Chapter 15
NATALIA
Idon’t have to ask where Aleksandr’s been anymore when he comes back with busted knuckles, a split lip, and a black eye developing.
“You know, I looked it up. It’s not good for you to sustain this many head injuries.”
He huffs out a surprised laugh. “That ship has sailed, princess.”
He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer, which he offers me.
I make a face. Wine? Vodka? Sure.
Beer tastes like stale bread.
He flinches as he opens the beer against the counter. I wince when I see the state of his fingers.
“Those look broken.”
I pick up his hand to take a closer look and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“Did you get a medical degree all of a sudden?”
I flush, glaring at him as he takes a long swig of the beer. I try not to focus on the bob of his throat as he swallows, but it’s distracting.
When I drag my gaze back to his face, he’s smirking at me like he saw exactly where I was looking.
“My fingers are okay, princess. Want to kiss ‘em better?”
The midnight blue of his eyes lands on my lips and his face shifts to hunger.
I’m exhausted of trying to read him. I drop his hand and reach for the beer bottle.
“Fuck you,” I tell him in Russian.
He lets me take his beer bottle. I take a slow sip, wrapping my lips around the end of the bottle as I take a swig of the cool, fizzy liquid. I still hate the taste, but I like the fact that it’s his.
He watches me drink closely in a way that stokes a flame in my blood.
“That dirty mouth is a sign you’ve been spending too much time with Yuri if there ever was one.”
Now Aleksandr is really staring at my mouth. I take another sip of the beer and his eyes never leave my lips.
Maybe that’s what gives me the confidence. Maybe it’s Vera’s theory that he does like me.
“Dirty mouth, huh?”
Something flickers across Aleksandr’s face and he takes a step closer.
“Filthy.”
I think I know what this is. I don’t think I’m misreading the situation.
I tilt my chin up to Aleksandr and pray that he closes the distance between us.
He grabs the beer back and takes a sip. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, rumbling deep in his throat.
“Are the rumors true, princess?”
He doesn’t flinch away from my gaze the way that I always shrink from his. He meets my eyes with steadiness as though he’d been waiting for me to look at him like this.
“Is it your first time?”
My heart races at the implication behind his statement. That this could be my first time.
I search his gaze to detect whether Aleksandr is joking. As always, he’s unreadable, the midnight-blue depths endless.
He sets the beer bottle down and steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. I place one shaking hand on his chest to steady myself.
I’m surprised by how solid he is, how dense, as though he’s a marble sculpture instead of a man.
“Is it?” His touch is light, his rough fingers trailing over my shoulder, along my collarbone. A shiver follows.
It’s obvious, isn’t it?
I worry that it’s a problem. That he won’t want me if he knows that I’m deficient, that I’m not a proper Russian woman who’s sexually fluent and knows all the tricks that can please a man. I have only the vaguest idea of what might be involved.
Aleksandr wraps a strand of my hair around his finger, his eyes fixed on me. He likes to play with my hair and I allow myself to relax into the soothing touch.
“Natalia? I asked you a question. Is this your first time?”
My eyes jolt back to his. Sucked in by his mysteriously intent gaze.
He said my name. He didn’t call me princess. There’s no mocking edge to his voice, no sharpness in his tone. He used my name.
“I’ve never… Never.”
“Never, never?” The mocking tone returns but it’s not cold. His eyes crinkle at the edges and he cups my chin, his hand swallowing most of my neck in the process. “You’re pure as the driven snow, zolotse.”
If only he knew. I’m staring at his mouth now, the cupid’s bow of his lips, and I’m wondering if it would be painfully obvious that I have only ever kissed him, at the wedding.
The problem is that I can’t think about anything else when Aleksandr is this close to me. He’s so close that I can feel his body-heat, like a furnace, and imagine the beat of his heart in that broad chest.
For a second, I think he is about to kiss me, his hand stilling on my chin and his eyes turning serious. He pulls back and traces one inked finger over the curve of my lips.
My stomach buzzes with anticipation. I’ve heard about butterflies but this feels more like a beehive, the sensation as dangerous and unpredictable as it is irresistible.
“Open.”
I don’t know why, but I do exactly as he says. He presses a finger into my mouth. I wrapped my lips around his finger and take it into my mouth. I can taste the tang of blood from his fight, but more than that, the masculine taste of his sweat.
He murmurs approvingly, his eyes darkening as he stares at my lips, and pulls his finger from my mouth.
“Very good.”
I don’t know why those two words make me want to melt with pleasure. That can’t have been pleasurable for him. I don’t even know what that was. He nods to himself as though I’ve just confirmed something to him and places a hand on my waist.
Does that mean… finally, Leks is going to touch me?
“Natalia. You must have touched yourself here before.” He brushes his fingertips over the front of my nightdress, between my thighs.
It’s the gentlest pressure, but I crave more. A lot more.
I let out a shaky breath.
The truth is, I’ve explored myself down there. I know the folds of my flesh and the places where it feels good to touch. But I’ve never understood what exactly I was meant to be doing, how to make it happen.
I don’t have anyone I can talk to about things like that. And always, I would have this feeling of intense guilt which stopped me in my tracks whenever it started to feel good.
I shake my head, ashamed. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to. And I didn’t know how to make it feel good.”
He lets out a huff of air that’s almost like a laugh. “You don’t need permission for everything.”
I flush. I’m so inexperienced that my husband is laughing at me. He probably thinks I’m ridiculous, that I should have been able to figure out my own body.
Then I look up at him and Aleksandr’s face is alive with something like hunger. “Would you like me to show you?” His voice is soft.
I duck my head. I can’t look at him right now.
“I can help you.” He runs one hand over my hip with the lightest pressure, skimming over my curves, the thin fabric of my nightdress sliding up my thigh.
I think I’d rather keep my dignity than have him touch me like that, knowing that he was internally laughing at me.
“I can make it good for you.” His voice turns rough and deep, the fire in my stomach burning so intensely that it steals the air from my lungs.
When I look up at Leks, there’s a strange tension in his face. A straining, as though he’s using every muscle in his body to resist some urge. His lips are pressed together, his jaw tense, even his eyes are hooded and intense.
“Maybe,” I whisper. “I’ll think about it.”
That’s not a lie. I probably won’t be able to stop thinking about it.
It’s all I can give him.
Because while this fire inside me could easily turn into addiction, another part of me is frozen with ice-cold fear and confusion.
I shouldn’t want this man to touch me. I don’t know if I’d be able to forgive myself.