Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Anissa”
I wake, feel for the warm reassurance of my husband, and snuggle closer. He's asleep, but does he ever really sleep?
Even when he sleeps, there’s tension in his shoulders and the lines of his handsome, rugged features.
As weeks pass, I hate that I still have no more idea of who I was than before. Only bits and fragments poke through. So I’ve done what the doctor said, even though it’s hard to do—gave my mind a rest.
I’ve resigned myself to what I do know: I belong here. I’m Anissa Kopolov. I’m the wife of the Kopolov Pakhan and sister-turned-mother figure to his band of siblings because now that I’m here, the missing link of a mother figure has become woefully apparent.
We have dinner every night, like clockwork, but instead of “business as usual,” or the few quiet nights where no one talks, it’s a little more lighthearted now.
At least, that’s what they tell me. I might not have much to offer, but it seems that bringing a touch of humanity to Rafail’s rigid, uncompromising ways isn’t entirely unwelcome.
His family grew up with a sense of duty and toughness and, honestly, a healthy dose of fear for their older brother.
But all of them were children when they lost their parents, and one of them is a child still.
They lacked a soft touch in their daily lives, and I aim to bring that to them now in my own way.
I wish he could relax, but he still carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even though it still bothers me to know that I ran away from him because I didn't know who I was, I’m making peace with it.
I mean. I think I am.
When I'm alone, and it's quiet like this after a dream, I remember… a little.
I know I have—had?—brothers. What troubles me is that my husband says I don't, and there's no indication he's lying when he talks to me. Sometimes, he seems evasive, but my instincts say he’s telling the truth when it comes to my past. And yet… it doesn’t ring true.
He swears I only have a father, so why do I remember people calling me their sister?
And that woman in my dream, she was my mother. At one point, anyway. I know that now. I’ve seen her more than once.
That’s one thing that doesn't make sense to me at all.
I don’t believe he's completely lying to me. He seems confident in what he’s telling me, but occasionally… just every once in a while… there’s a tiny blip. Whether it's in his expression or the way I feel, I start to fear that something is wrong. And I need to know why.
Why am I here? Who am I? How do I get back to knowing who I am?
"Are you all right, baby?" His hand comes to the small of my back. I love the way he touches me like this, as if he and I are the only two people in this whole world.
My heart beats faster at the sleepy-husky sexiness of his voice when he wakes. I roll over and let myself bask in the heat that radiates off him like a furnace, the heaviness of his arm on my back, the comfort of knowing that he’s my knight, willing to defend my castle.
How can it be that my past is shrouded in mystery, yet it feels like I’ve been his forever? Because there’s a sureness between us, an honesty, that makes me cleave to him.
"Yeah, you know how it is," I say softly. "When I wake up like this, everything's all muddled. You should sleep, Rafail. I swear you're like a cat."
He shrugs his big shoulder but doesn’t deny it.
It’s familiar to me now, the way he’s so protective. When we were attacked, and he pushed me beneath him, shielding me with his very own body, I knew then that he would take a bullet for me.
And that's not the only thing he protects me from.
In the quiet of night, when I wake trembling, fragmented dreams still lingering, he holds me until my breathing slows, and I can go back to sleep.
When we make love, I crave the weight of his body pressing into mine, my wrists wrapped in his grip.
There’s freedom in the surrender. Quiet.
And in the still, waking hours before sunrise, when my dreams leave me doubtful and confused, the sturdy feel of his strong arms around me brings me calm.
"I just wish I could remember."
He threads his fingers through mine. "Remember what?"
There's a note of edginess in his voice. Have I exhausted his patience?
"Who I am," I say softly. He should know that by now.
Rafail turns to me, bracing himself on his elbow as his eyes roam lazily over my body. "I told you," he says in a low growl. "You're my wife. Do you need me to help you remember that?”
"Rafail," I try, but once he sets his mind on something, there is no turning him away. Laser-focused on me, I know what’s coming: a reminder of who I am.
The next thing I know, I’m pinned underneath him. His lips ghost my cheek, my jaw, my collarbone, trailing lower still to my breasts. My nipples furl. He licks one, then the other, as his thick, rough fingers lazily push my thighs apart. He grips one of my thighs in his strong palm and squeezes.
"I’m sleepy," I lie in protest, which earns me a sharp slap of his palm on my thigh.
"Allow me to wake you up, Mrs. Kopolov."
I sigh as he flicks one nipple with his finger and slaps the underside of my breast. Hard to believe he was just asleep, and now he’s on fire. Morning sex has become a ritual.
"Rafail." I squirm because when I protest a little, he bears down harder, and I love that. This man is not tame. He may play nice for me on occasion—very rarely—but then the savage in him’s unleashed.
Here, though, in the privacy of our bedroom, where we make love, he lets his guard down.
Whatever I wrestle with comes to a raging halt as his lips claim mine and his fingers spread me wide.
He’s mine. Mine—every damn inch of his masculine, bossy, grumpy self.
I playfully roll him over on his back, which I honestly wouldn’t be able to do if he didn’t allow it.
He smirks as he arranges me on top of him, giving me the momentary delusion that I was the one who pushed him over.
He’s much bigger than I am, stronger. I couldn’t push him over if I tried. And believe me, I’ve tried.
Sadly, cowgirl style is a bit out of the realm of possibility with this cast, though I’m healing and hardly need crutches anymore. Still, I can awkwardly hold my leg at an angle and appreciate him, submissive for the flash of a second beneath me.
With a gentle nudge, he arranges my leg so that it’s comfortable.
Ooh. I like. My fingers splay across the expanse of his warm, bare chest, heat warming my palms as I trace the hard planes of muscle.
His chest rises and falls in a steady beat beneath my hands, his thick cock at my slick entrance. His body pulses with restrained power.
“I like this view,” he says in a husky whisper, his voice rough and sexy, the way his eyes rove over my body a testament to sincerity. He does like this view. He likes what he sees. My smaller, pale body is in such sharp contrast to his it’s almost comical.
“Will our babies look like you? It’s a crapshoot. I do think your genes are more… dominant,” I say with a wink.
I bend and brush my lips to his. For the first time, the thought of having his children doesn’t scare me. It seems… natural. He’s already the father figure of the Kopolov family. The patriarch. I’ve already assumed the role of big sister-mother. Having children now seems only natural.
“I would love it if our children looked like you,” he says earnestly, reaching forward to grasp my hips tightly in his strong, powerful hands. I don’t wear much of anything to bed, so he easily finds my bare entrance.
My breathing hitches. “Would you, now?”
“Of course,” he says, his own breath catching at the first thrust. I’m so full; my head falls back, his hot cock throbbing in my center.
He glides almost fully out before sliding in me again with a brutal, delicious thrust. My eyes flutter closed as bliss floods me.
“A chance to remind me of you? Yes. Every day. A reminder of my beautiful wife? I’d like nothing better.
” His gaze bores into mine with such fire and possession, my heart turns over in my chest. “Ty—moya, navsyegda, Nikto i nikogda ne smo-zhet otnyat tebya u menya.”
You are mine forever. No one can ever take you away from me.
Another thrust sends pleasure coursing down my spine. I love riding him, the feeling of connection. Power. I love the feel of his hands anchored on my hips as I grind against him, fuller than ever before, damn near fused to my husband.
“Come here,” he says, his hand sliding the length of my back to pull me closer.
I bend toward him, and his mouth finds my breast, capturing a nipple between his teeth.
I gasp when he laves my nipples one at a time, a touch of teeth and wet heat pushing me to the brink of climax, pulling me closer to the edge of control.
“Turn around,” he says, pulling out of me. “I’ll help you. Face forward. I need to taste you. I want you to come on my mouth before I take you completely.”
I whine a little in protest because maybe I’m a bit spoiled and needy, and I wish I could sit on his face and have him in me at the same time, but Rafail doesn’t suffer disobedience. When I don’t immediately comply, his gaze darkens.
“Are you disobeying me, my little swan?” he asks, his gaze on me, half daring me to defy him, to give him a chance to punish me. He lives for this.
Fuck it, so do I.
“Maybe,” I say with a pout and a whisper. Eager to hear what he’ll do about that but scared to outright defy him. Rafail can be terrifying.
“On my face,” he says with a low growl, his fingers on my side branding me. “You’re in trouble already. Here’s your one chance to be a good girl.”
Oh god.
I can’t exactly rush to obey with my clumsy cast, but with practiced ease, he arranges me in front of him.
His thick cock in front of me, I bend and drag my tongue along the veined length.
Wet heat floods me at the sound of his moan just before his hand, as thick and heavy as a paddle, slams against my ass.