32. Laila
32
LAILA
I stop in front of the door to the gym, waiting for Dominik to pull it open for me the way he always does, but it stays closed.
I glance back. Dom isn’t even behind me like I assumed. He’s stalled out at the hood of the car, digging his toe into a break in the asphalt and refusing to meet my eyes.
“Aren’t you coming with?” I ask.
It’s not even that I want him to come in with me; it’s just that Dom always does. He’s my stalkery little shadow, and I barely even notice him anymore.
Arsen told me once I’d get used to the guards. I guess he was right.
“Not today.” Dom waves me on. “You go ahead.”
I mock-gasp and peer up at the sky, sending Dom into a ready stance, his hand on the hip where I know he keeps a gun. “What is it?”
“Oh, I just assumed the world must be ending. That’s the only way I ever thought I’d get rid of you.”
“Hilarious.” His hand relaxes and he narrows his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Laila.”
“In an hour?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He climbs back into the Wrangler, and by the time I’ve opened the door, he’s already backing out of the lot.
I ignore Dom’s weirdness because my hip still really hurts. Even after Arsen’s magic hands the other night and an extra session with Tyler yesterday, I’m limping into the studio.
Tyler is usually waiting for me at the front desk, but the modern, wood-paneled lobby is empty today.
“Tyler?” I call, limping around a fiddle leaf fig and peering through the frosted windows of his studio.
The studio is always empty when I’m here. It’s part of the arrangement. Arsen pays Tyler what I can only assume is an ungodly amount of money to rent out the entire building during my sessions. It’s why Tyler is always ready to clear his schedule and book an extra session with me.
Today, though…
Silence.
Every second light is off and the ones that remain on are dimmed so the room is cast in a gloomy haze. The padded floor is empty and the massage table has been pushed up along the wall of mirrors.
“Tyler…?” I try again, venturing further into the room.
If I wasn’t already the main character in an ongoing tragedy, I’d assume I was in a horror movie. I’m standing in the center of the studio, visions of a knife-wielding murderer streaking across the room in my direction, when I hear the door click closed behind me.
I whirl around too fast, my heart hammering in my chest and pain splintering down my leg, to see?—
“Arsen!” I exhale, the imminent threat of death more than enough of a cardio workout for today. “You scared the hell out of me.”
I’m so relieved it’s him and not some masked murderer that it takes me a second to clock the predatory quality in his eyes. His gaze is laser-focused.
That’s right—I almost forgot. In terms of kill count, Arsen probably has a hefty lead on all of the slasher movie villains.
I take an instinctive step away from him. “What are you doing here?”
I haven’t seen him since the night of the fundraiser. We sleep next to each other most nights, though the only reason I know that is because the woodsy scent of him is all over the sheets every morning. It’s not like I ever actually see him in bed with me.
Arsen bolts the studio door behind him. “I’m here for you.”
“For me?” I frown, looking around. “Do you do physical therapy here, too? Where’s Tyler?”
Arsen takes slow, purposeful steps towards me. He moves like a panther, steady and sure. “Tyler is at a coffee shop down the block, under strict orders not to come back here for the next hour.”
“But my appointment…” I trail off, trying to make sense of what Arsen is doing here . “I need?—”
“You don’t need him for anything,” he growls. “You don’t need him to touch you. You don’t need him to make you feel good. That’s what I’m here for.”
I laugh right in his face. “I had no idea you were a trained physical therapist. What about gynecology? Do you do pap smears? Or—oh wait, hey, how are you with dentistry? This molar has been bothering the hell out of me.”
His eyes flicker to the table by the corner. “Would you like to start with some light stretching or shall we begin with a massage?”
Just the mention of the word has me reliving the way his hands worked over my hip and down my thigh… and between my legs.
I squeeze my thighs together and plant my hands on my hips. Mostly to keep from wrapping them around Arsen’s thick neck. “Stop this. Send in Tyler.”
“Tyler is no longer allowed anywhere near you.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I don’t know why you’re laughing, roza. Watching another man touch my wife isn’t a joke to me.”
I take a deep breath and rub my fingertips on my temples. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“I can help you with that.”
“Are you a neurologist, too?” I snap.
It’s a crime for him to look this good in nothing but a white t-shirt and dark gray joggers. I wouldn’t even mind if he decided to lurk in the corner during my appointment so I could sneak glances at him while I’m stretching.
But that’s not the point, now, is it?
“Tyler is a professional. He touches me so that he can help me. There’s nothing remotely intimate about it.”
Especially since Tyler is the human equivalent of a foam roller, as far as my libido is concerned. He makes my hip feel better, but he does nothing for any other part of me.
Somehow, the control of that particular engine is firmly in the hands of the one man I can never have.
“The pictures I’ve seen beg to differ.”
“What pictures?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know exactly which pictures he’s talking about. During my last session, Dominik was skulking around the edge of the room, snickering about something he refused to divulge.
My lips purse. “I’m gonna kill those two. Dominik and Gedeon shouldn’t be sending pictures of me during an appointment. If you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at your men.”
“This is not about?—”
“No, it’s not,” I agree. I stomp over to him and jab a finger into the impossibly hard muscle beneath his white t-shirt. I don’t want to get distracted by his body, so I keep my eyes trained on his face. His arrogant, sexy, annoying-as-hell face. “This is about you ! You’re acting like a?—”
“A concerned husband?” he interjects.
“I would’ve gone with ‘a jealous asshole.’”
A ripple of anger tears across his face. “I’m not jealous of anyone. I’m simply possessive when it comes to my things.”
“I am not one of your ‘things,’ Arsen! And even if I was, it’s not like you’ve shown much interest in me recently. Where have you been the last couple nights?” I don’t wait for an answer. Part of me doesn’t really want to know. “Or do you only care about me if someone else is taking notice? You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to want me, either. Is that it?”
“You’re mine to touch. And mine to want.” He looms over me, eyes shrouded in darkness. “You’re my wife.”
My hand twitches, dying to slap him across that smug face. “That doesn’t mean you get to control every aspect of my life.”
“I have a contract that says otherwise.”
“Ugh!” I spit, because real words sometimes just don’t do this man justice. “You can’t possibly think that?—”
The words die on my tongue as he grabs me by the waist and yanks me into his arms.
I shove against his chest, I kick, I flail. None of it does me any good. He just holds me tighter.
“I like you like this—all wriggly and feisty. You seem fine to me.” He drops his mouth to my ear. “Should we test out that hip of yours, see how your therapy is coming along?”
My body quivers, and I tell myself it’s anger. Rage.
But there’s a distracting warmth blossoming between us that goes by another name altogether.
“Is this why you’re here?” I demand. “You just want an easy lay?”
“No part of this has been easy,” he laughs viciously. “You make sure of that. But to answer your question, I’m here to make sure I’m taking care of every single need my wife might have.” His knee slips between my thighs, and I can’t stop myself from grinding into the toe-curling friction. “What is it you need?”
“For you to go to hell.”
“Careful what you wish for, Laila . I might just take you with me.”
Then his lips crash down against mine.
Just like that, I can’t fight, can’t think. I can barely breathe. I shove against his chest, but my fingers get distracted by the firm warmth of his body under my palms. The slow grind of his leg between mine scrambles my thoughts until, God save me, I’m helping him tease my pants down over my hips.
“We can’t do this here,” I whimper.
“We can do whatever we want.”
His hand is down my tights now, forcing my legs apart. Is this what I want? For Arsen to storm in and out of my life on a whim, demanding things from me I’m not sure he’ll ever give in return?
“You don’t know what I want.”
Also, I don’t know what I want, but it’s not as if I can say that out loud. Besides, I’m a little preoccupied trying to stand upright. My knees buckle as he drags a finger over me.
“Stop fighting it . ” His breath is hot against my neck. “Stop fighting me. You know I can take care of you.”
For now , maybe. But everything is temporary, and I don’t know what my life looks like in a month or two—in a year.
Then he plunges his finger inside me, and the only thing that exists is now.
He lowers me to the floor, and I throw my arms over my head as he buries his face between my legs.
Arsen cradles my lower back, lifting me off the padded floor so he can take me as deeply as he wants. There isn’t a single part of me that’s still thinking about the pain in my hip as he thrusts his tongue into me and eats me out like the world really is ending.
By the time he withdraws, my body is warm and liquid.
When Arsen rolls me onto my side and slips behind me, I don’t feel a thing but heat. There’s only space left for desire. I hate to break it to Tyler, but physical therapy doesn’t hold a candle to what Arsen is doing to me now.
“Tell me you want me, roza .”
I grit my teeth and grind against him, but Arsen pulls back out of reach. “I’ll do it myself if I have to,” I pant.
He lines up behind me, dipping himself into me until I can’t help but gasp. Until I drop my head back against his shoulder, silently asking for more.
“If doing it yourself was enough, we wouldn’t be here,” he whispers against my skin. “There’s only me, Laila. Tell me it’s only me.”
I should hate his caveman act, should tell him to shove it all where the sun don’t shine…
But I can’t stop myself from hoping that he might need this as much as I do. That, under it all, my mom might be right: Arsen Adamov might want me as much as I want him.
But I’ve been burned too many times for full honesty. I settle on a half-truth.
“There’s no one else.”
Arsen hesitates, his hand clenching around my thigh tightly enough I wonder if he won’t leave me here, breathless and wanting and shamelessly dripping wet.
Then he thrusts fully inside of me, and I shatter.
“You can’t run from the truth forever,” he warns as he fills me again and again, tipping us both over the edge.
As I fall to pieces, all I can think is…
Watch me.