TWENTY-NINE
Nastasya
I’m outside.
P hone fisted in my hand, I swing my bedroom door open and immediately lock gazes with Ivan. He stands opposite my door, thick arms folded over his chest, shoulders resting against the filigree wallpaper.
“I’m curious,” I start, leaning a shoulder casually against my doorframe. “Which do you prefer?”
He raises an eyebrow, drawing my focus to a fine scar that runs through its tail end.
“Hunting and murdering strangers? Or babysitting me?”
“They are not strangers.” His expression remains neutral. As though he dares me to take another step without him.
“Comforting.” I tip my head. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
“The answer is not relevant.”
“I never said it was.” I push upright. “I’m merely curious if this is a holiday for you or as torturous as it is for me.”
He pushes off the wall, arms falling to his sides. “I do as I am told.” Ivan shrugs. “I have no feelings on either option.”
Right… “Why did you step between Papa and me?”
His eyes narrow the slightest fraction. “I am told to protect you. He did not tell me who from.”
The guy’s a fucking Universal Soldier, I swear. Robotic. Cold. Probably sleeps in one of those cryogenic tank things, too. “Don’t follow me.” I turn toward the stairs.
His subtle footfalls shadow me.
“I said not to follow.” I pause, glancing over my right shoulder.
He sighs out his nose. “You do not tell me where you go, Miss Nastasya.”
“I shouldn’t need to.”
An awkward beat passes with us locked in a standoff. I shift one foot forward. He mirrors the movement. I dash three steps. He strides to catch up.
For fuck’s sake. I spin to face the man. “What will it take for you to turn a blind eye? Just for a night. Money? A hooker?”
He blinks. The only sign the guy is alive.
“Humor me.” I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling, paint peeling away from the crown molding. “Please.”
“Why?” Ivan raises his chin. “What do you do for this night?”
I snap my head forward, narrowing my eyes on the man mountain. “Are you saying you have a price?”
“Depends on reason.” He mirrors my expression.
I squeeze the phone tighter in my hand and fold my arms, tucking the device beneath my bicep. “Relationship building with my fiancé.”
He frowns. Yeah, I’d question that excuse, too, after one look at my puffy, post-crying eyes.
I sigh. “I invited Benito over so we can fuck around. Have some fun. Cheer me up.”
Ivan exhales heavily out of his nose. He studies me a moment, then glances back at my bedroom door. “He leaves before four, and I stay right here.” Ivan directs a thick finger toward the boards beneath our feet.
I judge the distance to my room and figure if he hears anything, it’s his fucking fault for listening so hard. “Fine.” Four in the morning seems reasonable. It allows a safety net of two hours before Papa usually rises for the day. “You’re to say nothing of this to anyone.” It’s my house too. If I want Benito here, then there’s nothing my father can do.
But having this time without his judgment or analysis seems important.
Ivan shrugs.
I roll my lips, figuring Benito is worth the risk this fucker will turncoat on me. “Stay here. I’ll be back in less than ten.”
Ivan widens his stance, arms high across his chest.
I spin and dash for the stairs, breezing down the dark steps to coast through the foyer to the front entrance. A dull light emanates beneath the security room door, quiet chatter drifting out of the kitchen beyond. Embracing the shadows, I glide across the polished floor and stop before the giant timber doors.
My heart rate quickens. I roll my lips together and draw a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to relax.
The mechanism groans as I press down on the heavy handle and tug the weighty door inward.
My heart gasps and restarts with a thud as I drink in the devil waiting for me.
Back toward me, Benito pockets his phone and grins as he turns—a lop-sided smirk that promises trouble. His scent gusts over me as he steps closer, rich and masculine—a perfect match for the rogue in a black-on-black suit that tailors perfectly to his honed physique.
He’s had time, or maybe reason, to change since we saw each other last, and I’m not mad about it one little bit.
“Busy night?” More kneecaps to break. More fingernails to pull. Who knows what he’s been up to?
Benito chuckles, stepping past me to enter my home.
I secure the door, casting a glance toward Papa’s office. Darkness envelops the space, all quiet save for the occasional clatter from the cook staff prepping for tomorrow’s meals. He’s likely at the gentlemen’s club, tucked away in his favorite booth, playing the part. At least, that’s what I always imagined when I learned where my father would go most nights and why he was never there for my nightmares after Mama’s death.
We deal with our trauma in different ways, and inviting the son of the enemy into our home is mine.
A strong hand wraps around my waist, and I let slip a startled gasp as Benito tugs me against him. My hands find purchase on the smooth planes of his chest, and I curve my back to see his face better. “Missed me?” The bravado I’d found with Ivan vanishes. My defenses crumble, the tide rising despite my best efforts at quelling the storm.
He’s always been my sanctuary. The person with whom I can be vulnerable, completely and utterly myself, without fear of judgment.
At least, he was until he tore that trust away. Not now. I shove thoughts of Lana to the back of my mind and focus on what I have before me. With me.
The man who loved me then and still loves me now.
Benito lifts his free hand to sweep wisps of hair away from my cheek, gaze hooded when he shifts his palm to cup the back of my head. I fight tears when he rests his forehead against mine. Gentle, understanding. I’m here, the gesture says. It’s okay now.
“We should move,” I whisper, glancing toward Dmitry’s den. “It’s late, but there’s still a few people around.”
His firm thumb guides my face back to his.
I lose myself in his eyes, captivated by the vivid shades of azure that are a rarity for his family. A throwback, his mother once told me. Not seen in a De Santis son since his great-grandfather.
“What?” The word cracks. The hold on my composure is even more fragile.
Benito leans forward. His lips ghost against mine. Not a kiss, but the promise of one. A hint of the reverence with which he holds me as he tilts his head and brushes his nose against the side of mine.
It’s pure need. The desire to be in one another’s presence. To remind yourself that they’re with you, and they’re whole. That nothing else in that moment matters—not even life or the promise of death.
I fist the sides of his jacket, tugging the soft fabric tight against his ribs as I hold him to me, pushing negative thoughts of his family, their intention for me, and the reason for my attempted murder aside.
I don’t want this moment to pass. This delusion of happily-ever-after to end.
My heart aches for it all to be one big fucking nightmare and for him to open his mouth and utter the words I’ve missed so dearly. I love you, bellezza.
A tear tracks my cheek.
“Not here.” I duck my chin and swipe hastily at the sign of weakness before he can question why I cry. “Come upstairs.”
Benito takes my hand with a frown, allowing me to lead him toward the staircase. I get three risers up before he halts, anchoring me with his weight. I turn, met with his rugged jaw and deepening scowl as he lifts his free hand to run the pad of his finger down the same path as the tear. A single tilt of his head. The worry in his gaze.
I bite my bottom lip, internally cursing the wobble of my chin.
I can’t look at him. He deserves better than this. Somebody strong. Somebody who can fight for and with him without folding so easily. Somebody less selfish in their grief.
Turning away, I coax him to climb the stairs and resume our trek toward my room.
Ivan waits to the left of the landing as promised, a sentinel in the dim light.
I ignore the brute and tow Benito behind me, his hand clenched in mine. The men stare each other down, heads turning as we walk until Benito’s forced to break his gaze to keep hold of my hand.
“Don’t let him under your skin,” I murmur, releasing my fiancé to shut my bedroom door behind us. “He’s doing his job.”
A huff from him is the only indication Benito heard what I said. He stands with his head down, phone already in his hand, when I turn back to face him.
Why are you sad?
The words illuminate the otherwise dim room.
“Am I not allowed to be?” I raise an eyebrow and shrug as he turns the screen back toward him. “It was a big day, am I right?”
Is it because of me?
He swallows, a small huff escaping as he waits for my answer, eyebrows peaked with concern.
“Not directly.” I ease the device from his hand. “I want to try tonight without this.” I want our communication to be bare essentials only. At least, at first.
Benito tracks my movement as I cross to the dresser and tuck the phone away in the top drawer.
“You’ll hear it if it rings,” I appease.
I understand the need for his family to have a constant line of communication with him. I get there are things I’m not privy to and probably never will be. The feeling isn’t anything new.
His heat envelops me, Benito’s steps soundless as he crosses the room.
I melt against the wall of his body, my back to his front as he wraps me in his hold, burying his face in the crook of my neck. The world halves, the anxieties in my mind quieter. Physical touch does so much more for the soul than words ever could. I tilt my head, allowing my love better access. Gentle kisses from a killer’s lips. Reverence from a tarnished saint. He trails his lips from my shoulder to behind my ear, pulling my hair out of the way as he does.
We don’t need words for this. We never did.
My hand slides to cover his, splayed against my stomach. I measure our difference, shifting my fingertips to meet his, then back to line up our wrists. He makes me feel small in comparison—delicate. I love the juxtaposition, the understanding that he could use brute force to overpower me at any moment but that it would be done with care and respect.
That I’m capable of bringing the beast to his knees.
Benito takes a step forward, his firm thigh forcing me to move with him until I’m pinned against the tall drawers. Instinctually, I set a hand to the top, bracing myself as he rocks his hips into the small of my back.
There’s no denying he wants this as badly as I do.
My mouth waters.
A sigh, the rush of his breath tickling the shell of my ear. My skin erupts with goosebumps, fine hairs raising at the simple thrill.
I dare to reach behind me, wrapping my hand around his neck to pull him closer. To eradicate the years of distance between us. My back arches, breasts crushed to the drawers as his hand slides from my stomach to my throat via my waist and ribs. Benito’s palm flexes when he finds the delicate column of flesh, thumb anchoring beneath the point of my jaw.
I want to stay here forever—sated yet aroused by the desire to submit to his will. To make myself entirely his.
Pushing against his solid body, I shift him back far enough that I can turn to face him. Benito’s hand drifts from my neck as I do, both palms settling possessively on my hips. The thin drape of my satin pajamas does nothing to diffuse the heat of his touch.
I wet my lips, lifting both hands to skim the swell of his shoulders, resting my palms on either side of his thick, tattooed neck. His eyelids drop, a sigh escaping his lush lips. I let a thumb drift to the corner of his mouth, pressing and tugging at the flesh.
Gaze locked to mine, he turns his head and traps the tip of my digit between his teeth.
My stomach flutters at the wicked intent in his eye as he gently bites down.
I’ve got numerous other places he could bite, and each sparks to life at the idea.
I clench my thighs together, drawing his focus to the movement. Benito releases my thumb, pressing a kiss to the palm of my hand before he twists his wrist and slips his fingers beneath my waistband. I stiffen, ashamed at how fucking turned on I am from such simple touches, yet he merely hitches an eyebrow and destroys me with a smile.
Thumb massaging my hip, he teases the pads of his fingers across the rise of my pubic bone, back and forth, lower with each pass.
I’m fucking dying. Melting with anticipation. Reduced to a simpering mess as his grin spreads.
His fingers graze the seam of my pussy, and he stills.
I daren’t breathe.
He rolls his lips together, chin lifting before he exhales slowly.
I rock my hips, seeking more of his touch, but he pushes back with the heel of his hand, dropping his head to level our gazes.
I twitch a frown, shaking my head slightly. What?
He leans forward, kissing the spot where my tear rolled free not so long ago, before pulling back and running his thumb across the sensitive area inside my hipbone.
I shudder, offering a simple nod. Yes. I want this, even if the sadness lingers deep in my chest, waiting its turn.
Index and ring finger on either side of my pussy, he presses, spreading them apart to open me for him. A second passes, two, his crisp blue eyes darkening before he crooks his middle finger and swipes it through the evidence of my arousal.
I mewl at the sensation, hands tight around his neck as my legs threaten to give out.
I swear the fucker chuckles.
He does it again, lingering a little, circling his finger over the responsive bundle of nerves.
I jerk his smug fucking face to mine and crush our mouths together. Fuck him for teasing me like this. I need it now, and I need it hard. Fast. Punishing.
We’ve got the rest of our lives to be gentle and exploratory.
Benito’s free hand shifts to the dresser behind me as he leans into the kiss, his palm smacking the surface, knocking items to the floor with a clatter. I lift a leg, wrapping my calf over his ass and coaxing him closer.
He thrusts a slick finger deep inside, quickly adding a second.
The fucking handles dig into my spine, and my foot on the floor slips across the carpet with the need to find purchase against his onslaught. Yet, I refuse to break the kiss. Not until he does, pulling away and panting before running his heated lips down the slope of my neck, fingers still pumping in and out of my slick heat.
I drop my weight against his hand, urging more, desperate for release.
For the endorphins.
For the sense of rightness that comes after. Even if only for a second.
Benito stills, fingers buried deep in my pussy. He drags his bottom lip along the shell of my ear, bending the immersed digits to put pressure against my inner walls. I quiver around him, so fucking close to release, when he pulls free and jerks my pajama shorts to my knees.
I kick the fabric aside and tear the camisole off, baring myself to him. There’s something insanely erotic about being entirely naked before a man when he’s still clothed, especially when his lip lifts in a snarl that shows he wants to devour you.
Arms spread across the drawers behind me, I arch my back, settling the sole of one foot against the bottom drawer. Daring him. Taunting him.
Let him have his fill.
His belt goes first. The leather sings through the loops as he pulls it free, yet he doesn’t toss it aside as I expect. Benito folds the strap in his hand, creating a large loop that he slides over my head, leashing my neck in the warm snare. Eyes on me, he blindly feeds the tail through the buckle, cinching it into a lead.
My nipples fucking ache they’re so damn hard.
We made wild, passionate love as youngsters, but there was never this. A level of sexual awareness that comes with age and experience.
My chest burns at the thought of him with another woman, a scowl slipping across my face before I can stop.
He relaxes, easing the tension on the belt with a tilt of his head. I shake my own, dismissing the concern, and lift my chin, daring Benito to pull me toward him.
He does exactly as I’d hoped, yet steps away from me simultaneously, leading me by the leather leash toward the bed. Tucked behind his shoulder, I follow, arousal dripping onto my thighs.
How far will he go? What are his preferences now?
A shiver ripples through me in anticipation. I can’t wait to find out.
Benito steps aside when he reaches the bed, positioning me between him and the mattress. He swivels my body in his hold, pushing me face-first onto the soft surface. I tumble forward, bracing myself on my hands, and snapped to a sudden stop by the belt around my throat. The leash draws tight, yet I barely draw my next breath before he shoves two fingers inside the loop to give me space to draw air.
His fingers leave my throat, grazing around my neck and over my shoulder to tickle down my spine. I close my eyes, losing myself to the sensations, gluttonous in his attention. His palm finds my ass, fingers kneading the supple flesh as his thumb gently spreads me for his perusal.
I’m fucking wired, every nerve attuned to his every movement, begging for stimulation.
Benito tugs lightly on the leash.
I arch my head back, uttering a low moan.
The pressure disappears from my throat as the belt strap is laid along my spine. I twist to look, yet his firm palm forces my head forward again. The scrape of a jacket over a shirt, the gentle thud of clothes on the floor. I jump when his fingers connect with my pussy, slipping between the wet folds to tease my swollen clit. His heat presses onto me, Benito curled over my back as he takes up the leash again and pulls it to the side, languidly pumping me with two fingers that he spreads wide on the exit stroke.
As though he primes me.
Lips to the hairline at my nape, he lines himself with me and enters on a swift thrust, a muscled arm visible beside me to take his weight. I set my lips against his inked flesh, nipping at him with my teeth, earning a tug on the leash in response as he growls. My breaths are restricted, my throat pressing against the belt as he pauses to take in the sensation of being fully seated inside me. I clench my inner walls, grinning at the guttural sound uttered against my shoulder blade.
He pulls back slowly, thrusting home again hard and punishing. Over and over until my nerves alight, my body singing for release. My muscles tighten, and he rears back, bringing me upright. Benito continues at a firm pace as he removes the belt and tosses it aside onto the bed.
He slows, palms stroking the tender column of my throat. I relax against him, aching for Benito to resume the pace. To bring it home. Give me the fucking release I so desperately need.
His grip slowly tightens as he languidly fucks me, one hand gaining dominance around my neck when he drops the other to search out my touch. I allow Benito to guide my hand to my clit, his fingers puppet mine across the sensitive spot before he grips my throat hard, shifting his hand off mine and to my mouth.
My lover fucks me how I need, the bite of his palm across my lips silencing me as he uses the hand around my throat to pull me toward him on each stroke. I find myself drifting in a blissful place between ecstasy and consciousness as he drives us toward completion, a smile pushing against his touch. I need this. To feel abased. Yet coveted all at once.
The pressure vanishes from my neck, and Benito takes my head in both hands, turning my face towards his to kiss me deeply as he thrusts toward his climax. I devour his groan of pleasure, tasting desire and desperation on my tongue as he shudders against me, matching the quivering of my muscles as I follow him into oblivion.
Not a single word needed to be said.