CHAPTER 27
Petal
“I do not need the hospital. Everything is fine.” It’s so cute whenever he gets uncomfortable because his speech becomes all formal and the accent richer.
“You’re not really a good judge of that, Zinovy. The mister tough guy act isn’t necessary. Let me at least clean you up, and we’ll go from there.”
His nod of agreement sends a secret thrill racing through me.
For so long, I felt as if I had no power in life.
What little agency I had, Jordan stripped away every time he hit me.
Hurt me. Made me surrender my body to his buddies to satisfy their whims. Even after I escaped him, it felt as though he controlled what I could do.
My legal identification was still at the house we shared, under his control.
My gut insisted if I even tried showing my face to reclaim my belongings, he’d kill me.
The specter of him loomed behind me, scaring me enough that even the shelter and foodbank didn’t feel safe.
Zinovy has given me back a sense of safety. Even when I was furious with him for being rough with me, he never lost his temper. At least, not with me. Possibly, its manipulative of me to test him in so many ways, but after what I’ve been through, it’s impossible to blindly trust.
It’s not lost on me that the hand Zinovy damaged beating my ex to death with is the one that accidentally left bruises on my thigh.
There’s no boastful explanation, no attention seeking suggestion that I should accept his actions as an apology.
Just silent atonement for what time and perspective has allowed me to see was wholly unintentional on his part.
As far as grovels go, his is pretty epic.
“You going to fix me up, little bird? Repair the hand that avenged you? It aches because it deserves to. I deserve to. For the marks I left on your sweet body, malyshka. It is unacceptable that I should be the cause of such blemishes,” he grumbles.
“Without my consent,” I whisper, my head already bent over his hand at the kitchen sink, cool water rinsing away the gore that’s half-dried around the broken skin.
“Pardon?” he asks.
“Marks without my consent, perhaps. But if I want them? If I ask for your marks, Zinovy, would you deny me them?” It’s important, I think, to make it clear that there are times I’d welcome wearing his bruises.
I don’t want to be treated like fragile glass, simply because I have been through some terrible stuff.
“I will deny you nothing. Ever. That’s a fucking promise, my Petal,” he growls, the exhale of breath making the fine hair along my temple dance and tickle against me.
His knuckles on his right hand are split and swollen.
Every single one of them. This is more than just throwing a few punches.
This looks like the kind of damage I’d expect from slamming into cinderblocks.
And though Jordan’s hands absolutely felt like bricks when he used them to hit me, drugs made his muscles soft and scrawny.
The more of them he embezzled from his supplier, the skinnier and less in shape he became.
Not that it made his abuse hurt any less, but it definitely doesn’t account for how punching him could do this kind of damage to Zinovy’s hand.
“What did you do to destroy your hand like this? There’s no way this will heal on its own. Zinovy, I’m guessing you’ve actually got broken bones here!” I cradle his paw of a hand in mine and pat it dry, pleased to see the blood has stopped flowing from the split skin for the most part.
“I beat him to death, my Petal. With the hand that needed to atone. So every time I move a finger for the next weeks, I will feel the reminder you are too precious for me to risk harming.” He pauses, bending at the knee until he can tilt his head between my face and his hand, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Are you scared of me now, moya malen’kaya pitschka?” he asks, sounding uncertain for the first time since I met him.
“No. I don’t think I am, actually. I should be, but I think you really mean it.
” My answer makes his eyes darken with intensity that has my body perking up with arousal.
The combination of power he conjures when he cherishes me as obviously as he does mixed with the heady awareness of his obsession is an aphrodisiac.
Maybe that means I’m just as unbalanced as he is.
“Finish doctoring my hand, malyshka. Then it is time for me to show you how much I mean it.” His voice has deepened into a gravely rumble that ripples through me everywhere our bodies touch.
I bump his hip with mine to back him away from the sink and drop to my knees. During my snooping through the house earlier, I’d noticed a robust first-aid kit tucked under there, and I realize now how well prepared he really is for us to make this our home.
The choked groan above me is my first indication my change in position has affected him. The sound of a fist, his left I hope, slamming into the counter is the second.
“You must not kneel this way, my Petal. It is too tempting,” he grits.
“Even as hurt as you are, your mind is still on sex!” My attempt at joking with him falls flat. His hot gaze rakes over me on my knees at his feet.
“I will be a ghost in the afterlife and still want to bury myself in your wet heat.” His undamaged hand tangles in my hair, holding my head captive, so I can only stare up at him.
“How very Halloween of you, Zinovy. But you’re a few days early,” I tease, trying to hide how deeply his vow affects me.
“The intention remains the same, little bird. Now, stand up before I forget once more I must keep myself under control when I am with you.” His demand sparks a reckless idea, and I act on it before he can use his hold on my hair to stop me.
My hands go to the belt of his slacks to work the leather free of the buckle.
His groan is all the encouragement I need when I carefully unbutton his pants and tug down the zipper.
The weight of whatever’s in his pockets does the work of dragging them down his thighs far enough to reveal the wide bulge that pulses down his right leg, straining the confines of his dark blue boxer briefs.
I push at his pants to slide them the rest of the way to pool at his ankles.
There’s no containing my gasp when the move reveals the thick mushroom head of his cock, shiny with precum, poking from the leg hole midway down his thigh.
It twitches at my attention, arching away from the dark hair-covered muscle of his leg with an almost sentient mobility.
“It wants you nearly as much as I do, little bird,” Zinovy chuckles, the laugh choking off when my tongue lashes over the exposed skin, collecting the thick precum that’s smearing the tip and his thigh behind it.
My channel clenches on nothing, aching already from the burning stretch this monster dick will provide.
“Then I should introduce myself properly, shouldn’t I?
” I shuffle my knees forward until I’m able to nuzzle my face into the knit cloth of his boxer briefs.
I know I should finish cleaning his hand and getting ice on it, and we have plenty to discuss and resolve before I’m ready to declare myself his the way he expects me to.
But right now? Right now, I feel as if I’ll die if I don’t explore this need between us.
If I don’t satisfy the desperate urge to feel him splitting me wide open and making me whole.
Passion is in control now, and passion has my hands pushing those briefs down.