Chapter Twenty-Three
Annika
I’m not used this side of Kirill. Yes, he’s giving. In many ways. I wanted a studio and he gave me one. I wanted a relationship with explosively great sex and he’s certainly provided. Then there’s the clothes, the jewelry, the countless other gifts and purchases to make me as comfortable as possible within the confines of my new home- but this? This is new.
He comes out of the bathroom, smelling sinfully masculine and still dripping from his shower. Gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, giving me an absolutely delicious view of his muscular form. Suddenly I’m not feeling so rough.
“What?” he asks.
My eyes snap up to his. His left brow raises as his piercing blue eyes glow with the question. I swallow the last bite of my ice cream and lick my lower lip.
“Nothing.” My voice comes out raspy and I blush.
He keeps that intense stare on me and I know I need to say something else or he won’t let it go.
“I just…”I trail off as my eyes slowly wander down the ridges of his defined pectorals, abs, to theVof his hips.
“I’ve never seen you in sweatpants before,” I eventually get out. “You’re either in a suit or…or naked when I see you.”
His brow perks as he smirks at me.
“Would you prefer I change into a suit?” he asks me.
“I would prefer you take those off,” I blurt out before my internal filter can catch it.
Kirill’s smirk widens into a grin as he shakes his head.
“Dirty girl,” he teases, and I feel my cheeks catch fire.
“Any other night I would be happy to oblige,devochka,”he tells me as he walks toward me, “But tonight, you need something else.”
I need you.
My body burns and tingles at the thought. Even through the discomfort of my roiling stomach, I want him inside me. But he’sright. The last thing I want is to throw up on him during one of our more visceral moments. My ego would never recover.
So I just nod my head as he crawls into the bed with me. He takes the empty ice cream carton from my hands and sits it on the night stand, then grabs my arms and pulls me toward him as he sits with his back against the headboard. I nestle into his naked chest, loving how warm he is.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he tells me, his hand stroking my hair.
His gentle touch relaxes me, and I sigh as I lower my head to his lap, feeling exhausted.
“I was fine until my meeting with Max,” I tell him. Then grumble as I add, “I think his pushiness set off my morning sickness.”
His stroking stops, and he traces his fingers down to my chin, urging me to look up at him. When I do I see a menacing gleam in his eyes.
“This man upset you?” he asks.
I shrug.
“It wasn’t like he was wrong,” I say. “He was right. I haven’t had a show in almost a year and as a new artist, I need to get more of my work on the market if I want to get established. I just…I just wish he wouldn’t have surprised me. Given me more timeto prepare. Now he says I have a show next week and I feel so nervous about it. I have pieces, but they could be better.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No,” I answer quickly, and just the thought of it has me laughing. “You’d probably give the poor man a coronary.”
Kirill’s menacing look turns into a smirk, and he goes back to stroking my hair.
“Anyway, I think I just got so anxious for my show that I started feeling sick. The baby, all these new hormones, has me feeling more emotional than normal,” I go on.
