by Jane Henry
“Come with me,” he orders. I nod mutely, focusing on doing just that.
“That’s my girl,” he says. “So gorgeous.” He palms my breasts and tweaks my nipples and I moan on the cusp of orgasm. “So perfect. I love every inch of you and always will.”
I can’t talk because I’m going to come. He nods, his eyes falling closed as he loses himself to pleasure right along with me. My breath hitches and I shake beneath him, riding the waves of ecstasy as he throws his head back and gives himself over to this perfection. We’re fused together, joined in our pain and longing, and I know this is what we needed. This is what we needed, just this, me and him joined together like this.
He rocks against me, and the spasms begin to subside. He lowers his forehead to mine and our breaths become one in the stillness.
“That was fucking beautiful,” he says in a choked whisper.
“It was,” I agree. “Thank you.”
He captures my mouth with his and folds our fingers together. There’s so much to say… so much to forgive… but now we’re putting that behind us. We have to. For in Bratva life—or in any life, really—there’s pain and sorrow, tragedy and heartache. But real love forgives. Real love takes the ashes and transforms the tragic into something beautiful.
We don’t speak for long minutes in the quiet aftermath of our lovemaking. We clean up in silence and come back together, and I lay, naked and vulnerable, beside him. He pulls me up to him and tucks my head under his chin, holding me. I lay my hand on his chest and breathe him in. I fall asleep like that. I wake in the night when he does, and he slow-kisses me until I’m wet, then rolls me over and makes sweet love to me with tender, languid strokes until we’re panting and sated. We fall asleep again, and when we wake with the sun, we lay together in silence. We’ve already said everything we need to.
I love this man. And I’ll weather whatever we have to. I’ll fight for him. I’ll fight for us.
Because our relationship—what we fought for, what we have—is the true king’s ransom.
Chapter 21
Taara
I’m in a deep, luxurious sleep when I hear Stefan stirring about the room. It’s warm in here, and last night was utter perfection. Simple, utter perfection. Instead of his usual late-night brooding in front of the fireplace, I joined him. I always do, now. I pour him a drink and sit beside him. He lights the fire, and we sit together. Sometimes I put my head in his lap, sometimes I sit in his lap, and he holds me close as we watch the flickering flames and listen to the soothing crackling sound. Sometimes he tells me about his day, and I love to listen. I always have. But sometimes he doesn’t want to talk to me about it at all.
After the fire died down, we came up to bed, and he seemed a bit preoccupied. I didn’t push, though. He’ll tell me when it’s time.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.” His deep, rumbling voice, sleep-filled and sexy, wakes me up. I smile up at him, still groggy.
“Mmm?” It’s Saturday morning, and I usually sleep in. I never have sleep issues like I did before but sleep like a rock now. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock,” he says. “And I was hoping someone would make me some pancakes.”
“Oh?” I ask teasingly. “Maybe we should call someone.”
“You know I would,” he says. He’s mentioned a few times now hiring someone to come in and take my job, as if now that we’re a couple I somehow weirdly don’t want to cook for him anymore.
I give him what I hope is a withering glare, though my crazy bedhead and daisy pjs might lessen the impact.
“I am perfectly capable of making you pancakes,” I tell him haughtily. “And I swear to God, if you mention hiring someone one more time—”
He’s got me on my back and pinned beneath him in ten seconds flat.
“You’ll what, babygirl?” he says, moving his body over mine. “Give daddy an ultimatum? Hmm? You know where that will land you, don’t you?”
My breasts tingle and my core clenches. I swallow hard, because my mouth is suddenly dry.
“Over your lap?” I say, giving him what I mean to be a pout, but which is probably pathetic bedroom eyes. My ass still stings from a session the other night, and I’m not exactly against the idea of going over his lap again and letting him renew that sting. I love being dominated by him.
I love being held by him.
I love being cherished by him.
Hell, there isn’t much I don’t love about the two of us together.
“Exactly,” he says.
“Kinda hard to make pancakes when you’re trapped beneath a big badass,” I mutter.
“Pancakes can wait,” he whispers in my ear, kissing his way from my cheek to my breasts, then lower still. I don’t fight him. I love it. He worships my body and masters my heart. I’mfalling with no safety net in sight, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t try to control this. Every time I let myself go, he shows me he’s got me, and I love him a little bit more. Turns out he wants to eat me for breakfast, and I’m not complaining about that.
He says he likes watching me go about my day with a blush on my cheeks, and I’m totally happy with that plan myself. Not complaining. Nope.
I finally pad down to the kitchen wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, my hair slung up in a messy ponytail, and make the man pancakes. He watches me, nursing a cup of coffee, sitting on one of the kitchen stools wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans.
Some people want riches or fame. I’ve got what I want right here.
I place the platter of pancakes in front of him and hop on a stool beside him. We slather butter and syrup on stacks of pancakes and eat in amicable silence. Outside the window, some of the men walk by, and I see a car I don’t recognize. I swallow my bite of pancake, then turn to him.
“What’s up with the car out there?”
“What car?” he asks, looking at his plate. “I don’t see a car.”
Normally, he’d be on his feet and at the door, never one to miss a single happening at the compound, so his reaction is a little suspicious.
“Stefannn,” I say, hopping off my stool and trotting to the window.
“Get your ass over here.”
I stop and turn around to look at him.
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
His blue eyes are twinkling at me. “I know lots of things you don’t know. I’m the pakhan, remember?”
I pout a little.
“No pouting, little girl,” he says. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. Why don’t you go get your shower?”
“Alright,” I agree. “I shall do that.” When I walk past him, he gives me a teasing swat. I smile to myself. I like this domestic arrangement.
I trot up the stairs to the clinking sound of the dishwasher being loaded and get my things out for the shower.
I frown, looking at my drawers. I swear I just did my laundry. But I’m definitely missing things. I look in the shower, too, and realize a few of my basic essentials seem to have disappeared. Weird.
I shower as usual, but a few minutes in, when I’m shaving my legs, I hear the door open and he joins me.
“Gotta speed it up,” he says, lathering me up and rinsing my hair.
“Why?” I ask. Now I know something’s up. “What are you hiding from me?”
“You’ll see in a minute.”
And then it dawns on me. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe he’s shielding me from another show-down with a rival group, or they have plans to do something dangerous today and he doesn’t want me to see.
“Is everything oaky?”
He frames my face between his large, rough hands, and holds my gaze. “Yeah, baby,” he says softly. “Everything’s okay. Hell, everything’s perfect.”
He leans down and kisses me, all wet and slippery and sensual, before he releases me, spins me around, and finishes rinsing me off.
We towel off and go to the room, and I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. But when I towel dry my hair,
I cast a glance outside the window. The car I saw earlier is parked right out in front of our door. I don’t bother asking him what’s up again. He knows, and he’ll tell me when he’s ready. If there’s anything I’ve learned about managing this man, it’s that he does things on his terms, but there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s more than leader to all these men. He’s the father-figure, the one they all look up to for guidance and support. And I love him for that.
I’ve never been able to trust anyone the way I do Stefan. But he’s proven himself worthy of my trust so many times now. So many times.
He dresses beside me in silence, but I can feel how tense he is. When I look at him, his eyes are still twinkling though his mind is elsewhere.
Stefan has a surprise for me.
“You ready?” he asks, after I’ve fixed my hair.
“Depends,” I say teasingly. “Ready for what?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
I shrug. “If I were… corrigible… that’s a word, right? Then where would the fun be in that?”
He tugs my hair and grins at me.
“Too true.”
“Yeah, daddy,” I say, smiling at him. “I’m ready.” Because I am. Whatever he’s going to tell me, I’m ready to go with him. I don’t really care where we’re going or what we’re doing. I just want to be with him. Wherever he is, as long as I’m with him, it’s my happy place. It’s home.
“Leave the bed,” he says, nodding to the tousled sheets and tangled covers. “I’ve got someone coming here to clean while we’re gone.”
Gone? A little thrill goes through me.
I don’t argue the cleaners point. Though I want to be the one that still cares for him, I’ve got no objections whatsoever to letting someone else make the bed and mop our floors.
Where are we going?
He reaches for me and draws me close, pressed flat up against him. Kissing my forehead, he holds the back of my head, then looks in my eyes. “You’re a good girl being patient,” he says, and it warms me to the tips of my toes. “We’re going away. I’ve arranged for everything so we can go for a full week. We need a break, the two of us, and I can trust Nicolai to lead in my absence.”
I grin. “Really? Are we going far?”
“Not this time. I don’t want to go too far because Marissa is so close to having the baby.”
I nod and smile. It’s true. I hosted a baby shower here at the house just last week, and Stefan and Nicolai spent all last weekend sorting things out and hauling them over to their place.
“Now no more questions. It was hard enough to plan a surprise for you.”
He leads me to where a car is waiting. Marissa stands with Nicolai a few yards off, her hand resting on her ample belly. They wave at us, and I wave back.
Since my mother died, the “found” family I have within the Bratva mean more to me than ever. I’m excited about Marissa and Nicolai’s baby.
What does our future hold? He’s older than I am. Does that mean he wants no more children? I wouldn’t blame him, though I have to admit I’d love a child of my own.
Our relationship is so new. We have to discuss this and so many more things. But we will. And the knowledge gives me a deep, abiding sense of satisfaction. We have days and weeks and months and years together to get to know each other. To learn what makes the one another tick. To learn how to love each other more deeply, more profoundly.
And I’ll revel in those days. If there’s anything I’ve learned with the loss of my mother and the short trip to Russia, it’s that things can change in the blink of an eye. No one knows what tomorrow brings, how quickly circumstances can change. It makes me grateful for every moment I have. Some long for the future, pinning their hopes and dreams on uncertainty and wishes. But me… I try to revel in the present. And right now, I’m going on a trip with the man I love.
He helps me into the car, though I don’t need help. It’s something he likes to do for me, so I let him. “Buckle up,” he orders. I do, and he joins me, then he speaks briefly to the driver.
And we’re off.
“Okay, so now I’ll tell you,” he says, taking my hand and giving me a little squeeze. “I’ve booked a week away at a luxury suite. Just the two of us. But we’ll be right in downtown Atlanta, and Marissa mapped out the best photography galleries to visit.”
I blink in surprise and my throat gets a little tight. I smile at him.
“Did she?”
“Yeah,” he says, his own eyes shining when he sees me grin. “Tonight, we’re going to a showing. Marc Adamus? I guess he’s—”
“Oh, just one of the most amazing modern-day landscape photographers known to man,” I sputter. “Oh my God, what that man does with light and setting—”
He chuckles. “Sound good, then? You know I’d rather stick toothpicks under my fingernails then go to an art show, but…” He brushes his thumb over the top of my hand. “If it makes you happy, it makes me happy.”
I swallow hard. “It makes me happy,” I whisper.
“I like that,” he says softly. “So, first, we check into our hotel. Then tonight we’ll get dinner and head to the gallery. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
And it is.
We arrive at our hotel, and he gets our bags situated. I plop on the massive bed, and stare at the beautiful room. I’ve never seen anything like this before. The walls are silver, the carpet navy, the bed decorated in crisp white linen. A vase of vibrant red roses sits beside a bottle of champagne. Huge, crystal clear windows give us an amazing view of the city’s highrises. The room is spacious and beautiful, but I only have eyes for the man who’s prowling toward me with a hungry look in his eyes.
“I’ve got you alone,” he says huskily.
“You get me alone every day,” I tease.
“But not this way,” he says. And he doesn’t have to explain what he means. Here, there are no responsibilities or demands we need to meet. Here, we can revel in each other for a little while. He kneels beside me and takes my hand.
“Your hands are beautiful. Do you know that?”
I look at my very ordinary hands. “Well, no,” I admit. “They look pretty damn ordinary to me.”
“Ordinary,” he scoffs. “You could hand model.”
“Hand model? Sounds dirty.”
He chuckles. “We could make it dirty.” Then he sobers. “But there’s only one thing that would make your hand even prettier.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I suspect, and my heart begins to race.
“Oh?” I ask in a quiet voice. I’m afraid if I speak too loudly, I’ll somehow ruin this moment, and I want to savor it, just like I want to savor every moment with him. Every damn moment.
I go still when he reaches for his pocket and takes out a little black box.
“Stefan…”
I can’t say anything more than his name. I’m all choked up and staring at the small cube in his hand. He opens the box and stares at it for a moment, before spinning it around to show me.
“This,” he says, his own voice all choked. “What do you think, Taara?”
“About the box?” I ask on a whisper.
He grins and tugs a lock of my hair.
“Marry me, Taara? Will you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I can’t imagine life with anyone other than him. I’ve loved him for so long, and never dreamed I would actually mean as much to him as he does me. And this seems so natural. So perfect and right.
“I love you,” he says, sliding the beautiful diamond on my finger. Then he leans down and kisses me.
“And I love you.”
I can’t stop staring at the ring. There are so many things I still need to ask him, things we’ll discuss and debate and get to the bottom of. Over time. Right now, this is utter perfection. Though a part of my heart left me when my mother died, I found a part of me I didn’t know existed when I became Stefan’s. And I love him. I love him so damn much it makes
me ache.
Chapter 22
Stefan
When I put the ring on her finger, and she looks up at me with those wide, eager eyes, I nearly lose my mind.
Taara Khan is mine.
I love her. I love her with every fiber of my being. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of, and we fought hard to get to where we are. But I’ll spend every damn day for the rest of my life showing her how much she means to me.
“Christ, I love you, woman,” I say to her, pulling her to me and kissing her so that her head drops back and she moans out loud.
“And I love you,” she whispers.
My hands are at her top and I’m pulling the t-shirt off, and soon she’s lying before me wearing nothing but a bra and her panties. I kiss her cheeks, her mouth, her forehead, her eyelids, the sweet spot on her neck that makes her ticklish, the top of each breast and the sweet, gentle slope of her belly.
Now that she’s agreed to be mine, I have to claim her. I want to be in her.
I strip out of my own t-shirt and jeans and flip her over onto her belly. I feel such a sudden, overwhelming need to make her mine I can’t wait for formalities or sweet seduction. I want to fuck this woman, and I want to do it now.
“On your knees,” I order, giving her full, voluptuous ass a hard swat when she doesn’t move quickly enough. “Spread those legs for daddy.”
She grips the thick bedspread between her fingers, and the light catches the diamond on her finger. If she had any idea how much that thing was worth, she’d lose her mind, but she’ll never know. She’s worth it. She’s worth that and so much fucking more.
Obediently she falls to her chest and spreads her legs. I tangle my fingers in her hair and yank her head back until she squeals and moans. I push the head of my cock through her slick folds and groan when I find her wet and ready.
“I love you, Taara,” I say as I slam into her and she arches her back with a sweet, seductive moan.
“And I love you,” she breathes.
I slap her ass and pound into her, and she braces herself and welcomes me. She’s perfect. So fucking perfect. Brave and strong, self-giving and brilliant, and able to withstand me when I’m at my most ruthless. I’ll never hurt her. Never again. But I won’t hide who I am or what I do, and she loves me anyway.