Chapter 6 - Jaroslav
It’s eleven thirty in the morning. My office feels like a prison today. I’ve hardly managed to get anything done at work, and every single person who talks to me pushes my agitation to a higher level.
Sitting at my desk, I strum my fingers against the dark wood. The steady beat against the surface somehow soothes my thoughts just for a small moment.
Until my assistant walks into my office, wanting to ask me something, but as soon as she sees my face, she stammers an apology for interrupting and leaves again.
A loud huff escapes my lips, and I call her back.
“Leora, what do you want?” I snarl, sitting up straighter.
She leans back through the doorway. “It’s ok, Sir. It’s not important,” she says.
“Just fucking spit it out. What did you come in here for?” I demand. She’s already interrupted me. She’s already annoyed me. May as well make it worthwhile.
Her mouth drops open and closes again, her eyes flared wide. “I…I wanted to ask if I could leave early today, but honestly, it’s not important. I just wanted to…”
“Go now.”
“Yes, sorry, Sir. I should never have asked.”
“No, I mean go home early. Now. You can go now.” My tone is too harsh, but I don’t care.
“Oh,” she stammers.
But Leora doesn’t move; she just stands there staring at me like a moron.
“And?” I shout, making her jump into action. She takes a step back and almost trips over her own feet.
“Thank you, Sir,” she squeals and bolts out of the door.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. She shouldn’t have to suffer my mood. No one should. I don’t want to be around anyone today. My mood is so fucking dark it would put my double espresso to shame.
Picking up the coffee cup, I down the espresso in one shot and slam it back down onto my desk.
I haven’t been sleeping much. Things at work are hellish with the mishaps happening around our operations.
Last night was pathetic. We got the shit delivered, but those morons tried to intercept our convoy, and when we pulled over and surprised them on one of the exits, I got into a knife fight with one of them.
A fucking knife fight. I gingerly touch my side where his weapon found my flesh.
It’s tender but not bad. I got two stitches this morning from my brother, and it’s freshly bandaged.
I don’t even care about the injury; I care about the audacity of that fucking low-level mafia family who thought they could take us on.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter now; they learned their lesson.
But it’s not the only thing bothering me. It’s not the problem that’s vexing me the most.
At home, things are also hellish. It’s not going as I planned at all. She doesn’t even speak to me anymore. She hides in her room day and night and won’t even join me for dinner. How can I win her over when I never see her? How can I pull her back to me if she locks herself away like that?
I thought it would be easier than this. I thought that when she saw me again, she’d fall in love as quickly as we fell for each other last time. But that was a pathetic dream—one I’m very quickly learning isn’t going to come true.
In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll ever like me again—never mind loving me. It was naive and foolish to think I could undo the past like that. I don’t deserve her.
But how badly I want her.
Sighing, I push my hands through my hair and groan as I lean my head over the desk, resting it in the palm of my hands.
I’m hardly at home because of what’s going on at work. And when I am home, I don’t get to see her. It has to change. I can’t just give up on my plans. The yearning inside me is consuming me, consuming my thoughts. There has to be a way through this.
In a flash, the idea hits me, and a slow smile spreads over my face.
She’ll hate it. But there won’t be anything she can actually do about it.
With a surge of energy, my enthusiasm renewed, I push my chair back and stand, ready to leave.
The guards updated me an hour ago. She left the house to go shopping again. I don’t think she’ll be home until after three. She usually makes a day of it. I think it’s her way of trying to escape me.
Well, I’m about to change things so that she has no choice but to interact with me.
I rush from the office, not caring about the incomplete work. That is a problem for another day. I have more pressing matters to attend to.
Arriving home, I immediately call the housekeepers into action, and together we pack all her things from her room…into mine. Her clothes are hung in my closet, her bathroom products are placed around my vanity, and in my shower. We pack it out neatly as though this is where she belongs.
Because it is where she belongs, right next to me.
I can’t stop smiling. It’s the perfect plan. And yes, she’ll be furious with me, but she’ll get over it, and we can start interacting again. Once everything is done, I stand back and admire it. My room is now her room.
All that’s left to do now is wait for her to get home.
Late afternoon, I sit in the library, biding my time while I catch up on some reading. My heart is racing with anticipation and excitement.
I hear the front door open and close, and a smile spreads over my face again.
Staying put, the excitement builds in my chest. I continue to stare at the book in my hands, but it is merely a prop now.
It doesn’t take long before her anger bursts from her. My smile widens.
“Jaroslav!” She screams my name into the house from her bedroom. “What games are you playing?” she shouts. I hear loud, stomping footsteps as she goes to look for me in my room… and realizes what I’ve done. “Jaroslav!” she shouts again, her voice reaching a higher, angrier octave.
Remaining calm and quiet, I wait. She’ll find me eventually.
When Valery storms into the library, it’s like a tornado whipping into existence.
Her hair is loose around her shoulders, like a cape of black silk.
The full force of her anger becomes apparent as she marches over to me and begins lecturing me about boundaries and respect.
“I’m not some pet that you can push around and manipulate,” she stomps her foot to emphasize her point.
“You can’t do this,” she shouts. “You can’t force me to share your bedroom. ”
“Actually, I can, and I did.” I close my book and set it on the small table next to my chair. Looking up at her, I keep telling myself not to smile, but it’s no use.
The grin feels as mischievous as my actions.
And it only serves to fuel her fiery rage.
But the attention I’m getting from her is all worth it.
“Don’t smile at me. I’m not sharing your bed. I want my own room, my own space. You have to move everything back right now . I refuse to sleep in there.” She gestures toward my bedroom, her lips pursed tightly
I stand up, forcing her to take a step backward.
My voice is low and dangerous when I reply.
“You will sleep there. I’ll remove every other bed from this house if I have to.”
“What are you trying to achieve? You are playing games, and I refuse to play along,” she complains. “What do you want from me?” she’s exasperated.
“What do I want?” I muse. “I want a wife. And I expect you to be one.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I am being your wife when the need calls for it. I played my part at the wedding, and I’m living in your house,” she huffs.
“No, I want everything. I want you to fulfill all wifely duties.” My eyes sparkle with the mischievous thoughts dancing through my mind.
“Excuse me?” she blurts out, horrified when she realizes what I’m getting at. “I will not do that,” she insists. “That isn’t an option in any way whatsoever,” she punctuates each word.
I take another step toward her, and this time she refuses to back down.
She squares her shoulders, clenches her fists, and stands her ground even though I’m towering over her.
We end up with our bodies pressing against each other.
The aroma of her shampoo and a subtle perfume have me daydreaming again.
My only plan was to get her to stop ignoring me day after day.
I never had any intentions of forcing her to be intimate with me.
Sleep in my bed, yes. But sleep with me, no.
Not like that. I only meant to tease her into breaking the silent treatment she’s been dishing out.
I guess it worked. You got what you wanted. Now you’re face-to-face with her.
But standing over her now, all I can think about is being naked with her, our bodies moving together.
It is consuming me, and my body is stirring to life as images of her perfect curves and those beautiful sounds she makes fill my memory.
I lift my hand and brush it slowly over her throat.
She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes burn into me, a warning I’m ignoring.
Her lips part, her pupils dilate, and I know she’s remembering too.
How could she not? We were perfect together.
I don’t stop to think. In a flash, my lips are on hers. Slow. Gentle. Moving eagerly, my mouth presses harder against hers, and a soft moan slips from her lips. My cock throbs, hardening against her. I feel her hands on my sides as her fingers knot in the fabric of my shirt.
I tighten my grip over her throat, pulling her even closer and deepening the kiss. She moans again, and it’s making me lose control.
She’s tugging at me, pulling my shirt, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I wrap my other hand around her waist and pull her into my chest, her breasts are pushed against me, and her body is curved into mine. I want her. I want her so badly.
If I could have my way, I’d rip her clothes off and take her on the floor of the library. The longer we kiss, the closer I get to doing just that.
My chest is heaving with desire as I slip my hand beneath her shirt to brush my fingers against her naked skin. Warm, smooth, and silken.
She freezes, tense beneath my touch. Her hesitation pauses me, just for a second, and it’s all she needs to break the spell.
Valery takes the opportunity and hurriedly steps back. Her face is flushed, and her lips are glowing pink and swollen from the kiss.
She looks…perfect.
“Little raven,” I growl, wanting to reach out and pull her back into my arms.
“This can’t happen,” her words are barely a whisper.
Her eyes are dark with confusion. Valery cautiously touches her fingers against her lips, as though they are stinging from a bite.
She scrunches her nose in distaste. Her expression is one of turmoil, then anger, then resentment.
She regrets the kiss. It’s as clear as day. And how can I blame her for that?
“It can’t happen,” she says again, then turns her back on me and walks away.
Her midnight black hair catches the light and looks like smooth silk as she slips out of the library. My body screams that I should follow her, but I know it will do no good. I’m on the verge of internal combustion. Every tiny cell in my body is desperate for her.
She’s pushing me away for a reason.
She has every right to be angry with me. I hate that this is my fault, but it is.
I broke her heart years ago. I didn’t even tell her why because I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t risk telling her the truth because I thought we’d fight against the inevitable ending that had to happen. I couldn’t keep her. No matter how much we both wanted it.
I did it to keep you safe, little raven.
I’m still staring at the doorway, my chest aching as emotions flow freely through me.
I hate myself for what I did to her, but I did it for the right reasons.
Reasons I hope to explain to her one day.
But it’s still too soon. She’s still so angry.
I must have patience in order to win her back.
You shouldn ’ t have kissed her, Jaroslav.
But how sweet it was. A reminder of what is waiting for me in my future.
For now, she will be sharing my bed. She will be forced to interact with me, which is a win enough.
And the kiss.
The kiss. She can’t deny she enjoyed it. Her body betrayed her.
She wanted it. Her body wanted it. Even if her heart didn’t.
But I think her heart did too, and it’s only doing what it has to protect her from me and the wrong choices I made in the past.
She looked resentful in that last moment.
It’s painful to see what I’ve done to her. Every day after I pushed her away, I thought about what she was going through. I knew her agony because I was experiencing it as well.
I must make things right. Whatever it takes.