29. Fia
FIA
I can always count on Emil being a huge dick. I’m coming into my final trimester of pregnancy, and he spins me around, telling me bullshit about walking out of my life forever.
Part of me refuses to believe him. Emil is a jack of many trades.
He can throw knives, hitting bullseye each time, make me scream in bed and successfully kill concierges in hotel rooms without the cops suspecting anything, but he can’t ghost me.
I’m yet to meet a version of him who is capable of leaving me alone.
“If anything comes back to you from the attack, who the perpetrator was, etcetera, report the incident to the police,” says the nurse, discarding the bloody latex gloves in the trash.
“The smallest detail is better than nothing, and after being hit by a car, the police might be able to build a case.”
“Maybe,” I say, swinging my legs off the bed, standing up. “But the car thing was an accident.”
“For your sake,” says the nurse, her eyes gravitating to my baby bump, “I hope so.”
I flash her a smile, leaving the room. “Thanks.”
“And by the way,” she says, turning around, a huge grin on her face. “You have a fabulous taste in men.”
“You can say that again.” I open the door, returning to Emil in the waiting room who is the center of the attention, just by being his damn self.
He changed clothes before we came to the ER.
The blood only added to the sex appeal, and I can’t afford to feel any type of way about him right now after the speech he made at the docks.
I should be honored when he begged me to kill him. As it turns out, he’s just as messed up in the head as I am.
Emil’s eyes dart across my face, registering my lip and the other major cuts on my face.
“Eight stitches,” I confirm, saving him the energy of counting.
He sighs deeply, lifting off the chair, guiding me out through reception.
We clamber back into the car. I secure my seatbelt, catching Emil staring into the abyss, hand resting on the steering wheel. He works his throat, swallowing thickly.
My heart hurts more than the stitches. Emil stays true to his word. If he says he’s going to leave, he will.
But hope isn’t lost yet. The boathouse will give us some breathing space away from the city, from the chaos of today, to rekindle our unspeakable connection. He’ll be contradicting himself in no time.
“Wow,” I say, breaking the silence as the lake materializes up ahead, glistening through the trees.
The clouds have shifted slightly, sunlight slipping from the gaps. A few beams jut down from the dark sky, creating mythical shades of silver as darkness mixes with the light.
The lake is still, water rolling to the rocky shore. Emil keeps his hand fixated on the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle around the lake until the property comes into view—a converted boathouse built from rock, almost floating on the water.
Emil parks up outside, killing the engine. He pops open the door and grabs mine. Always a fucking gentleman.
The air is still, chirping birds stopping the atmosphere from falling silent. Water sloshes to shore, rippling as it breaks.
I watch Emil slide the key into the lock, wishing I was being penetrated like that right now as he jams the old key, twisting in several directions before unlocking.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lend a perfect view of the lake, bringing lots of light inside. I trail my fingertips over the brick wall, noting the fireplace, the outdoor decking area; the portraits framed to the wall, similar to the ones I browsed in the museum.
Emil sheds his suit jacket, tossing it over the couch. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the start of his chest. Muscles and tattoos always find ways to poke through his shirt, giving me a tease.
“I should shower.”
“Yeah,” he says, wandering around the property, testing the locks on all windows and doors.
I fold my arms over my chest, waiting for him to look up. “Want to shower together?”
He works his throat again, releasing a heavy breath as he turns and meets my gaze. “Fia,” he starts, harder to break than the gray clouds surrounding us. “I need you to accept what I said earlier.”
I hitch my arms higher up my chest, turning my nose up at his comment. “No can do.”
“You stabbed Luka for nearly killing the twins. Him and I are quite similar.”
I wait for him to loosen up, to walk toward me and lace our hands, squeezing me tight, telling me he loves me, but he remains at the other side of the room.
“You look like a roman philosopher. Drop the stoicism. We both know there’s more to you than cold glares and a monotone voice.”
“You want to protect the twins more than anything right?” says Emil. “To give them the childhood you wished you had when you were young?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Sacrifices have to be made. The reason you kept running away from me is because your mother’s instinct always knew the truth.”
Nothing about this is fair. Emil is rejecting me and looks good doing it, jaw a perfect right angle, cheekbones sitting high on his face, giving him the symmetry of a model.
He argues some good points, but I see the loving sides of Emil. He has what it takes to be a father. He willingly sacrificed himself for me today, surrendering his life for the good of our family. Evil takes different forms, and I have been exposed to both.
Emil may exude some of my father’s characteristics, but they are two very different people.
The fact that he wants to walk away is exactly why he should stay.
Now it is my turn to fight for this relationship, and I start by lifting the hem of my shirt above my breasts, over my head, tossing it out into the room.
Some of Luka’s blood seeped through the shirt, onto the bra.
I smooth my palm over the cups, giving each breast a firm squeeze.
The gasp that escapes my mouth is completely accidental.
Sex is the last thing my body should crave.
I murdered a human being today, stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, instinct taking full control of my body.
And now desire wraps me in a warm fuzzy blanket, my bare skin prickling, my nipples begging to be kissed by fresh air.
I tease my bra clasp, locking eyes with Emil. “Help me out of this bra. I’m struggling to reach.”
“Fia,” he says in that dark, raspy tone, the one full of warning, and yet so inviting at the same time.
“I need to shower. Help me get undressed.”
“No, Fia.” Emil’s voice booms through the wall, hitting me right in the pussy.
He hears no, but all I hear is yes.
I tug on the bra clasp, loosening the straps, the bra falling to the floor.
My breasts bounce out, cold air brushing my sensitive nipples just as I expected. I groan, my knees buckling. Standing up requires too much effort. I want to lose myself in Emil’s arms. He can explore my body, weave his fingers through my pussy and make me feel Zen.
I squeeze my breasts, staring directly at Emil.
He can remain as still as he wants, but his cock will always rise for me. I sense it shifting in his pants, the air around us charged. A bulge forms in his pants, becoming more noticeable the more I play with myself, swirling my nipples, doing whatever feels natural.
My hands gravitate south on their own accord, undoing my pants. I pop the button, shoving my pants down, my panties too. Cold air bites my clit. I widen my legs, spreading my folds apart.
I find my clit, rubbing the nub, pinning Emil a glare, showing him what he could have if he loosened up a little.
He remains rigid, watching me, that bulge in his pants becoming more obvious.
A whimper escapes my lips as I continue rubbing myself, reaching the end much faster than I expected. White hot pleasure builds from the very pit in my stomach, expanding out, caressing every nerve in my body.
I stumble back into the wall, arching my back, flushed red as I continue strumming my clit, needing this orgasm, needing Emil, more than I need air in my lungs.
He is the air in my lungs, the person who breathes life into my soul and makes it happy.
Adrenaline is still surging through me after the events of today, needing somewhere to go, waiting to be released.
Emil is urging me to release myself. He won’t give himself permission to finish me off, but his eyes are urging me over the edge.
They glint silver in the faded light, encouraging me to keep going.
He wants me to cum under his gaze, for me to fold, for this to be over so he can stay true to his word.
I sigh, forcing my hand away from my pussy. As painful as this is, I refuse to let Emil win. He will touch me and surrender to his desires. I have caved countless times before. All I’m asking is for him to do the same.
I crumble into the wall, wetness leaking down my thighs, my clit throbbing with an impossible want.
“Don’t stop on my account, spitfire,” he says from the other side of the room.
“I’m not making myself come,” I say, sliding a finger between myself, teasing my pussy under his nose. “I’m not allowed to touch myself, remember? You know the rules.”
Emil clenches his jaw, swiping a black lock of hair away from his face.
Arousal wanders aimlessly though my body, searching for an anchor to tether itself to. My anchor is standing right in front of me, being fucking stubborn.
But I will get what I want.
The man inside of Emil is bound to break soon. Everyone falls weak for something, and Emil is staring directly at his undoing.
I smooth my hands over my breasts, flicking my nipple, desire sending shock waves through my body.
My hand gravitates back to my pussy, my clit begging for a few more rubs. That is all it will take. But I need Emil to break first.
I keep pinning him a glare, the corner of his mouth twitching. He touches his cock through his pants, massaging himself.
“Just fucking admit it,” I say, closing the distance between us. “You want me. And you can’t live without me.”
“I will destroy you.”
“Maybe I want to be destroyed.”
“No, Fia?—”
Too fucking late. I grab his cock, running his length through my fingertips before undoing his belt buckle and shoving his pants all the way to the floor.
I lower onto my knees, admiring his incredible form.
His legs are laden with muscles, his quads like tree trunks, sturdy enough to hold up the entire world, and yet he still thinks he will destroy me.
Emil is the most indestructible man I have ever met, my only constant in a world that is always changing shape.
He is proof that I can tackle through the hard times and live to see the sun again.
I take the tip of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the top and working my way down.
“Fuck this,” cusses Emil, launching me onto the couch.
I gasp, heart beating out of my chest as I land with force, looking at the ceiling, which soon disappears as Emil enters my frame of vision.
His black eyes engulf me, turning everything dark. The black stubble peppered along his jaw, followed by the shadows clinging to his cheekbones, paint him in an unholy light.
But I am done being holy.
Chasing freedom, finding my own independence, was only going to lead me down another dark path that would result in me feeling more alone than I already felt.
My memories might still be hazy in parts, but I see everything clearly. Feathers need to be ruffled sometimes, marriages forced upon you, in order for one to see the truth. And when I look in Emil’s dark eyes, my future is bright.
He shoves his cock all the way into me, pinning me against the couch. My entire body folds around his presence, clinging around his cock like the thing is my salvation.
Desire circles low in the pit of my stomach, reaching boiling point.
“One last time,” grunts Emil between desperate thrusts, edging us both closer to the end. “To see you off into the world.”
Time stills as I catch his eyes, his gaze matching his words.
Pleasure folds in half, the pressure building, ready to explode.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” says Emil between aggressive thrusts, capturing my face in his hands. “I’m undoing the shackles you have bound around your own wrists and letting you fly.”
“No,” I whimper, stalling my orgasm, not wanting this to end. But the ball of fire in the pit of my stomach can’t wait another second. Emil thrusts into me once more, caressing my sensitive walls, and the fire bursts, leaving a bittersweet feeling behind as I feel satisfied, but still empty.
An ache forms in my heart as I look up at Emil, tears threatening to fall from my eyes.
“One last time,” says Emil, kissing me softly on the temple as he withdraws from my pussy. “For old time’s sake.”
“Our children need you.”
“They need the life you yearned for when you were young. I can’t give them that.”
“You’re more than a Bratva leader. I see a different side to you.”
“Which will always come hand-in-hand with evil. Darkness has always existed inside of me, Fia.”
“You’re letting Alexander and Luka win.”
“No, spitfire. I’m letting you win.” Emil stands back to full height, walking naked through the room, cock laying thick against his stomach as he locates his pants.
He watches me carefully while zipping up his pants, his face lined with pain, like he never stopped loving me, and quite possibly, will never move on.
Emil checks his phone, scrolling through notifications. “The Kuzmins are destabilized," he says, turning back to me. “We’re free to head back to the city.”
Silence extends between us, Emil’s eyes never leaving mine. Pain slices right down the center of my heart, opening a wound that will never heal, so long as we’re apart.
I see now why Emil resorted to kidnapping. Loving someone passionately drives you to do unspeakable things. You go to extreme measures for the ones you love, killing for them, willing to destroy yourself if it means they will survive.
Emil is quite the inspiration that way, and I will carry his methods into motherhood.