Chapter 15
ISABELLA
When I heard him come in a little while ago, my first thought was to lay into him about his being gone all day. I walked out here with the full intention of giving him an earful for this bullshit letter about giving us a chance when he just decides to abandon me for so long.
Only now I’m staring at him as he lies on the couch, eyes closed, with a circle of blood slowly staining his shirt.
“Alexei?”
He opens his eyes and they widen slightly with surprise. He sits up, grunting with pain as he gets himself upright.
“What happened to you?” I ask as I sit down next to him. “Your shirt…”
He looks down at his shirt and tsks. “Shit. And I really liked this shirt, too.”
Dammit, he’s gonna bleed all over the place if I don’t do something about this.
“I need a new bandage,” he says as he starts to stand. I stop him from getting up with a touch to his chest.
“I’ll do it. You stay there. Where are the bandages, first aid stuff?”
“Under the sink in the kitchen.”
That’s an odd place to have such things, but at least they’re there. “I sincerely hope you’re going to tell me what happened to you today.”
“Went out to get the paper,” I hear from the living room as I bend down and open the cabinets under the sink. “Got a really big papercut.”
“So, he has a sense of humor,” I say as I return with bandages and some antiseptic. “Take off your shirt.”
He sighs as if it’s putting him out to follow an order, but he takes off the shirt just the same.
In the light of the dying sunset coming in through the window, I look down at his chest for the second time since we met.
His chest is like a solid wall of defined muscle that almost looks like it was sculpted out of marble.
The patch of bloody gauze on his chest sits a little lopsided, a flaw in the artwork.
My eyes drift down to the line of hair down the center of his chest that fans out in a light covering over the hills of his abs. For everything it’s worth, bullet wound and all, Alexei is an astonishingly beautiful man.
But here in this light, I notice something else, the raised marks of old wounds disrupting his masterpiece of a body.
There’s a large one in his ribcage, going from part of the front to his back.
Another running diagonally over the right side of his abs.
Moving upward, he’s got a thin one that goes from his clavicle and up his neck.
When my eyes meet his, his mouth twitches slightly as if he’s holding back a smile.
“You’ve got a lot of scars,” I say in an effort to disguise my admiration of his body.
I turn my attention to the bloody bandage in his shoulder, gingerly removing it and setting it aside.
It’s almost an insult to see the rippled and bloodied wound marring his skin.
It’s like someone’s punched a bloody hole in the statue of David.
“You must be really clumsy with the morning paper to have gotten so many papercuts.”
The bullet wound has little black lines in the center, cinching it closed. Still, there’s a pool of thick crimson oozing from between the cracks. I grab one of the clean bandages and pour antiseptic onto the cloth in preparation.
“You don’t want to hear the stories behind these scars,” he says. “It’s not the kind of thing that someone like you would want to—” He flinches and sucks air between his teeth as I dab the wound.
“You can take it, tough guy,” I say softly as I wipe away the clotted blood around the stitches. “I can take it, too. You won’t offend my feminine sensibilities by telling me who hurt you.”
One side of his mouth turns up. “What good will that do? Will you find them and avenge me?”
I chuckle. “I might. I am supposed to be your wife, remember? Wasn’t there something in those Russian vows about protecting one another and all that?”
His smile fades. “Yes. Something like that.”
I just nod as I finish cleaning his wound. It’s interestingly convenient, this injury. I know he didn’t get shot on purpose, but it sure keeps him from actually having a talk about us. The timing is impeccable.
And I don’t think he should get out of it so easily. If he wants to make amends with me, then let him. “You wanted to talk about staying together for the family,” I say.
He nods. “Yes.”
The bleeding has all but stopped from my cleaning, so I reach over and grab another bandage and some tape to dress the wound. “Your cousin thinks I should get to know you. She thinks it will help me see you as someone… different than this.”
He raises an eyebrow. “‘This’? What do you mean by that?”
I press the bandage to his skin and start the process of taping it in place. “Big, tough guy who beats potential rapists up and leaves them for dead in alleyways. Stoic, growling guy who leaves at dawn and comes back at dusk with a bullet wound in his shoulder with no explanation.”
The bandage is in place, so I sit back and engage him directly. He’s regarding me in a way that I don’t think I’ve seen yet, softened eyes with lowered lids, his mouth slightly pursed. “That’s how you see me?”
“That’s all you’ve shown me,” I tell him. “How am I supposed to know that’s not who you really are?”
He seems to consider that for a few seconds. Then, his smile returns. “I guess that says something about our perceptions about one another.”
I shrug and say, “To be fair, we both earned those stains on our characters.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
He frowns slightly. “You were a virgin all this time and no one knew. How did you earn your reputation?”
“Well, contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to fuck a guy to date him, you know,” I say with a little laugh.
“I’ve dated a lot since my mother died. None of them lasted very long.
I mean, longest relationship I ever had only lasted for about a month or two.
And most of the time, the breakups weren’t my fault.
Every guy I dated kept expecting me to put out and when I wouldn’t…
” I look down at the bandages and antiseptic, avoiding his gaze.
“Let’s just say that it’s a wonder my frigidity isn’t the thing that got around instead. ”
“They all wanted to save face,” he says. “Boys have to lie about their prowess to impress their friends.”
I look up at him. Boys. Huh. That’s one way to put it. He leans forward and puts a hand on my knee. It’s rough and warm against my skin, but his touch sends an electrical charge through me, tingling me through my thighs and up between my legs.
“Men don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he says. “I know who I am. I don’t need the cheering section of children to increase my ego.”
“What are you saying? That you’re not going anywhere?”
He stares for a long moment, then, “I’m saying that even in a normal situation, it would take more than something like that to drive me away.”
Damn, this man turns me the fuck on. I bite my lip as his hand moves up my thigh. “Do real men overexert themselves when they’ve been hurt?”
He shrugs slightly. “If something calls for it.”
“Well,” I put a hand on his good shoulder and gently push him back to the couch, “I would rather you not rip open your stitches. I just cleaned your wound.”
I grab the bandages and antiseptic and stand up. He gives me a playful look as he reaches for me. I skirt out of his way to the kitchen. “You’re a skillful tease, Isabella,” he says to me.
I laugh as I come back into the living room. “Up until a week ago, I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin. You think I can’t resist you?”
I get a little too close to the couch, because he reaches out again and grabs me by one of my legs, pulling me to him. I stumble and practically fall into his lap, my face nose to nose with his as I straddle him.
“Kiss me,” he says.
Fuck that voice of his. Like rolling thunder in the distance.
His hands are already caressing my thighs, making promises through his fingertips.
I bring my lips to his and we kiss. Passion explodes between us as his tongue dances with mine.
I alternate with little nips, breathing in his air, letting it fill my body like water.
I could melt right now. I could just become putty in his hands and let him do whatever dirty thing he wants to me.
No… no, I’m not going to make this that easy for him. I move my hands down to his wounded shoulder and press into him. He grunts, sucking air through his teeth as he pulls away from me. Seeing him grimace and take that pain… shit, it’s hot.
He reaches up my nightshirt and grips my ass hard, pulling me closer to him. His blue eyes are alight with arousal as I feel his hands gripping my panties. I take him by the wrists and slide away from him, down between his legs and to the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing, Isabella?” he says as I undo his belt, then unbutton his pants. I can already feel his massive dick through the fabric of his underwear. He’s rock hard and I’ve barely done anything to him.
“Just relax,” I tell him as I pull it out. “Let me do all the work this time.”
I run my tongue up his shaft, circling the head. He watches me as his rumbling moans vibrate the air between us. I tease him for just a little bit before putting him in my mouth, sliding the length of his dick down to the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he moans. I feel his hands in my hair as I do my best to work down to the base. I can’t quite get there. He’s so much bigger than I’m accustomed to when it comes to blowjobs.
“So,” he says in a husky tone, “this is the one thing you’re experienced in.” His hand is suddenly flat on the back of my head. “How much of me can you take, Isabella?”
He starts moving his hips, matching my rhythm and pushing himself deeper down my throat. I resist a little as he hits my gag reflex, but then he says, “Just breathe through it, love. Relax your throat… that’s it… let me in, baby.”