16. Roman
ROMAN
The lake stretches out before us like a sheet of glass.
I sit on the bench beside Vera and watch the water, letting the silence settle between us. It’s not uncomfortable, this stillness. If anything, it feels like the first real peace we’ve had since the cemetery.
Vera’s hand is still in mine. Her fingers are cool against my palm. She’s staring at the water, but I can tell her mind is somewhere else. Somewhere I can’t follow.
“What did you want to be?” I ask.
She turns to look at me. “What?”
“Before, when you were young.” I shift on the bench, angling my body toward hers. “What did you dream about?”
She shrugs. “Dreams are for people who can afford them.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Her eyes drift back to the lake, watching the water ripple in the breeze.
“I wanted to be a teacher,” she says finally. “Elementary school. I used to imagine having my own classroom. I’d decorate the walls with my students’ artwork.” She shakes her head. “Stupid, right?”
“Why is that stupid?”
“It was never going to happen.” She pulls her hand from mine and wraps her arms around herself. “My father’s debts saw to that. The moment he handed me over to Dmitri, any chance I had of going to college or having a life of my own all disappeared.”
I watch her as she speaks. There’s a bitterness in her voice that I recognize, a resentment that’s been simmering for years. There’s something else too. Something that sounds like surrender.
“You didn’t fight it,” I say.
Her head snaps toward me. “What?”
“When your father told you he was giving you to Dmitri. Or when you realized what your marriage was going to be.” I hold her gaze. “You didn’t fight.”
The color rises in her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you were twenty years old and you walked into that marriage without raising a hand.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Her voice is sharp now, edged with anger. “Run? Where would I have gone? My father owed money to dangerous people. If I’d refused, they would have killed him.”
“So you sacrificed yourself instead?”
I’m goading her and we both know it. She accepted her father’s decision and she accepted being stuck with Dmitri the same way she accepted being stuck with me. There’s a fire in Vera though, and I want to see it.
“I did what I had to do to survive,” she snaps.
“You did what was easy.”
Her eyes flash with something hot and bright.
“Easy?” She stands up from the bench, her hands clenched at her sides.
“You think being married to Dmitri was easy? You think living with a man like him, who controlled every aspect of my life, who made me feel like I was nothing; you think that was easy?”
“I think you could have fought back.” I stand too, facing her. “You could have found a way out if you’d wanted it badly enough.”
“You don’t know what it was like!” Her voice is rising now, the anger spilling over. “You don’t know what he did to me. I woke up every day and knew that there was no escape, no one coming to save me. There was no hope of anything ever getting better.”
“You survived.” I step closer to her, and her skin is warm to the touch. “You endured, but somewhere along the way, you stopped fighting. You accepted your cage and you made peace with it.”
She steps back, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you saying this stuff? Stop it.”
“You let him break you, Vera. You let him convince you that you were worthless. Why?”
“I said stop.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
Except I can’t stop. I can see the fire in her eyes, the spark that’s been buried under years of abuse and neglect. I want to fan it into flames. Let Vera understand her own worth, even if it means angering her in the process.
“Maybe after a while,” I say quietly, “you stopped believing you deserved anything better.”
“You’re wrong.” She’s crying now, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re stronger than this.” I step even closer, until we’re almost touching. She tries to back away but I don’t let her.
Vera has no idea that I watched her all those years. There were cameras all over Dmitri’s home, and all I had to do was tap into them. I saw him drain the life out of her.
“You have fight in you, Vera. I’ve seen it. That’s the real you, Vera. Not this broken thing you’re pretending to be.”
Her hand comes up and slaps me across the face.
The sting is sharp enough to make me stumble. My head turns with the force of it and for a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. Then I turn back to her.
Her eyes are blazing, and her whole body is trembling with the force of her anger.
“Fuck you,” she says. “Fuck you and your judgment and your assumptions. You don’t know what I went through, so you don’t get to stand there and tell me I should have fought harder.”
There she is. Vera’s magnificent like this, furious and fierce and so alive it takes my breath away.
“Say something,” she demands. “Anything. Stop looking at me like that.”
I grab her wrist and pull her toward me.
She stumbles into my chest, her hands coming up to push me away. I don’t let her.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her against me, feeling the heat of her body and the thunder of her heartbeat.
“Let me go,” she says, but her voice is muffled against my shirt.
“No.”
She struggles, but it’s half-hearted. Her hands are fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she tries to push me away. “I hate you,” she says. “I hate you for saying those things.”
“I know.”
I lean down until my forehead is resting against hers. Then I trace my lips across the hollow of her throat and smile when she shudders.
Her breath catches. “Roman?—”
I back her up, step by step, until her shoulders hit the rough bark of a tree at the edge of the clearing. She gasps at the contact, her hands tightening on my shirt.
When I look down, her eyes are dark, her pupils blown wide. Her chest is still heaving, breath coming in short gasps.
I kiss her. Vera’s mouth opens under mine, and I swallow the sound she makes. My hands are in her hair, angling her so I can take the kiss deeper. God, I can’t get enough.
She kisses me back with the same fury she used to slap me. Her hands are in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. Her body is pressed against mine, all soft curves and the wild beating of her heart.
I pin her harder against the tree, trapping her between the rough bark and my body. All I can feel is the softness of her breasts against my chest, and the way her hips roll against mine.
“Roman,” she gasps, and her voice is wrecked already. “Roman, please?—”
“Please what?” I drag my mouth down her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. I want?—”
Her words dissolve into a moan when I find the spot just below her ear. I suck lightly and she squirms beneath me.
My hands find her belt. I unbuckle it with practiced ease, yanking it free and tossing it aside. Then I’m working at the button of her jeans with urgent fingers.
She’s breathing hard. I can see the pulse hammering in her throat.
I shove her jeans down over her hips, not bothering to be gentle. The denim catches for a moment, then slides down her thighs. My hand follows, sliding beneath the waistband of her panties to find her ready for me.
“Fuck,” I breathe against her neck. “You’re soaked.”
“Shut up.” Her nails dig into my shoulders.
I stroke her slowly, feeling her clench around my fingers. She’s so wet that I slide in easily, her body opening for me like it was made to. I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her gasp, and I rub it in tight circles.
Her head falls back against the tree. Her eyes are closed, breath coming in short, sharp pants. She looks beautiful, all undone and desperate.
“More,” she says. “I need more.”
I add another finger, stretching her. She makes a sound that’s half moan, half sob, and her hips buck against my hand.
“Not enough,” she gasps. “Roman, please. I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
I pull my hand free and she whimpers at the loss. Then she’s reaching for my belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle. She yanks it open with an urgency that makes my cock throb.
She shoves my pants down just enough to free me. Her hand wraps around my length and strokes once, her thumb brushing over the head and making me groan.
“Now,” she says. “Right now.”
I grab her hips and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, her back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. I can feel her through the thin fabric of her panties.
I shove the fabric aside and thrust into her in one long stroke.
She cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to scrape. I go still, giving her time to adjust, but she’s already moving. Her hips roll against mine, demanding more.
“Move,” she says. “Make me feel it.”
Of course, I give her what she wants.
I pull back and slam into her, setting a pace that’s completely relentless. The tree groans behind her.
Her moans echo through the clearing. I can feel her getting close, and I fuck her harder.
“That’s it,” I say against her ear. “Good, little bird.”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, please, don’t stop!”
I drive into her over and over, each thrust deeper than the last. Her legs are trembling around my waist now. I can tell she’s close.
Only I want more, because I want to make her come so hard she forgets everything but the feel of me inside her.
I slow my thrusts, drawing it out. “Patience,” I murmur. “We’re not done yet.”
I pull out of her and step back. She makes a sound of loss, her eyes flying open. “What are you doing?”
“Car,” I say. “Now.”
We quickly pull our clothes back on and I grab her hand, dragging her toward the vehicle. Artyom is nowhere to be seen. He knows better than to be around when I need privacy, but the car is waiting.
I push her inside and follow, pulling the door shut behind me. The back is cramped, but there’s more than enough space for our needs. I settle onto the bench seat and pull her onto my lap, her knees straddling my hips.
“Roman,” she breathes.
I silence her with a kiss, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. I can practically taste her desperation. My hands find her hips, and then I’m inside her again. Her pussy clenches again as I ease in.
Vera moans into my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt. I can feel her all around me, hot and tight and perfect.
“Ride me,” I say against her lips.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Vera rises up on her knees and sinks back down, taking me deep. Her head falls back, and I lean forward to kiss the pulse point there. She tastes like salt and perfume.
Her rhythm is erratic at first, desperate and uncoordinated. But she finds it quickly, moving against me in a way that makes my vision blur. I grip her waist, helping her find the angle that makes her gasp.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Just like that. Fuck, you feel so good.”
She’s so tight that each time she sinks back down onto my cock, I have to bite back a groan of pleasure.
I can tell she’s getting close again. Her movements are becoming more urgent, her breath more ragged. I reach between us and find her clit, rubbing it with a slow, relentless rhythm that makes her cry out.
“Come for me,” I say. “Come on, little bird.”
She shatters.
Her whole body convulses, her inner walls clenching around me like a vice. She screams my name with her head thrown back in ecstasy. I thrust up into her one more time and follow her over the edge, spilling myself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, I focus on my breathing. Her head is resting on my shoulder, her body still trembling with aftershocks. My arms wrap around her waist without conscious decision.
After a moment Vera laughs, a breathless sound that vibrates against my chest. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“Good.”
She lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are soft now, the anger from earlier replaced by something else. Something that looks almost like contentment.
“I’m still mad at you,” she says.
“I figured.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, “You weren’t wrong, though. Not entirely.”
I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“I know.” She leans into my touch. “But you did.” She studies my face for a long moment. Then she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
We stay in the back seat until our breathing returns to normal and the sweat cools on our skin. Then I help her rearrange her clothes and she helps me with mine; we climb out of the car looking slightly less disheveled than before.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“For making me feel something, even if it was anger.”
I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. “Anytime,” I say.