“What is it,duscha moya? What do you need?” he asks, his voice like gravel.
“You… all I need is you,” I hear myself say, but that can’t be me. I’d never say something so sappy.
Still, his eyes on me darken to a black I’ve never seen before as his lips fall back on mine, gentle and still dominant in a way that should be illegal. No wonder his nickname is Kill. Because that’s what he’s doing to me. Slowly. Sweetly. One lingering kiss at a time. All too soon do I feel my body begin to quiver under him, my legs locking him in place, imprisoning him to me.
“You fucking do my head in,” he growls, “but this… this is everything.”
I feel my lips curve into a wanton smile, and no matter how hard I try to keep myself in check, I’m no match for the way he’s making me feel.
When Kirill’s lips find mine once again, devouring me as if his life depended on it, I combust, letting go of the reins and giving in to the pleasure that washes the room in a soft, golden blur. He thrusts inside me three more times to ensure my high reaches its limits before he falls apart in my arms, following his bliss right on after me. And when all is said and done, he falls on my chest, holds me tight, as if he never wanted to let me go.
To my surprise, I hold him just as fiercely, needing his weight to anchor me to the moment, before it all disappears on us and we’re forced to be rivals once more. Forced to pretend that loving each other this way didn’t feel like the most natural thing in the world.
That it didn’t feel like it’s meant to be.
That it’s not fucking terrifying.
Chapter 17
Kirill
To much of my woman’s disgruntlement, I spend the rest of the night fucking her nice and slow. Stella, being the eager, greedy little troublemaker that she is, gets antsy for the big event, forgoing the slow foreplay I have in mind. What she clearly forgets is that she was shot a few days ago, so caution and delicateness are paramount. Once I’m sure she can take it without hurting herself, then we can amp things up and play a little rougher. Until then, slow and steady wins the race.
And with my girl lying naked on top of me, I’ve never felt more like a winner than I do at this very moment.
“I don’t think your brother likes me too much,” she whispers, as her finger traces the inked spider web on my chest.
“Don’t take it personally. Sasha doesn’t like most people.”
“I wasn’t talking about him. I meant Misha.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” She lets out a sigh.
“He’s just… he’s just being…”
“ThePakhan?” she finishes for me as she places her chin on my chest, those emerald eyes staring at me just like I used to fantasize about.
I place a strand of her hair behind her ear and smile tenderly. “He’s on edge. I wouldn’t think too much of it.”
“Why is he on edge? Is it because of Elena?” she asks, her fingers softly trailing up my chest until they find the faint dents of her teeth on my shoulder—the same shoulder she bit into when I was desperately trying to save her life.
Before answering her question, I gently pull her wrist to my lips and place a tender kiss on it.
“Aside from the daily stress that comes with the job, Elena’s illness definitely complicates things. And your father calling him every hour for updates, wanting to know when his kids will return home, doesn’t help either.”
“I’m pretty sure those calls are more my mother’s doing than my father’s,” she shrugs. “Sure, Dad’s worried about Lucky and me being all this way from home, but my mom must be freaking out knowing that… well…”
“You got shot on my watch,” I say, finishing her sentence for her this time.
“Yeah,” she frowns. “This is probably her worst nightmare come true. That one of her kids got hurt because of Outfit business.”
“You getting shot had nothing to do with your family’s business or mine. Getting Kira back was personal. I’m the one who messed that up by trusting the wrong people, and you got caught in the crosshairs of that mistake. Once you explain that to her, maybe she’ll understand that sometimes in life, shit happens.”
“Is that what we’re calling me getting shot now? Shit just happening?” she teases, but I don’t find any of this funny.
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask, because any conversation about her shooting ties my stomach in knots.
