Chapter 12
Ugh. Why am I so damn hot? Did someone light the fireplace in my bedroom after I went to sleep last night? I don’t even remember coming to bed. I was so mad about the afternoon meeting that I wore myself out any way possible and then…
Oh.
Oh shit.
A sleepy groan from behind me might as well be a foghorn with how it rattles my skull and forces me fully awake. The source of the ungodly heat tightens his arm around my middle, and I remember everything with startling clarity.
Thatcher offering himself up for my pleasure.
Coming from the efforts of someone else for the first time in recent memory…
Praising, chastising, soothing, degrading.
It’s been too long since I felt the heady intoxication of being in control of someone so completely, and I had almost forgotten the height of sensation to be found when I’m so focused on leading someone to mutual pleasure.
My brain was quieter last night than it’s been in… I don’t know when.
Except fuck. Despite Misha thinking a good fuck would simplify my life, and we didn’t even fuck, I feel…
like I need coffee. The blackout curtains hide any hint of how late I’ve slept, but when I wrench myself from Thatcher’s hold and check my phone, it’s only five in the morning. My internal clock remains undefeated.
He rolls over immediately and burrows into the comforter, clearly not a morning person.
I don’t know how I fell asleep with him in my bed last night, considering that usually my alarm bells ring if there’s anyone at all in the room where I’m sleeping.
I can’t think of a time I’ve ever shared a bed overnight with someone, and in shared spaces, I always slept with one eye open.
I’m so groggy now, though, that I must have slept hard last night. Maybe the release of months of pent-up tension was enough for me to pass out, or perhaps I just instinctively know Thatcher isn’t a threat to me. That has to be it.
Silently, I pull on my morning uniform of all-black sweats and sneak out, closing the door quietly behind me.
I’m too tired to try to dig Thatcher out from my bed.
I’m sure he’ll wake up, see that I’m gone, and take the hint.
The walk to the kitchen reminds me that I need to get my coffee bar set up in my bedroom sooner rather than later because it’s impossible to try to be anything less than a gremlin before my first cup.
Luckily, I don’t run into anyone in the house.
I have a persona to maintain, and cranky coffee-deficient Mila isn’t someone the men need to see.
It’s no surprise at all to turn the corner and see Misha already in the kitchen, nursing what’s likely his second cup of the morning and staring out an east-facing window, waiting for the sunrise.
Although it used to annoy me that he invariably rose at least half an hour before I did, once he started to supply my coffee, I conceded the morning crown to him.
Sure enough, on the counter sits a steaming mug of coffee in the perfect color.
I join him at the window, quietly sipping and watching the inky sky transform to navy, then gray, and finally a pale, pinky blue as a new day dawns.
I’m not sure how many sunrises we’ve seen together.
At this point, we’re probably approaching ten thousand.
If he hadn’t started this tradition, my sunrise count would have stopped decades ago.
I’ve never asked if he was an early riser before me.
Just like I haven’t asked if he ever wishes he hadn’t pledged himself to my cause.
He could have a family by now, if not for the weight of our shared past. These are just two questions, out of many, on the list of things I’ll never ask.
Finally, both cups are empty, and golden rays are sneaking toward the kitchen when the dreaded raised eyebrow turns my way.
I feel confident that I’m relatively intact and covered by my hoodie and sweatpants.
Misha’s only hints of what transpired are my face and my eyes, which means I’m screwed.
The man has always been able to read me like a book.
“So—”
“Nope! No ‘so.’”
With a sigh that I know is him coming to terms with my attitude this morning, he flops down into a chair at the breakfast table and spreads his long legs out, crossing his arms to assume his defensive position.
“Alright. How?”
“Not even a how.” I curl up on the bench on the other side of the table, thinking that maybe Thatcher has the right idea. Being cozy in bed with him would be much better than facing the Spanish Inquisition. Shit. Being cozy in bed alone, I mean. Not with him.
“That bad?”
Ugh. As much as I don’t want to, we have to have this conversation. There are no secrets from Misha.
“It wasn’t bad. Not at all. It’s just not a good idea. I know you think it is, but there’s just too much going on. Plus, it’s not like he’s a stranger I’ll never see again. He gets hurt, he’s still around. He’s Teddy’s best friend.”
“Hmm. Well, I stand by my initial assessment. I think it’s a good thing.
I don’t think anybody needs to get hurt with your usual rules up front.
If he catches feelings, that’s on him. But he’s a grown man, even though I know I call him a kid to rile you up.
He can make big boy decisions and take responsibility for his own emotions. ”
“I don’t know how you’ve gotten to be such an emotional expert. You’re as chronically single as I am.”
“Hmm,” he replies, but this time, he doesn’t continue.
“Well,” I say, sitting back up and feeling my coffee start to kick in.
“My gut says that it’s easier and less messy to stop this before it truly starts.
This is not a thing. I’m not allowing this to be a thing.
So you and your pet hockey player can have as much fun as you want training and cooking and having movie night, or whatever the fuck else you have planned—”
“A lot of these guys have never seen the classics. If they can’t get my Mean Girls references, I don’t know how you expect me to—”
“And have a great time! I’m not questioning your methods. You know damn well I can’t do this without you, and I don’t care how you do it. Now, can I shower in your room? I, uh…” I ignore his smirk. “I don’t want to use mine right now.”
“You can, but it’s the soap you hate,” he calls after me, but I’m already hustling out of the kitchen, disinterested in continuing this conversation for a moment longer.
“I’ll deal.”
And I will. With the soap, with Thatcher, with Zadorov. I’ll deal.
If you had asked me a few months ago whether one of the things I most look forward to is my weekly calls with my little brother, I would have laughed in your face.
But here I am, tea steeping, excitedly awaiting my chance to catch up with Teddy.
As always, my phone rings at exactly six o’clock.
At least my long-lost brother is punctual.
Smiling, I answer the call. “Hello, Cuddles. How’s life in Thunder Bay? Still enjoying my home?”
“Ha. Ha. Are you going to ask that every time we talk? Even though your new home is apparently significantly larger than this one?”
“You haven’t been here yet, you don’t understand.” The thought of how long it’ll take to eradicate the red latex sends a shiver down my spine.
“Oh no, I’ve heard.” Teddy laughs. “Misha told me it’s a nightmare. I think it’s a bit garish even for Thatcher. He would never admit that of course, but—actually, how is everything going with him?”
Fuck. Words. Any words.
“Mila?”
Say any words at all, Mila. Anything. It can’t be worse than this silence.
“Are you there—”
“I don’t know what Thatcher has to do with our weekly call. He’s certainly not important enough to waste our time on. This is for business, remember?” I’m harsher than I intended, and Teddy notices immediately.
“So he’s driving you crazy, then. I’m really sorry about the intrusion, you know. If I had known you were going to be at the compound so much, I wouldn’t have told him to—”
“Theodore, snap back to it!” I chirp, “Bratva business call! I don’t have all night. Tell me what’s been going on in Thunder Bay.”
“Alright. Um, well, nothing actually. It’s been eerily quiet lately. For the Santoris, too. Or at least that’s what Nikki told me. I think the union between our families has everyone spooked.”
As chaotic as his and Ellie’s relationship began, I have to admit that marrying into the Santori family was probably the best thing Teddy could have done for himself.
The first few years after a takeover are the most vulnerable time for a new Pakhan, but with the Santori Mafia as his ally, nobody would dare mess with him.
Of course, he had no idea what he was doing when they met.
It wasn’t until tragedy struck and her family blamed Teddy that we all realized the two lovebirds were together.
It was an oversight on my part, not paying attention to his dating life, but Ellie was a Mafia princess and knew how to cover her tracks well enough.
“That’s good,” I sigh. “I honestly don’t know what I would do if storms were brewing down there right now. I barely have any fucking time to deal with all the bullshit going on up here.”
“Oh? Anything I should be concerned about?”
“No. Nothing you’ll ever have to worry about, my dearest brother.
Just some misogynistic assholes who can’t deal with a woman being Pakhan.
Same shit I was going through before you came along, except this time there aren’t any long-lost brothers to appease the board.
Ivan named me his successor. The only solution would be to kill me or to marry me off.
I’m sure they’re plotting for the former in private, but they aren’t bashful at all about pushing marriage on me. ”
Teddy laughs so hard he snorts at the mention of marriage.
“Thanks a lot, Cuddles. Glad you’re so concerned for me.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I just can’t imagine you married. To anyone.”
“Me either, little brother, me either.”
“Those guys don’t realize who they’re dealing with, Sis. You’ll let me know if I can do anything to help, won’t you?”
“Of course. But don’t worry about me. It’ll all work out. If there’s really nothing going on there, we’re good for the week. Give my best to Ellie.”
“Will do. Talk to you next week.”
Sipping my tea, I consider the unsettling news that everything’s quiet in Thunder Bay.
I suppose there’s no reason to look a gift horse in the mouth.
If Teddy and the Santoris have my former stomping grounds under control, great.
Our call was so short, though, that I have another half hour to relax before my nightly walk through the bunks.
Usually, it would be impossible to avoid perseverating on all the issues plaguing me here in New York, but all I can think about is last night with Thatcher.
Just the thought of his mouth on me sends sparks of arousal straight to my core.
If I were a weaker woman, I’d go to him now.
Push him further to see if he’s really as good a boy as he seems. But I can’t.
I shouldn’t have let him touch me in the first place.
I know Teddy wouldn’t care, but it’s just too messy.
I can never give him anything more than fun, and if he became attached… I don’t want to break his heart.
Last night was a wonderful reprieve from my recent stressors, but I’ll simply have to cope with them on my own until I can get to a club. I’ll only have to resist for a few more weeks. How hard could it be?