Chapter 28 Natalie
NATALIE
Not long after the excitement of Mikhail and Claire’s wedding, we had the joy of Christmas morning.
This was Maisie’s second holiday without her father.
Her second of my handling the festive time on my own.
As the days crept closer to Maisie’s favorite time of the year—because it was probably every child’s beloved season—I worried how any sense of traditions would be altered with our living here in Sergei’s home.
Part of my worries about him was that he could try to make Maisie forget about Fitz.
So far, though, he hadn’t. He wasn’t trying to scrub out any memory of my late husband when I put a family photo in Maisie’s room.
I overheard him replying vaguely when Maisie talked about her father.
Sergei never tried to shut down the topic.
Of course, he didn’t volunteer the fact that he was well aware of precisely how Fitz had died.
Instead, he was gentle and patient, listening to my daughter as she might mention something about the man she likely didn’t remember well because of her age.
Christmas morning, I had no alarm for how the holiday would go. Late Christmas Eve, word reached the men that someone had bombed one of the most successful restaurants the Orlovs owned. Sobering news, indeed. Claire was upset, proving how she, too, still struggled to tolerate their violence.
This wasn’t them attacking others, but being victims of it.
I worried that ordinary people like me or Claire had been hurt, perhaps out dining at the fancy restaurant for the holiday.
And this wasn’t even a site of illegal operations.
It wasn’t a “hit” or a drug bust. It was an attack on an otherwise “normal” place of business.
As such, Sergei was gone, handling the mess with Mikhail, Andre, and Roman, plus countless other Orlov men.
At home, Claire and Anya helped me keep things festive with Maisie.
A couple of cooks who were lively characters also joined in on the fun of opening presents.
While Maisie was spoiled with gifts from everyone in the family, I was glad that I used my money on gifts for her too.
It took the sting out of letting Sergei pay for so much.
He gifted me a car, which I struggled to accept.
For one thing, it was too much, too expensive.
For another, it was something that defied the image of his being someone I should hate.
Giving me a car was like him saying, hey, here’s a means with which you can flee again, if you want.
Almost like he was taunting me with my willingness and reluctant desire to stay.
But the day after Christmas, while Maisie was playing with her new things, Sergei came home and approached me.
“We need to start packing.”
I raised my brows. Since he saved me the night I left, we’d only spoken fleetingly. I knew he was waiting on me to come to him and show that I was interested in a conversation, but this was different.
“Pack?”
He nodded and indicated for me to follow him into my room, where I had been headed with a basket of laundry. Furrowing my brow as he put his hand on the small of my back and steered me in there, I watched as he closed the door.
“I don’t want Maisie to hear and be alarmed.”
I blinked, knowing that meant I should keep my cool. But I appreciated his being careful with what she heard or saw. All the Orlovs were careful like that.
“What happened?” I swallowed hard, hating that more danger was imminent.
“A bomb was sent to Mikhail’s building this morning. The security team intercepted it. No one has been hurt.”
My jaw dropped as I released the laundry basket. It fell onto the bed and tilted.
Unbothered, he reached out and straightened it.
Claire had just gotten married. She was pregnant. Her vulnerability made me overly protective of any danger near her. And Anya, too. She had such a bright future ahead of her.
“The Giovannis are escalating their threats,” he continued, “and it might be wise to have some distance for a while. Just while Mikhail orders additional security measures to be implemented, namely with more cameras on all the properties on this block.”
I nodded vaguely, on board with anything to keep my new friends safe. Anything to keep myself and Maisie safe too.
And you.
I didn’t want this man dead. I couldn’t think of losing Sergei as I let my anger for him wear off.
Yet, a little niggling and nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I only had to feel endangered because of him.
It was clear now that those Popov men had targeted me that second time because of my association with this ruthless enforcer.
The first scare on the street had been nothing but chance.
But now, I would always have to accept that being near this family meant more inherent risks.
We packed and took off for a beachfront location down south, at another property the Orlovs owned.
Maisie was ecstatic about a vacation, more so because Anya came to the villa with us instead of going with her father and Claire.
She figured they could have a honeymoon that way, and I was more than glad to have her help with Maisie.
I hated myself for wanting to be grateful to Sergei for his protection, but I couldn’t deny that the change of scenery—to somewhere tropical that I never could’ve imagined visiting on my own—seemed like exactly what I needed.
We settled in and relaxed. Even Sergei seemed able to lower his guard, removed from the chaos back in New York. With this different outlook, and the switch up in the location, I felt like I could get a better glimpse of the man he was.
Not the killer.
Spotting him at the private pool or walking on the beach shirtless, I could more clearly experience the phantom touch of his mouth and hands on my bare skin.
And without the ever-present reminder that I had choked and run away that one night, I fell further and deeper under the draw that still magnetized me to him.
Against all reason, I approached him one night after checking that Anya and Maisie were content in the big living room on the first floor, fast asleep as a movie played on mute. A full day of swimming and playing on the beach had worn all of us out, but I was too wired to rest.
I headed to the balcony where Sergei liked to stare out at the ocean.
He was there, a solid mass of muscles and lethal power, leaning his forearms against the railing.
Darkness spread past him, and the rhythmic crashing of the waves on the shore lent to the otherworldly setting that served as another clue that we weren’t in New York.
We were removed from the violence and the chasm that yawned between us.
He tipped his head to the side but didn’t fully face me. Of course, he would detect my approach. He missed nothing about his surroundings.
“I was talking to Claire earlier,” I said, reaching for any excuse of an ice breaker.
He turned, facing me fully as he leaned his hips against the railing. “Yeah?”
I continued to approach, second-guessing myself with every step but despising how badly I missed him.
“She said Mikhail thinks they could go home tomorrow.” It seemed that a week was enough time away.
He nodded. “I know.”
I stopped within arm’s reach and nodded. Duh. Of course he knows. “Will we be leaving then as well?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and gave me a slow once-over. “If you want.”
“You mean if Maisie wants?” I asked jokingly.
“You’re her mother. It’s your choice if you want to cater to her wishes.”
I raised my brows. I had been under the illusion that everything was up to him. But as I thought back on the distance I put between us, I knew that was wrong. He wasn’t that overbearing. If he was, he wouldn’t have humored me with my aloofness for the past weeks.
“We can stay or go. I notice that she seems to be enjoying herself here. Anya, too.”
“It is different being here.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.
This was the most he’d inquired—directly—of me in weeks. Perhaps this temporary change of scenery was making him bolder than his quiet patience he’d settled on.
I sighed. “Yes. But I miss—”
“Your husband? You miss him and will forever hate me because of his death?”
I shook my head. Then nodded. I ended with a wince. “I will always miss him. He’s a part of my past. While I do hate that you have such a violent life, I understand that his death was an unfortunate happenstance that night.” I cleared my throat that was already clogged with too much emotion.
It wasn’t the sadness over Fitz’s death that got to me.
It was the enormity of forgiving this man.
It was the depth of heartache that I warred with in wanting to love this killer.
He didn’t need to hear anything else. He saw how I struggled to take this step and own up to my reaction to the horrible connection between the men in my life. Extending his hand, he curled his fingers around my wrist, keeping me close.
“I was going to say that I miss how you had helped me to move on.”
I cleared my throat, determined to say all that was on my chest. Against all reason, I let him pull me closer.
“I miss…”
Why does this have to be so hard?
He tipped my chin up gently, urging me to face him. As soon as I did, as soon as I stared into his dark-blue eyes, I exhaled a breathy sigh.
“I miss you,” I whispered, hating how I’d cave for this man.
Without a word, he dipped his head toward mine and sought out my lips.
Kissing me gently, he showed me how unnecessary it was to miss him when he was right here.
He pulled back to search my face for a clue for how to proceed.
Whatever he saw instructed him to repeat it.
Once more, he kissed me, replacing the tenderness with a brutal force. A ravaged hunger.
Oh, God.
Oh, my God.
Please.
Please, Sergei.
Fighting the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me, I clung to him and followed his lead.
He kissed me, cupping my face and wrapping his arms around me.
He grabbed my ass, pushing my hips toward his so he could show how much he’d missed me too.
He dragged his lips toward my breasts, teasing my nipples through the thin layer of my nightgown.
As I rode the thrill of him trying to physically be present and show me how I didn’t have to miss him anymore, I let my head fall back and closed my eyes to the building pressure between my legs.
“All you had to do was ask,” he growled in a rasp as he tugged my nightgown lower. He latched his mouth onto my nipple, drawing a cry of pleasure from me as he carried me to the closest chaise.
He followed me down, rubbing my entrance and smearing my arousal. “All you had to do was tell me.”
I nodded, leaning back as he bunched up my nightgown and shoved it higher.
“I would wait forever for you to come back to me, Natalie.” He lowered, bringing his mouth to my cunt and moaning like a starved animal as he feasted on me.
His tongue. His teeth. His lips and the sweet, hot suction of his mouth sucking at my clit.
It was too much to resist, and within seconds, I gave up the fight and humped his face, riding out the intense orgasm.
“I am yours, Natalie,” he growled once he quit licking me and lapping up my cum. “However you will have me. However you want me. I am yours.”
I parted my legs and held my arms out to welcome him closer.
He pushed his pants down, and his long, hard cock jutted out.
Pointing at me. That drop of precum on the tip taunted me, but I doubted either of us could wait through more foreplay.
We were rushing through it as it was with this reunion under the tropical stars shining overhead.
This time.
This time, we can rush.
But the next time, we could go slow.
We had the rest of our lives for this, and I was secure with the confidence that I wouldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t lose myself to the past, either, so I could embrace him.
He lined up his dick to my entrance, and I tugged his head toward mine.
Kissing him gave me a taste of myself, and like the other times before, it only served to ramp up my desire.
Still riding out the waves of pleasure from the first climax he’d given me, I moaned and writhed beneath him as he fucked me.
Hard. Fast. Without a doubt.
He broke the kiss to gaze into my eyes, as if committing this to memory.
“I missed you,” he said, replying in kind to my remark at last. “I missed this.”
Nodding weakly, already so close to another orgasm, I groaned at the intensity of the tension that wanted to snap.
“Come for me, Natalie. Be mine again and come for me.”
“I want…” I panted, breathing so hard that thinking, let alone speaking, was difficult.
“Come for me,” he begged before kissing me hard.
Under the heat of his mouth on mine, his big, hard body pinning me to the cushion, I surrendered. He did too, coming with me as he muffled my shriek of pleasure with his lips sealed in a punishing, possessive kiss.
His dick jerked and twitched so deep inside me. Warmth shot into me and flooded my womb that clenched at the intensity of coming. Gloving him as he dragged his big cock out and thrust it back in, I took primal satisfaction in milking him dry, in proving what I didn’t finish saying.
I wanted him.
Now. Like this. Drugging me with hot sex. Making me lax and sleepy from a good, hard fucking.
But as we lay there together, too spent and boneless to move as we caught our breath, I realized it was the simplicity of his strong arms enveloping me that truly eased the worry and anxiety in my mind.
Sergei holding me was all I needed.
I just had to have the faith that I could risk opening my heart to him again.