. “What are you doing?”
“You’re going to hurt yourself the way you’re jabbing at your muscles.”
Pushing her hands out of the way, I stroke my fingers up her thigh to her hip, wishing I could see her naked scar while I do it.
A breath whistles out of her slightly parted lips. “You… you don’t have to do that.”
I ignore her as I work a tender touch into her skin. I can feel the tension draining away beneath my fingertips. “I’ll see those texts one way or the other. It’ll be easier if you just hand the phone over now.”
“Appeasement never works. The more I give— Oof. ” Her breath catches when I hit a particularly tender spot on her leg. “—the more you’ll want to take.”
You’re right about that, roza . You have no fucking idea how right you are.
I keep massaging her leg. “Or maybe I want to help you and it would be easier if you didn’t fight me every step of the way.”
Her blue eyes turn steely as she tugs her leg out of my grip and stands up. “Bullshit. This is just another way you can control me. Another thing you can hold over my head.”
I nod and rise. “You’re upset about the marriage.”
“Ding, ding, ding! Ladies and gentlemen, we might have a genius in our midst.”
“I gave you a choice.”
“But you didn’t give me any time to make it! Which isn’t fair, because I was half-asleep. And I’m pregnant! Pregnancy means I’m constantly emotional. And… and… you kept staring at me with those green eyes and it’s not freaking fair!”
“How devious of me to marry you while my eyes are so green.”
She spins away from me with a grimace, limping as she moves to the bedside table. She angrily opens a pill bottle and then tosses a pill back equally as angrily, which I didn’t know was possible until now. It’s strange how sensual it is to watch her throat bob.
The moment doesn’t last long, though. Once she’s medicated, she whirls around to face me, all fire again. “How the hell am I supposed to explain this to my mother? If I tell her, are you going to have to kill her? Is this a secret?”
“I don’t kill anyone if I can avoid it.”
“Gee, isn’t that comforting?” She’s still pacing. I’m exhausted just watching her. I start to unbutton my shirt, and she freezes. “What are you doing?”
“It’s late and I’m tired. I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Here?” she gawks.
“Where else should I sleep?”
“Literally anywhere else would be fabulous. You and Natascha didn’t even live on the same side of town. Why should we be any different?”
It’s a good question.
I have no intention of answering it.
I discard my shirt on one of the chairs. Her gaze keeps slipping from my face, venturing lower with each dip before she rakes it back to my eyes.
“It was a mistake to keep Natascha so separate from me. She was an easy target because our lives were completely disconnected.” The idea comes to me as the words are tumbling out of my mouth. The more I say, the more I like it. “It’s not going to be just social functions and prearranged photoshoots like it was with her. For as long as we’re married, we’re going to have to present as a real married couple. And it starts right here, in this bedroom.”
“I am not having sex with you,” she snarls.
“Not with that attitude.” I unbutton my pants. “I want you to beg first.”
She flings a pillow at me. “You know, most people want sex to mean something. It’s not just threats and power games.”
“Oh? Tell me then: what did it mean to you when we had sex?”
Her face pales. She swallows hard, her shoulders hunching around her ears. “I… You… That was different. We had a contract.”
“Should I draw up a new one?” I advance toward her, and she realizes far too late that she’s hemmed in between the bed, the wall, and the nightstand. There’s nowhere for her to run. “I can be very specific, if you like. ‘ Clause 1: In which we, the undersigned, designate the positions we prefer…’”
Laila somehow pulls off a simultaneous angry scowl and nervous swallow. The juxtaposition makes my cock jump in my boxer briefs. “Is this your version of flirting with me?”
I shrug. “It beats fighting with you. Although, at this point, I don’t see much of a difference. One inevitably leads to the other.”
“Blech.” She makes a fake retching sound, but her eyes fall to my chest again. “You have some nerve?—”
“And you seem to be having trouble concentrating,” I lob back. “My eyes are up here, roza .”
“Put a damn shirt on then.”
“You’re wearing my clothes. Care to hand them over?”
She folds her arms protectively over herself. “You have plenty. I saw shelves and shelves full.”
I stiffen. Two days in my house, and she’s already uncovering my secrets.
I hide my discomfort behind a hand raking through my hair. “I like to be prepared. You never know when someone is going to come along and steal from you.”
“You’re the criminal, not me.”
“Good point. Which crime should I commit tonight?”
I take a step towards her, and she wards me off like an evil spirit. “Back off, Arsen.”
“Why? Scared of what you might do if I get too close?”
“I just don’t feel like vomiting on anyone right now,” she says, but her voice shakes.
I chuckle. “You’re not a very good liar.”
“I prefer the truth. Here’s one: you’re an arrogant prick!” Her hair is frizzed around her head in a blonde halo. “I couldn’t never make you believe that I don’t want you, because your fragile ego would probably implode at a realization like that.”
I brush my fingertips against the blush high on her cheekbones. Her eyes dilate as the color from her face spreads beneath the loose collar of my sweatshirt. Roza. My rose. Blooming petals on her cheeks.
It floors me every fucking time.
“I stayed away for eight months because I had to, you know,” I admit in a husky rasp, unsure why I’m telling her this at all. “Not because I wanted to.”
“Because of Natascha?”
“Because you were better off without me around.” My fingers leave her face and settle on her belly.
Her breath catches. “I was worried. I thought you didn’t care about her. About the baby.”
“Of course I care,” I growl. “She’s mine .”
“She’s not just your heir, Arsen; she’s your child. And a child needs a father.” Her voice breaks, and I want to smash her phone into a million tiny pieces. I want to bury her father in the dirt for no other reason than that he didn’t realize what he had.
“I know that.” I press in closer. This time, Laila doesn’t push me back. “I know what you need, too.”
The flecks of light blue in her eyes turn dark. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet. Not fully. But maybe I want to.”
Our fight blurs at the edges, bleeding into something else until our lips meet somewhere in the middle. Her stomach is only a mild inconvenience as I grab her hands and pin them against the wall beside her head. I part her legs with my knee, and she moans.
As I peel the clothes off of her, every warm brush of her skin against mine feels like a new vow.
I vow to cherish her.
To ravish her.
To treasure her.
To give her everything she needs…
Whether or not she knows she needs it.
When she’s naked, I press my hand between her legs, stroking her gently as she bucks her hips against my fingers. “I have proof of your lie right here, roza ,” I growl into her ear. “It’s dripping all over my hand.”
In response, she slams her lips against mine.
I taste blood. “Did you just bite me?” I ask her in amazement.
She arches a brow without a hint of shame. “Sure did. And you’re still here. What’s that proof of?”
“That marrying you wasn’t enough.” I slide my hand down her side towards her scar. “I still need to show you that you’re mine.”
Her chest shudders as my fingers trace the intricate line of her scar. All at once, she grabs my hand and lifts it to her chest. “Does that make you mine, too?”
In answer, I grip her waist and spin her around. Laila catches herself on the wall, understanding what’s happening enough to arch her back just as I drive my cock inside her.
This was supposed to douse the flames burning in my chest. It was supposed to make things easier. But with every stroke inside my wife— fuck, that word is tantalizing—the fire rages hotter, brighter.
I don’t belong to anyone. I never have.
But as I bury myself in Laila again and again, it doesn’t sound like the worst idea.
She stretches her arms above her head, her palms flat against the wall, and sinks back onto me. I slide deeper with a growl. “The license was for the law,” she gasps. “The vows were for the Lord.” She looks back over her shoulder, her periwinkle blue eyes gone glassy. “Who is this for?”
I ignore the answer that slips to the very tip of my tongue, and bury myself in her again and again.
I should’ve gone to my room.
I should’ve stayed downstairs.
Fuck, I should have locked my office door eight months ago and never let this woman walk into my life.
But it’s way too fucking late for any of that now.
My hand slips around her hip, and I circle two fingers against her, thrusting to the pace of her moans. When she leans her head back and clenches around me, I drive into her, spilling into her until we’re both breathless and limp against the wall.
Only when the last tremors have faded do I dare to breathe again.
It was for me, I say silently. Not the law. Not the Lord.
This was for me.