Chapter 18
RENATA
I’m blind, gasping for breath, every cell in my body on fire when he braces himself above me.
I’m dimly aware of him shedding his clothes.
The ache for his weight on me is unbearable, a need that consumes every cell of my body.
When he joins me, his skin flush against mine, our bodies pressed into the bed, I exhale in contentment.
He claims me in a single, brutal thrust, so intense the world spins.
I gasp for breath when his big, rough hand wraps around my neck and squeezes.
My pulse races, blood pounding through my veins as he pumps into me.
A second orgasm eclipses the first. I’m lost to him, gasping out incoherent pleas and whimpers, my voice cracking under the weight of my need.
“Take me. Take all of me,” he breathes into my ear. “I want you to know you’re mine.”
Another hard thrust before he pulls himself nearly fully out. I arch my hips, trying to meet his thrusts, whimpering at the loss of his heat, craving the fullness and completion of him inside me when he glides back in to complete me. My pussy clenches, and another spasm of pleasure consumes me.
“Ollie,” I gasp. My face is too hot, his hand just tight enough. My vision grows hazy as my body’s consumed with another orgasm on the heels of the last. I’ve lost count.
He shoves his cock into me, lowers himself down, and kisses me when I’m still coming.
His tongue meets mine. I whimper and claw at him, my fingers scraping along his back tats.
His hand tangles in my hair, and as I gasp for air, I revel in the perfect blend of pain and pleasure, each tug sending shockwaves through me.
“Look at me! Keep your eyes on mine. Do not look away, Renata.”
I lick my lips and ride out my pleasure as he rocks his hips with mine.
His hot seed spills inside of me. His deep, satisfied growl reverberates through me, so primal and masculine I can’t help but moan in response.
He slams into me again, his eyes boring into mine like flames of green fire.
I watch him chase his pleasure with mine and trail my hand down the side of his arm.
He’s beaded with perspiration but barely winded.
As he lies beside me, still pulsing inside me, I relish the heat of his claim, the way his release marks me as his, binding us together in the most intimate of ways.
I roll over as he quietly gets up and walks to the bathroom and reach for his balled-up tee. It’s warm and smells like mountain air and alpha male. Like him.
I curl up in a ball, blissfully content, my body flushed and numb with a pleasure I’ve never felt before.
“I don’t know if I need a joint, a bar of chocolate, or a bath,” I murmur, my voice gravelly. “I can’t move.”
“Maybe a nap before I order some food and fuck you again.” He lazily saunters over the bed and lies down next to me.
I crawl up on his chest and smile, my eyes closed, breathing him in. My body feels light, but my eyes are so heavy. I fall into a deep sleep.
When I wake, Ollie’s sitting in a corner of the room. The view is hazy, and I blink my eyes. The shades are drawn and in the distance, I hear the rhythmic thudding of footsteps on the pavement, someone jogging outside. It must be very early in the morning, a dim light seeps through the curtains.
Ollie holds a tablet in his hand. He’s slightly turned from me, bare-chested, wearing a pair of boxer briefs. I gaze at the deep marks I left on his back, vivid reminders, as if I’ve branded him with every desperate touch.
I lie in bed, not daring to make a sound. I want to observe him like this, silent and thoughtful.
His fingers flick over the screen of the tablet. I squint my eyes so I can see more clearly. I’m suddenly very wide awake when I realize he’s watching recorded footage… of him.
I don’t know who the man is, but he works for my brother. They were tight when they were younger. The man kneels on the pavement, the night dark, while he pleads in Spanish for his life. Ollie’s voice is cold and calculating as he questions him.
“Where is she?”
It takes me a moment in my sleepy haze to realize the she is me. I watch in horror as the man continues to plead for his life. Someone mutters in Spanish—the person making the recording.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to hear. It’s so low it’s like background noise, but anyone would recognize the desperation as he begs for his life.
I open my eyes just as Ollie puts a gun to the man’s head and pulls the trigger. I can’t completely stifle my gasp. Ollie turns quickly to see me watching him. Our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says with genuine warmth, his eyes lighting up. He places the tablet on the table and walks over to me. I flinch when he reaches to touch me.
A deep furrow knits his brows. “What is it, Renata? Why are you looking at me like I’m going to hurt you?”
My heart races, and my stomach aches. How could I have been raised in this life and still, even now, be consumed with revulsion at violence?
When I don’t answer, he strokes thick, rough fingers through my hair. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, his jaw covered in rough stubble. As he drags his hand down to my shoulders, he frowns, touching me with such tenderness it’s as if he’s memorizing the way I look and feel.
“Everything I do, I do to ensure your safety, meelaya.”
Sweetheart.
His touch is gentle, his voice soft, as he pulls me into an embrace, his touch reassuring.
“You’ll hold our children with the same hands you use to hurt people.”
“Yes,” he says quietly and offers nothing else. Agreement. No explanation and no lies.
“What if I don’t like that?”
“Like what, Renata?”
His heart beats under my cheek.
“This lifestyle. What if I want to… to leave it behind us? Have a life that is normal and pedestrian.”
A beat passes before he shakes his head.
“Nyet. You say this now, Renata. You’ve got a tender heart.
You’re sensitive. I knew this when I first met you.
” He smiles sadly. “Why do you think I bought you a puppy? But you and I both know there is no escape from what’s before us. Not for me. Not for you.”
He’s right; I know he is. I could pack up and leave. Run away. But my brother is alive, and he’ll stop at nothing until he finds me. Everything we are, everything we own, is tied up in the Romanov family line and the Los Sangre Dorada. We’d be penniless and friendless with targets on our backs.
But we’d be free.
“Let’s talk no more of this,” he says, bending to kiss my forehead. It doesn’t feel as tender as it did before. “Are you hungry?”
The apple pie I ate at the diner seems like ages ago. “I’m starving. But I’m not so sure this is the kind of place that has room service.”
He shrugs. “We don’t need room service, and we will skip the continental breakfast. There are four different places nearby that offer delivery, I can order whatever you want with the touch of a button.”
Oh, right.
I sit up. “Sounds great.”
I walk to the bathroom and clean up. The shower is larger than I expect, and the little bottles of toiletries, while not expensive, smell faintly of lemon. I take my time washing up, and by the time I join him, wrapped in a white towel, he’s got several cardboard containers on the bed.
We sit cross-legged on the bed, inspecting each one.
Turns out ordering breakfast takeout doesn’t hold a candle to actually going out to a diner, but you can’t eat in a restaurant half-naked, so it’s a good trade-off.
The eggs are a bit cold and the toast soggy, but there’s a warm muffin studded with plump blueberries topped with thick sugar.
I take a bite. “Mmm. This is delicious. Do you want it?” I ask.
He shakes his head and eats the cold eggs. “You eat it. I’m fine with the eggs.”
“You do the high protein thing for your manly physique?” I ask, smirking.
He winks. “It works.”
I slather butter on the muffin. “Yes, it does. Do you know how to cook?”
He nods. “I do. I travel a lot, so it helps to know how. You?”
I pick a blueberry out of the muffin. It’s plump and sweet, and still warm. I notice idly that my finger’s stained with berry juice. Silently, he reaches for my hand and licks the juice off the tip. My heartbeat races. Why does everything he does to me turn me on?
“Yeah,” I say, yanking my hand back so I can concentrate on filling my belly and not worrying about sex distracting us. “I had to learn to cook as a matter of survival. My father was absent more than he was present. My brother used to cook for me when he was younger.”
I remember sitting at the kitchen table, swinging my legs because I was too short to reach the floor. “Carlos learned how to make huevos pericos, a kind of scrambled eggs with tomato and onion, and arepas with cheese.”
But that was when I was little, it feels like a full lifetime ago.
Ollie’s eyes darken. He doesn’t like when I talk about Carlos fondly. How can I help it? He was good to me back then.
“I want to tell you what happened, but you don’t seem to like when I talk about Carlos.”
He shakes his head. “You should be able to tell me anything. I’m your husband. And what I think about Carlos is irrelevant.”
“It isn’t, though, Ollie,” I say pleadingly. I place my hand on his arm. I love the warm, reassuring feel of his muscles when he looks at me.
“I just don’t want you softening toward him. It won’t do, Renata. You must be ruthless, fearless, and as impassive as you can to keep yourself and the people you love safe.”
And right there and then, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he just gave me a little glimpse into what it means to be him, didn’t he?
Maybe we both don’t have to be that way.
“When we were kids, Carlos was different. He was my older brother, but I always felt like I was his protector. He was different… in not a good way.”
I pause, trying to figure out how to continue.
“I understand,” he says. “We all came from fucked up backgrounds, didn’t we?”
I nod and swallow. We did. We have.