Chapter Nineteen
Lauren
Afternoon sun filters in through the curtains, settling on my face and rousing me from sleep.
I yawn. I can’t remember the last time I slept this well, but for once, I feel well-rested. Sensing another body in the room, carefully, I come into a seated position. Relief eases my nerves when I see Nikolai sleeping in the armchair beside my bed.
Immediately, muscle memory kicks in.
What the hell am I doing here?
Why am I not frustrated?
I watch him sleep. He looks different somehow. Less threatening. Peaceful, even. It takes a while for me to put my finger on it. I’ve never seen him in a vulnerable state before.
Sleep has softened his usually sharp features. He doesn’t look like the vicious Bratva lord who denied me entry when I tried to crash my best friend’s wedding or when he saved my life in the alley a few days ago. He looks more like a man, all of his power stripped. A gorgeous man.
He probably wasn’t intending for me to see him in this light. I don’t feel smug about it, though. I feel something else that I can’t quite pinpoint, like a lot of things when it comes to Nikolai Rogov. He’s a mystery, and the way I feel about him is an even bigger one.
My leg going numb, I shift my weight, the sheets rustling as a result.
Nikolai lifts his head from his hands, snapping awake. His eyes are immediately alert, scanning his surroundings. His hands tense into fists, his legs shoulder-width apart like he’s ready to fight.
Jesus.
Upon seeing me, he relaxes his fists, and I see all of the tension drain from his body.
“You stayed,” I say, my voice still croaky with sleep.
Nikolai rubs a hand over his face. “It’s a comfortable chair.” He shoots me a look. It’s not an admission of anything, but it feels like there’s more.
I watch him, half hoping he’ll move towards the bed, but he doesn’t.
Ever since I moved in here, all my body has been able to think about is how much it craves his touch.
I want to feel him, skin-to-skin. Glide my hands up his chest and back, and feel his lips tenderly meet mine.
I could blame it on the pregnancy hormones like I normally do, but a small piece of me has always craved his closeness, right from the moment I met him.
The way he tugged back my hand, stopping me from entering the bridal suite…
And then, handcuffing me…
Alright, Lauren, that’s enough.
Curious to see how he reacts, I give my body permission to climb down from the bed and stand face-to-face with him. We stand like this for a while, him looking guarded; me trying to figure out my next move.
Without allowing myself to think too much, I rise onto my tiptoes and chance a kiss. It’s innocent at first and it takes him a moment to react, but he kisses me back. Then his hand slides up under my shirt and wraps around my neck.
His lips part around mine.
And I sink into him.
A hunger grows inside of me, like a fire only he can put out. He must feel it too, the way he grips my body like it belongs to him, pulling me down onto his lap as he takes a seat back in the chair.
I mount his lap, my legs straddled around him. We’re close, but it’s still not close enough. I feel his breath hot on my neck, then his lips as he starts peppering gentle kisses there.
My heart beats out of my chest, the desire already burning between my legs. It’s not a want anymore with him—it’s a hot, raw, irresistible need.
I break away from him, breathless, and take in his expression. He looks flustered, his hair swept all over the place.
We drink one another in.
“This is still a terrible idea,” I tease, running a hand up his temple and past his ear.
He groans. “That has never stopped you before.”
There’s something about his thick Russian accent that ignites a spark within me. We stare at each other for another moment, both anticipating the inevitable.
And then I kiss him again, this time more fervent than before.
I moan.
Tug at his shirt, needing it off.
I multitask, kissing him as I undo the buttons.
This time it feels like I’m wrestling with his clothes instead of him.
Last time we had sex, it felt like we were on opposing teams, fighting to chase our own release.
This time, I can’t help but notice a shift in energy.
We both lost our mothers, both grew up around fathers who valued control more than they did anything else; not to mention that we’re parents to the same child now.
He’s the father of my child.
My baby.
The thought shifts something in me and I feel drawn to him like never before. Like I want him on my side. So, when I unbutton his shirt and rush to get the garment off him, I’m not doing it out of sheer sexual desire.
I’m doing it because I crave closeness.
His closeness.
Nikolai shifts his hips and stands up, bringing me with him. Then he’s throwing me onto the bed.
I open my eyes as he crawls over me. This time, there’s no smugness on his face. He stares at me with curiosity, his eyes so deep, holding so much emotion that I feel like I could drown in them.
He removes my shirt, exposing my torso and breasts.
“Krasivaya zhenshchina.” His eyes trail up and down my body, drinking me in. “You’re a fucking vision.” A hand comes to rest between the valley of my breasts, eliciting a gasp out of me.
I arch my back, my eyes catching sight of the erection underneath his pants. “I need you inside me.”
“Not yet,” he says, burying his face between my breasts. He wraps his mouth around my nipple, tweaking the other to give it the same amount of attention.
I cry out, feeling my wetness starting to completely soak my panties.
“These.” He squeezes them in his palms. “These are mine.”
My heart is in my throat, my breath hitching.
Holy shit!
Nikolai Rogov is a man of control. As a woman who has grown up around authority, all I have ever wanted to do was shut down authority and rise above.
But since meeting Nikolai, I’m coming to the realization that control is an umbrella term that takes many different forms. Nikolai’s control is domineering, yes, but also protective. He cares about me, I see it in his eyes. Maybe he’s not entirely ready to admit that yet, but I know it’s the truth.
I never really felt like I can trust my father. Especially lately. It’s why I’ve kept him at arm’s length my entire life. His type control is a selfish one. I am only now starting to be able to put that into words.
But Nikolai’s version of control is something entirely different…
He teases a hand down the middle of my torso, pausing at the waistband of the sweatpants I borrowed from his wardrobe. I find myself sucking in a breath, watching him. Anticipating what he’ll do next.
Maybe he was right before about me craving submission.
I have been trying to exercise control all my life. Perhaps subconsciously, I am exhausted. Maybe deep down, I want nothing more than to let go.
And I do, when Nikolai’s finger slips underneath the waistband, en route to my center.
My breath hitches again.
“This,” he says, palming my mound, “Is mine, too.” The finger that he used to tease me with starts playing with my clit in light, circular motions.
I reach forward, trying to grab his belt.
“No.” His face turns serious. “You’re going to lie down and be a good girl. You’re going to let me take care of you, lapochka moya.”
Muscle memory urges me to snap up, to take charge of the situation and flip our positions so that I’m on top controlling him, but that’s not what I want.
Desire reaches parts of my body that have never felt this way before, tingling sensations coursing through my bones.
It feels like the best kind of dopamine, and I don’t want it to end.
Nikolai drags my panties down until they pool at my feet, throwing them into the corner. My pulse spikes now that I’m completely naked under his burning gaze.
I watch as he moves his finger up and down my center, spreading apart my folds. Reaching my slit, he tilts his head, like he’s pondering his next moves.
He raises my legs, spreading them apart. Then suddenly and hungrily, he buries his head between my thighs.
“Oh!” My eyelids flutter closed. “Fuck!”
He releases a deep, guttural moan in response, the vibration of his voice tingling my pussy.
Holy freaking shit!
Turns out it’s not just words Nikolai is good at using his mouth for.
He flutters the tip of his tongue lightly over my folds, then proceeds to swipe his tongue up the middle of them, licking up my juices.
“You taste like heaven, malen’kaya ptichka.”
I throw back my head and spread my legs wider. “Please,” is the only word I manage to speak between the aspirated breaths. “I need you to fuck me.”
Oh, how the tables have turned.
I never thought I’d beg for Nikolai for anything. Ever. Especially not… this.
I’ve given him the perfect opportunity to gloat, but he doesn’t take it. I see him register the words on his face, but his eyes remain serious, focused on the task at hand.
The jingling of his belt brings me back to the present moment.
I bring my head up and watch him remove his pants. His cock springs out, full mast. I can’t help but extend my hand, reaching for it.
This time, he lets me wrap my hand around his length, shuffling closer to me so I don’t have to reach.
He’s so big that it requires more than two hands, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting anyone share. I use both hands as best I can, massaging my palms up and down his length. Precum already buds from the tip, so I bring my head down and lick it off.
He growls, bringing his dick closer to my face.
That’s when I take him into my mouth.
He chokes out a moan and starts pumping himself in and out.
I do my best to open my throat, to welcome as much of him in as possible, but there’s simply too much. I end up gagging. And somehow, I’m still loving it.
He moans again. “That’s it, lapochka moya. I like hearing you choke on my cock.”
I want to bring more of him in, but my mouth simply can’t accommodate it. He’s too fucking huge.
I suck one last time, then pop it out of my mouth. “I need you inside of me. Now. I can’t wait any longer.”
A wicked expression crosses his face. “If you insist.”
Gently, he lays me back down on the bed.
“From behind.”
“Nyet,” he says, his palm pressed to my chest. “I want to look into your eyes as I fuck you.”
My legs turn to jelly.
I spread them apart and he lines himself up with my entrance.
Then, he thrusts in.
I moan immediately and part around him even more.
No wonder he got me pregnant after we had sex just once, with a cock like that. As he finds a rhythm, I can practically feel him against my womb, almost nudging our baby.
It hurts that he’s this deep inside, but the pleasure overrides it.
I arch my back, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.
One of Nikolai’s tattooed arms comes to rest beside me, holding himself up. The other hooks around my hip for momentum as he thrusts. Bringing his lips down to my mouth, he plants a warm kiss on my lips that makes me even wetter.
I let go, allowing myself to mold into his body. It doesn’t feel like we’re rushing to chase our own climaxes this time. Instead, it feels like we’re enjoying the experience of being connected.
Him inside of me.
Me around him.
Our tongues in one another’s mouths.
When we break the kiss, too out of breath to go on, our gazes find each other once more. Something stirs deep inside my stomach, like our souls are entwining.
This isn’t just sex anymore.
The connection feels spiritual. Transcendent, even.
His eyes are hauntingly blue. They have the power to hypnotize me.
Looking into them, I realize that somehow there’s always been a mutual understanding between us.
It has grown more obvious over time, but it has always been present somehow.
I always thought that we were worlds apart, but boy, I was wrong.
We’re not. We’re more similar than I realized.
I feel his thrusts start to align with the very pulse of the earth. It’s like he’s thrusting life into my body.
I never realized it until now, but this is what I have always wanted. Genuine human connection with the opposite gender is something I have never experienced before.
It’s him.
I can refuse and convince myself to hate him, but nothing will change what we have.
I already tried ignoring it, fighting against it, pushing it away, but there are some things a woman alone cannot simply control.
My vision edges away. I want to keep eye contact, but the pleasure becomes too great, too overwhelming. He catches my clit with the base of his dick every time he withdraws from me, and it shifts me to the brink of orgasm.
“Niko!” I clutch his bicep with both hands.
“Let go, dorogaya. I have you,” he growls against my ear, his breath fanning my neck.
I shut my eyes as my impending climax crashes over me, stronger than a tsunami wave. Pleasure fills every cell in my body, ripples of warmth spreading through my entire being. I cry, the sensitivity between my legs overbearing.
I grab his arm again, clinging on like he’s a buoy and I’m trying to stay afloat.
My orgasm accelerates his own. I feel his pulse quicken as he releases his load inside of me in hot thick waves until all of his muscles tense, and he collapses beside me on the bed.
Both lying on our backs, side-by-side, we chase our breath. Sunlight streams in through the gaps in the curtain, illuminating tiny dust particles in the air.
Reality filters back into my brain, reminding me of my surroundings. I’m in Nikolai’s spare bedroom. Before we had sex, I was asleep on his bed, him on the armchair.
I blink myself awake, propping myself up on my elbows. It feels like I went to space and back. Like I took a vacation to escape the world.
I sigh, my breathing evening out.
That’s when I remember why I’m here—because I was almost murdered.
Before Nikolai killed them.
There could be others out there.
I feel anxiety start to crunch my gut, the weight of the world suddenly pressing down on my chest.
But the minute I look back to Nikolai, everything fades.
Something has changed. I don’t feel afraid to look weak in front of him anymore. Don’t feel the need to one-up him. I don’t even feel a pinch of regret after the sex.
Does this mean I’ve officially surrendered myself to him?