19. Isabela
ISABELA
When Demin's men drag me back to his room after my visit with my father, I head straight for the shower to wash this disgusting feeling of shame off my body.
My hands shake as I peel the layers of clothing off and toe off my shoes.
Sergei's touch is seared into my skin. I need it off me. I need to feel clean again.
I turn the water up hotter than I can stand and I scrub.
My arms, my wrist, the side of my waist where Sergei's arm wrapped around me, everywhere his hands touched and a lot of places they didn't. I scrub until my skin goes pink and then red, and it doesn't help, not even when I'm tender and my skin feels scraped raw.
I can still feel the ghost of his fingers on my wrist. I can still hear his disgusting laugh, like he took pleasure in making my skin crawl.
I press my forehead to the tile and let the water run over the back of my neck.
Papa asked what happened, but how could I tell him?
It would only prove to him that he's right and that we shouldn’t be here.
Or maybe things like this are supposed to prove to me that he's right—that I should be scared of Demin and his family, not accepting.
Maybe I’m being naive by thinking that Demin taking ownership of me is a good feeling. Maybe I've been brainwashed or something, but I do feel safe in his arms now. Even if I don't want to.
But I came here to escape men like Sergei. That's the part I can't get around. I wanted to get my father away from Solano's people, and I delivered us both somewhere worse—or at least since Sergei has shown up. The Bratva isn't the safer choice. They're the same animal in better suits.
The water's gone lukewarm by the time I make myself shut it off. I dry off and pull on the oversized shirt, and I'm standing at the sink with my wet hair dripping on my shoulders when I hear the bedroom door open.
I know it's Demin before he says anything. As long as I've been in this house, I've memorized how he walks and moves right down to being able to determine his moods just from his footsteps.
"Isabela."
I walk to the bathroom doorway and lean on the doorjamb. My whole body is strung as tight as a piano string. I don't know how he's going to react to whatever he saw, but what I need is comfort. I take a few steps toward him but wonder if that's a good idea.
Demin's already crossing the room toward me, and he looks angry, maybe a little jealous.
That look in his eyes when he locked his gaze on mine as Sergei backed away was nothing short of possessive.
He really believes he owns me, so to him that probably wasn't just a man propositioning me.
No doubt, he probably believes I wanted it or that I provoked it.
He doesn't stop at a polite distance, either. He crowds straight into my space, backing me up a step until my shoulders find the wall beside the door, and he lifts a hand and tilts my chin up so I have nowhere to look but at him.
"Tell me what happened," he growls. "All of it. Every word he said to you."
My throat's tight. His thumb is warm on my jaw.
I swallow hard and look him in the eye feeling terrified of his reaction.
He could take this the wrong way, and then what?
What Sergei wanted to do to me could look like child's play compared to what this man would do.
He's the leader here, with no one to step in and stop him.
"He sent the guard away and said he'd walk me to my father, that he was checking the locks anyway.
" I swallow again. The lump in my throat is getting worse.
"I didn't want to go with him, but what would I say?
" Fear makes my heart pound so hard, there's no way he isn't seeing it.
My whole body is shaking from the pulse.
"Go on."
"He talked the whole way down the hall. About…" My face goes hot. "He was listening when you… When we…" I'm embarrassed to say that Sergei heard us having sex on the terrace. Shame is so heavy and it burns my cheeks and ears.
Demin's jaw tightens, but he doesn't speak.
"He put his hands on me," I say softly, but I can't bear to go into details about how and where.
My scrubbing my skin raw was pointless. As soon as my brain remembers it, the feeling of Sergei's hands on me returns, haunting me.
"I shoved him. I slapped him." My voice cracks.
"He laughed." A tear bursts out of my eyes and I grit my teeth.
"He was going to…" My gaze locks on his and I see his expression soften. "Then you came—"
I expect him to push, to demand the exact words. But his hand slides from my chin to the side of my neck as he says, "You won't be alone with him again. I've already made that clear to him."
"But he—"
"Look at me." Demin's hand is possessive on my neck, and darkness radiates from his inky black eyes. "This is my house, and they follow my orders, and they will not touch you. Ever."
Before I can respond, Demin covers my mouth with his.
The kiss is consuming, stealing my breath and making me whimper before he pulls back only to growl against my lips.
"No one else touches you. You're mine." Then he claims my mouth again, demanding everything.
I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, holding on as heat floods through me.
He lifts me off my feet easily and my legs wrap around his waist as he carries me across the room. Then drops me onto the bed and follows me down, settling between my thighs, but his mouth stays locked on mine, kissing me more possessively while I arch up into him, fingers threading into his hair.
"Demin," I gasp when he lets me breathe for a second.
He yanks the t-shirt up my body roughly, dragging it over my head and tossing it aside. But his hands return immediately, gripping my waist, sliding up to squeeze my breasts as he kisses me again, devouring every sound I make.
"This body belongs to me," he says against my mouth.
His hips roll forward, pressing his hard dick against me though his pants separate us.
I moan into the kiss and wrap my legs tighter around him, pulling him closer as I realize how desperately he wants me.
Seeing another man touch me has turned him into an animal.
And it's made me desperate to feel clean and owned.
He kisses down my jaw to my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark I'll have to explain, but I don't push him away. "Say you're mine, Milaya."
"I'm yours," I whisper, hungry to have his mouth on mine again. He grinds against me, his mouth returning for a claiming kiss. His hands explore every inch of my bare skin while he uses one hand to undo his belt. I lose myself in him, in the way he consumes me, letting everything else fade.
"I'm so fucking yours," I repeat, pulling his shirt out of his waistband and rocking my hips against his.
"And no fucker in this house can have you," he insists. He drags me farther up the bed, pinning me as the kiss turns even more savage. I have no choice but to cling to him breathlessly as he shifts, mouth moving lower, teeth grazing my collarbone before he returns to my lips.
I tug at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he shrugs it away without breaking contact. His tie comes next, then buttons, but he keeps kissing me like he can't get enough, like he needs to erase every trace of the hallway from my skin.
Then Demin shifts lower, pushing my thighs apart. His mouth finds my core, working me with his tongue until I whimper, hips jerking against his face. Every draw of his tongue across my folds has me shuddering, clenching around nothing.
"Oh, God," I gasp, fingers threading into his hair.
He holds me open and continues licking and sucking until the pleasure coils tight deep inside me.
It's an ache that radiates outward into my limbs and lower belly, burning as I clench and try to hold back.
I don't want to come so fast. I want to enjoy this.
I arch hard off the bed, thighs trembling around his head. "Don't stop," I moan, voice breaking. "Please, just like that."
The orgasm crashes over me in deep, powerful waves. My walls pulse and squeeze in strong, rhythmic contractions, pleasure flooding through me in rolling surges that make my toes curl and my breath catch.
Wave after wave rolls through me, shaking my entire body as the spasms lock every muscle tight. My thighs tremble over his ears, fingers twisting in the sheets as the release drags on, each pulse stronger than the last until I feel like I might break apart from the force of it.
Heat surges outward from my core, leaving me gasping and shuddering, every nerve singing with the intensity. The contractions keep coming, milking the pleasure until my vision blurs and my moans turn broken and raw.
"Demin," I whimper, hips bucking helplessly against his mouth. "Shit."
He keeps going through all of it, drawing out every last spasm until I'm boneless and panting, my body still twitching with aftershocks. The final pulses fade slowly, leaving me limp and breathless on the bed.
Only then does he pull back, breathing hard, and climbs up my body. He kisses me slowly, letting me taste myself on his tongue before he stops. His eyes burn into mine possessively as he holds me there, pressing me into the mattress.
I lie there, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath while he stares down at me like he owns every cell in my body.
I'm too spent to fight the way my body still hums for him.
My skin feels raw and alive at the same time, marked by his mouth, claimed in a way that pushes everything else aside for this moment.
I reach up and touch his jaw, still catching my breath.