20. Tara
20
TARA
Damien…
no it’s Ruslan.
My body reacts before my brain catches up.
Rage.
Hurt.
Lust.
Everything flares to life at once, and it’s almost too much.
I whirl.
“Nope. I was hoping for a little old grandmother in a bed, or even some porridge on the table. But I don’t feel like facing the big bad fucking wolf today.”
Konstantin blocks the door.
“Please. Just listen.”
“You don’t want me to lose control,” I warn.
“You think I’m scary angry now? Try adding pregnancy hormones. You’ve read my genetic profile—explosive temper escalating quickly to rage and strength. I become the fucking She Hulk.”
“I won’t bite, I promise,” Ruslan says.
“Konstantin, you can leave us.”
“No, but I might!” I turn and fold my arms across my chest as his eyes travel over me like he’s caressing me.
Fuck.
Konstantin hesitates.
I glare at him.
“You leave me here, and I swear, I will haunt you.”
“I’m sorry, Tara,” he says softly.
“This is between you and him.”
“You traitor.”
He closes the door behind him.
I stand in the silence, heart pounding.
“Come in, Tara, and please sit.” Ruslan gestures to the sofa.
“No, I’m good standing, over here by the door,” I respond.
He watches me, eyes dark, intense.
“You look... beautiful.”
“Don’t.”
“Fine.” He nods.
“Let’s talk.”
“No, let’s not. Let’s pretend you talked, but don’t really. You go your way. I’ll go mine.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice lowers.
“Not while you and the baby are in danger.”
The words suck all the air from the room.
I stare at him.
“Of course you know about the baby,” I mutter.
“That’s what this is about. Trying to take my baby.”
He hands me a file.
I snatch it and flip it open.
Medical records.
Mine.
“You stole my records?”
“I had to know the truth.”
“And now you do,” I snap, shutting the file and shoving back at him.
“You wanted to steal my records so I couldn’t go back to Doctor Pollock as he no longer had me on file.”
“At least I finally got the truth of what my sister might be up to,” he says.
“Tara, Gavriil and Irina are using you to get back at me. You’re not pregnant. The egg was never implanted. They went to the clinic to start IVF.”
“Are you saying they set everything up?” I flip through the file.
“But I had a sonogram in Moscow and it was there…”
“Did Gavriil organize it perhaps?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I nod, my brow knitting.
“No, that’s not right. I peed on a stick. There were two lines.”
“The real blood tests are in there from the day the doctor phoned to give you your results,” Ruslan tells me, and I flip back to the blood tests.
Negative.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest.
My fingers shake as I flip through the file.
Everything is there.
Egg implantation.
Follow-up notes.
Irina’s additional IVF cycle.
My stomach turns—None of it is mine, it’s all the procedures Irina’s had around the same time I was supposed to be having egg implantation.
“They were using me as a decoy to throw you off what they were really doing?” My eyes search his.
He nods.
The tears come fast, hot, uncontrollable.
“I trusted them.”
Ruslan drops to his knees in front of me.
His hands cradle mine.
“I didn’t know,” he says.
“But now that I do... I’ll protect you. Always.”
My breath hitches.
“I… I don’t need protection if I’m not pregnant.” I sniff.
“Tara… you still do,” Ruslan says to me.
“The RMSAD and the Black Widow are after you, regardless of whether you’re pregnant or not.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“That is on me.”
“How could it possibly be on you?” My brow furrows.
“I’m the one who went rushing off to Moscow and dug around. I’m the one who alerted you.”
He’s quiet, and his eyes search mine.
“Whose idea was it to go to Moscow?” His voice is low.
My eyes widen.
No, fuck.
This is too much.
“Irina’s.” My brow furrowed.
“I can’t believe they would do this to me.”
His forehead presses to mine.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“This is all my fault. I pushed my sister to do this, and now you’re all tangled up in this.” He closes his eyes.
“Fuck. When I saw you again, this is not how I expected it to go.”
“Did you expect a cup of tea hurled at you perhaps?” I laugh.
“Is that what happened to Konstantin’s shirt?” He laughs, and my heart lurches.
Other parts of my body heat.
Our laughter sobers, and our eyes lock.
I feel myself being pulled into the depths of his blue eyes.
His voice is a low growl, a promise that slithers down my spine like a serpent coiling around its prey.
“Tara,” he whispers, and my name on his lips is a sin, a prayer, a curse all at once.
His eyes—those fucking eyes—darken like a storm rolling in, and I can feel the heat of his gaze searing through me, branding me as his.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
My body is a traitor, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him.
My nipples harden under the thin fabric of my T-shirt, aching for his touch, his mouth, his teeth.
My pussy throbs, wet and desperate, and I hate myself for how much I want him.
“There has not been one minute of a day since we’ve been apart that I wasn’t thinking about you,” he says, and his voice is rough, raw, like he’s been choking on my name for months.
I swallow hard, my throat dry, my pulse racing.
I try to speak but no words come out.
I’m mesmerized by his gaze.
I’m trembling.
He moves closer, and the air between us crackles with electricity.
I can smell him—spice and leather and something darker, something primal that makes my knees weak.
His hand reaches out, and I flinch, but he doesn’t touch me.
Not yet.
He just hovers there, his fingers inches from my cheek, and I can feel the heat of his skin like a brand.
“You think I’m lying?” he murmurs, and his lips curve into a slow smile that’s equal parts dangerous and delicious.
He stands and pulls me up with him.
“You think I didn’t dream about this? About you? About how you taste, how you feel, how you fucking scream when I’m inside you?”
My breath hitches, and I can feel the slickness between my thighs, my body betraying me with every fucking word.
“Oh, God,” I whisper.
I don’t want him to stop.
I want him to fucking ruin me.
He laughs, low and dark, and finally, finally, he touches me.
His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip, and I can’t help but part my lips, my tongue darting out to taste him.
He groans, deep and guttural, and then his mouth is on mine, claiming me with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperation.
I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
His body is hard against mine, every muscle taut with restraint, and I can feel the thick length of his cock pressing against my stomach.
Fuck.
I want him.
I want him so bad it hurts.
He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes burning into mine.
“Tell me you missed me,” he demands, his voice rough with need.
I shake my head, but my body is screaming yes, yes, yes.
“I didn’t,” I lie, but my voice is shaky, weak.
He chuckles again, and then his hand is sliding down my body, over my breast, my waist, my hip, until he’s cupping my ass, pulling me against him.
“Liar,” he growls, and then his mouth is on my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin, marking me as his.
My breath hitches, sharp and ragged, as his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so hard I feel the sting of tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
His other hand—rough, calloused, fucking brutal—slides down my spine, nails digging into the soft flesh of my ass.
I arch into him, my body betraying me, craving the heat of his touch like a goddamn addict.
“Fuck,” I whisper, the word trembling on my lips, barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
It’s not just a word—it’s a plea, a prayer, a fucking surrender to the man who owns me, body and soul and this is only the second time we’ve met.
His lips crash into mine, bruising, possessive, and I moan into his mouth, my tongue tangling with his in a dance that leaves me dizzy.
He tastes like vodka and sin, and I can’t get enough.
His cock presses against me, hard and unyielding, and I grind against him shamelessly, desperate for the friction, for the way he makes me feel alive and ruined all at once.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers down my spine.
His fingers work the buttons of my jeans, and before I know it, they are sliding down my legs.
His hand moves from my ass to my thigh, hiking my leg up around his hip as he pins me against the wall.
The cold brick bites into my back, but I don’t care—all I can think about is the way his body feels against mine, the way his cock throbs against my soaked panties.
“Say it,” he demands, his breath hot against my neck as he nips at the sensitive skin there.
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp, my voice breaking as his fingers slide under the lace of my panties, teasing the slick heat between my thighs.
“Fuck, I’m yours.”
He doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate.
He tears my panties off with a single, brutal motion, and I cry out as his fingers plunge into me, thick and unrelenting.
He fucks me with his hand, his thumb circling my clit in tight, punishing circles that have me trembling, my nails digging into his shoulders as I cling to him for dear life.
“You like that don’t you beautiful Tara,” he murmurs, his voice dark and satisfied as he watches me fall apart.
I’m close, so fucking close, but he pulls his fingers out of me suddenly, leaving me empty and aching.
I whimper, my hips bucking against nothing, but he silences me with another kiss, deep and filthy.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice a low growl that makes my pussy clench with need.
“I’m not done with you.”
He spins me around, pressing my chest against the wall, and I hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he frees his cock.
I bite my lip, anticipation coiling tight in my stomach as he presses the thick head of his cock against my entrance.
“Tell me what you want” he commands, his voice rough and demanding.
“Please,” I whimper, my voice trembling with need.
“Please, fuck me.”
He slams into me in one brutal thrust, and I scream, the sound echoing off the walls as he fills me completely.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust, doesn’t give me a moment to breathe.
He fucks me hard and fast, his hips slamming into mine with a force that has me seeing stars.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.
“Tight little pussy wrapped around my cock.”
I moan, my body trembling as he pounds into me, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside me that has me teetering on the edge of oblivion.
His hand tangles in my hair again, yanking my head back as he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice dark and dangerous.
“Come on my cock. I want to feel the walls of your pussy clamp and squeeze me.”
I shatter, my body convulsing around him as I scream his name, my orgasm crashing over me like a fucking tidal wave.
He fucks me through it, his cock pounding into me relentlessly until he finally spills inside me with a low groan, his hips jerking as he fills me with his cum.
He collapses against me, his chest heaving as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck.
“God, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to be buried deep inside you again” he murmurs, his voice possessive and final.
His cock is still buried inside as his hands reach around and fondle my breasts.
He leans into my ear and whispers.
“Playtime is over Tara. You’re mine now. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch you or take you away from me again.” His voice dips and sends a shiver down my spine.
“Including Konstantin.”
He pulls out of me, spins me around and I drag breath into my lungs.
Gone is the charming Damien persona and in its place is the dangerous Ruslan Dragunov.
And now I see why his sisters are so scared of him that the one even faked me being pregnant to distract him.
His hand twists in my hair and he pulls it back.
“Say it, Tara.” His eyes burn into mine.
“Say you’re mine and you understand what that means.”
I swallow as my eyes dance with his and I’m teetering between a state of fear and arousal.
While I admit to being slightly petrified at seeing who he really is, I know it’s true.
I’m his, body and soul, and there’s no going back.