Chapter 51
Irelynn
The knock on the bedroom door comes just as I’m about to throw back the covers and ready myself for bed. Ilya commanded I rest, and lots. So, I’ve been doing a lot of that.
“Come in,” I call, watching as the door opens and Luka steps inside the room.
I haven’t seen him since Boris took me. He’s been totally MIA. When I asked Ilya where he’d gone, fearing that he’d been a casualty of the underworld war, he’d simply said he’s dealing with something he feels he needs to deal with.
My smile isn’t one I can hide. “Luka! I’ve missed you.”
He looks strangely pale. “You have?”
“Of course.” I shift in the bed so I’m sitting more upright against the pillows. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“I thought—after the way Boris,” he pulls in breath. “I thought maybe you blamed me for what happened. If I’d known, I’d have taken you shopping, I swear.”
“Oh, Luka.” I shake my head. “I don’t blame you.”
He bows his head. I can see the struggle of his emotions as he tries to hide the way they play on his face. Finally, he pulls in breath, lifts his head and squares his shoulders. “I’ve been in America. New York, specifically.”
I frown. “What have you been doing there?”
“Avenging you in the only way I knew how.” He moves closer to the bed. “I want you to know that Jeremy Wilson will never harm another child ever again.”
I’m stone stiff and utterly speechless for a long moment. Finally, I whisper, “Ilya told you?”
“I needed to make up my failure to you. I couldn’t face you until…”
“Thank you,” I say gently, quietly. It might not be right, but Jeremy had been a terrible man who had done a terrible thing.
His shoulders sag just a little in relief. “I should go then. Let you get to bed.”
“Luka,” I call when he touches the door. “I hope you feel confident being my guard again. I won’t feel safe with anyone else the way I feel with you.”
His shoulders lift just a little more. “I’ll always stand with you.”
I smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nods, smiles, and walks out.
Ilya doesn’t want me traipsing around the mansion, so I’ve mostly been bed-bound. Laid up in bed with absolutely no desire to attempt another shopping spree in the city quite so soon after everything, I made a massive online order that Ilya paid astronomical shipping to have arrive before Russian Christmas, which I’d been informed we would be spending with his family, at his family estate.
Now, in the mirror in the bathroom, even though I bought some sexy as sin night dresses I figured Ilya would love—I’m wearing one of his button-down shirts.
My bruises haven’t faded entirely, but they aren’t the deep purple that they’d been. Mostly, with concealer and under coverup, I can hide them. Now, though, I’m wearing no makeup. My hair is twisted back into a clip, and my skin is freshly smoothed in the comforting scent of sugar cookies.
I’ve healed, and life has mostly gone back to normal at the Volkov mansion, apart from the fact Ilya has yet to make love to me since he’d rescued me from a fate worse than death.
Still, I feel fragile as I stare at the mostly faded bruises in the mirror. The idea of meeting Ilya’s family, his brothers and his ex-bratva father, is terrifying.
Ilya steps into the bathroom, his big body moving behind mine. His hands come around my waist to tug me into his chest. Then, in the mirror, he studies me. His eyes are so intense as they move over my body, lingering for a long moment on his shirt that covers my body.
His lips twitch. “How are you feeling?”
I devour his reluctant smile.
“Nervous.” No doubt he hears my nerves.
“They will love you.”
“Ilya—”
“I love you.” His eyes bore into mine in the mirror. Heat flushes through my body, rising like a tsunami wave inside me. It threatens to wash all the negative away, if only he’d let me let the heat burn.
But he refuses. To my growing madness, Ilya hasn’t let himself be with me since the fiasco with Boris and, I’ve since found out, his arch nemesis, Ivan.
Learning of the way Boris betrayed Ilya still stings. His betrayal had run deep. I’m sad, because even though Ilya refuses to speak of him, I know he’d cared for him as a friend. And then he’d killed him.
I push away from the vanity, sliding from his arms as I move into the bedroom. I pause at the threshold, glancing back at him over my shoulder. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Blue,” the word sounds like an agonized prayer. “If you want to stay home, we will.”
He’s talking about tomorrow, when we’re supposed to leave for Christmas Holiday at his parents. I’ve been pushed into so much, and he doesn’t want to push me into this.
But the reality is this—us—feels wrong, and I don’t like it. I can’t make sense of it, not entirely, but this thing between us feels dangerously off.
This isn’t us. This isn’t our dynamic.
It’s not what I want. This soft, ever-tender side of him.
What do I want?
“I want to go.” I want him to make me go.
The thought has the whirlwind of confusion inside me suddenly stilling. Understanding settles like a stone in my belly as I stare at the man, I know I’ll crave until the end of my life on this earth, and quite possibly into the beyond.
I can hear as he turns on the shower, and I know what I need to do.
With sure hands, I pop the buttons of his shirt and let it fall to the floor.
Then I walk back into the bathroom.
Ilya’s ice blue eyes lock on me with barely uncontained heat as he watches me cover the distance between us. Every step I take is sure. There isn’t a moment of hesitation as I pull open the glass door, stepping into the steam with him. Loose tendrils of my hair that has fallen from the clip cling to my shoulders where the steam floats around me, the spray from his body hitting mine and drawing gooseflesh to the surface.
My nipples pebble, stretching desperately for him.
His jaw clenches. His fists curl. His cock swells long and thick and deliciously veined.
I lower to my knees as he hisses in a sharp breath. Heat floods my core, a throbbing pressure pulsing between my legs.
“Irelynn,”
I don’t listen to his plea. I can’t tell if he’s telling me not to do this—or if he’s begging, anyway.
Gripping the thick base of his erection between my hands, I pump him once, twice, three times. It’s been so long and he’s so starved, it doesn’t take more than that for the bead of precum to taunt me at his tip.
Leaning forward, I lick it clean and moan.
“Fuck.” The muscles in his chest and abs bunch. His jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth.
I hide my grin behind another long lick across his tip. Then I take the whole of him into my mouth.
The sound he makes is enough to make me cum right there. Squeezing my thighs together, I roll my hips just enough to relieve the pressure.
I bob my head, taking him to the back of my throat and swallowing around him. Sharp hisses, ‘Holy fucks, and reluctant groans fall from his lips.
Just when I feel he’s there—close—I pull away.
Folding my hands into my lap as I stare up at the wildness in my man’s eyes, the hunger in every line of his face, the dark desperation to possess in every way—I know I’ve done exactly what I set out to do.
“I don’t want what you’ve been giving me, Ilya.” He frowns, quick fear striking like lightning through his desire. “I want the man who made me come undone in his bed, beneath him, despite my protests. I want the man who chased me in the forest. The man who fucked me raw in the snow. I want the man who loves me to obsession. Who takes what he needs from me when he needs it.” I lift my chin, daring him with my gaze. “I don’t want this pretty package you’re trying to wear. I know who you are. I know every dark and depraved part of you, and I fell in love with you for it. I won’t do this with you, Ilya. If I’m not getting the real, dark, beautiful, ominous, obsessed you—then I don’t want any of it.”
“You want me to take what I want?” Gravel hardens his tone.
I shiver with awareness.
“I want you to take what you want from me. I want you to give me what you know I need.”
The growl he lets loose is entirely feral. The grip he has on the base of his cock is nothing compared to the way he yanks my clip free from my hair, fisting the strands.
“What I need from you right now is your mouth around my dick.” He shoves the tip to my lips until I open for him, a moan snagged in the deep of my throat that the tip of his dick hits as he shoves balls deep.
I gag around him, my throat convulsing as my eyes water. The veins that travel south in his abdomen are swollen—and so damn hot.
The man is the definition of power. I want nothing more than to be overpowered by him.
He pulls his cock free. I gasp in a sharp breath he cuts off with yet another decadent assault. He does this again and again until the pressure between my legs is fire. It’s so intense, I’m rolling my hips desperately, seeking some form of release. Anything.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been this turned on.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been aware of how empty I am. How my body was designed, crafted with intent, to be filled by his.
Not having him inside me is torture.
He releases my hair to grip both sides of my head. And then he bucks into my mouth, fucking my face. There’s nothing held back from this moment. It’s aggressive and dirty and addictive. He slides over my tongue, hitting the back of my throat, grunting like an animal as he thrusts between my lips.
Flames erupt in my core, spreading over my flesh.
He jerks inside my mouth, a salty stream of precum hitting the back of my throat before he rips his cock from my mouth. I swallow, licking my lips as his eyes pull me into the inferno of him.
The veins in his arms and on his fist are all raised. His blood is pumping hard, his breath harder, and I just know his heart pumps hardest of all.
I grin.
He curses in Russian. “You want me, all of me? The darkness? The vile?” He grips his cock in an angry fist, the head a vicious, angry purple.
“I want the monster, Ilya. I want you.” I start to stand, but he growls.
“On your knees. I’m going to cover your pretty tits in my cum, and you’re going to look up at me with those sad blue eyes as I mark you. Every fucking inch of you.”
I don’t move. I can’t. I’m locked in place by arousal that feels like it might rip me apart from the core.
He begins to pump his angry cock, the motions brutal. It doesn’t take long before ribbons of white fall hot against my chest. I hold his eyes through it all, until he’s spent the last drop.
I think we’re done, that I’ve made my point, when he grips me by my upper arms to lift me onto my feet. He turns me harshly to face the wall. My hands slap out to catch myself against the tile, my breaths tumbling fast into the steam now.
“You think I’m done with you?” He laughs a husky, dangerous laugh. His hand falls to grip my hip, his other pressing between my shoulder blades until the side of my face is pressed to the wall.
Now that he has me where he wants me, his hand moves down the length of my spine. My back arches, chasing his touch, until he lifts it from my skin. Then I feel the tip of his hot dick pressing into the crease between my ass.
Nerves flutter, dancing with arousal.
“I’m going to have this, Little Blue. I’m going to fucking have every part of you.”
I whimper, my pussy weeping with need. I can’t handle this.
I spread my legs, begging silently for him to wreck me. Ruin me. Show me his monster.
He notches his tip to my pussy. I throw my head back, arching my ass into his groin, fingers curling against tile.
He leans forward, his teeth biting into my shoulder hard enough to make me gasp, but not hard enough to mark. Then he thrusts, filling me in one quick thrust. I scream, because he doesn’t wait for me to stretch around him before he’s pulling back and thrusting again. The slick sounds of his cock sliding into my wet core mingle with the strangled groans that fall from his reluctant lips. My body bounces, the cum he released on my chest trickling south as sweat beads my flesh to mix with the mist of the shower that pelts Ilya’s back. I can feel the slow trickle of it when he yanks me away from the wall, fucking me harder and faster and rougher from behind. I reach out to hold myself steady, but my gaze is called down to my breasts at the feel of the cum sliding over my nipple. My lips part at the filthy hotness that I see when I take in my chest.
I’ve never seen a sight more depraved.
Ilya circles my waist with one strong arm as the other reaches up to palm my breast. The rough pad of his thumb spreads his seed over my pink nipple like lube, plucking and pulling as his brutal thrusts quicken.
Oh wait, I’m wrong. This is way more depraved.
“Look at you. Covered in my come as I fill your pretty pussy.” His teeth graze my neck. “Give me your mouth, baby.”
I don’t hesitate, tipping my head to the side. He covers my mouth with demanding lips. They aren’t soft. Tonight, there is nothing soft about Ilya. My monster.
He kisses me deeply, fucking my mouth as he fucks my pussy. It’s not long after he claims my lips that his thrusts become unmeasured and frantic. As he spills hot ribbons of release into my core, he grunts his pleasure into my mouth.
He fills my body and my heart in one filthy, vile, twisted, beautiful moment.
I gasp in air, smiling in triumph. “There he is.” My voice softens, “My monster.”
He chuckles, the sound so beautiful, so soft, for this raw moment. “I fucking love you.” His arms pulse around me. “So much, Irelynn. My heart.” He nuzzles my neck. “My Little Blue.”