by Alexa Riley
“Of course.” Green eyes flash up at me, full of wit and sass. “Don’t I always?”
* * *
Anya
This is it. I’m finally free.
I get a running start and slide across the hood of Sasha’s black Mercedes, my butt making a long squeaking sound. Sticking the landing on the other side, I throw back my hands like I’ve just dismounted the uneven bars at the Olympics.
Watching me through broody, slate - gray eyes, Sasha tosses my final suitcase into the trunk without cracking a smile.
What is his deal today?
Most times, he would at least give me a little lip tilt action.
“Aw. Are you going to miss me, Uncle Sasha?” I saunter closer and prop my hip against one of the rear car doors. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”
His gaze tracks down to my jean skirt, probably finding it too short to be decent. “Nyet.”
Hurt swamps my belly knowing he’s eager to get rid of me, but I don’t let him see it. Some days I think he likes caring for me. He does it so well. When my father checked out emotionally after my mother was killed, Sasha became the only constant in my life. He’s stayed that way for five years. Would a hardened man like Sasha do anything he didn’t want to do? I have no idea. Then again, this is part of the reason I’m going so far away from home for school, isn’t it? The confusing way Sasha makes me feel?
My hormones officially went bananas right after I turned sixteen and walked in on Sasha in the shower. Through the water - speckled glass, I saw his naked, six - foot - eight frame covered in jet-black ink, water coasting down that handsome face — so frustratingly made of stone — splashing on his hard packs of ruthless muscle. He didn’t see me in the bathroom. No, he couldn’t have. Or he wouldn’t have continued stroking that huge, heavy trunk of flesh between his legs, muttering curses in Russian.
Sasha being none the wiser about my accidental peep show is the only reason I can still call him Uncle with a straight face. Because I’m pretty sure girls aren’t supposed to have sweaty fever dreams about their uncles. Even if they’re not actual blood relations. And even if the dreams are against a girl’s will.
Oh, who are you kidding? You beg your subconscious for those dreams.
My nipples turn to spikes beneath my tank top just thinking about the last one. When I joined Sasha inside that foggy shower and he forced that hard part of himself between my lips, grunting my name and wrapping my hair in fists. Thrusting.
Have I been crazy thinking he could crave that — crave me — in real life? Sometimes I swear I sense torment and restraint in him, but he locks it down so fast I think I imagined it. Well, I’ve had quite enough of living in such close quarters with the man haunting my dreams and turning me into a walking, talking horn dog. It hurts. Physically and mentally. Not to mention, the second - guessing of my own sanity is starting to drive me crazy.
Not that I’d let him know that.
Memories of Sasha’s rough hands tying my bathing suit strings yesterday makes my movements provocative as I sway closer to him, inserting myself between him and the trunk, letting my fingers walk up the center of his formidable chest. “You won’t miss me even a little bit?”
Eyes flaring, he catches my wrist. “Do not play games with me, Anya.”
The breath catches in my lungs, heat rushing to my cheeks. Rushing to every part of me. What if I never get another chance to figure out if I imagined the pull between us? I’m going to college today. Even if he tells me I’m crazy and he could never be attracted to a girl he raised from such a young age — a girl he taught to drive, taught to throw a punch — I won’t have to see him every day while living with the knowledge.
The reality of not seeing him sends panic and pain slicing into my middle. And it’s the pain that knocks the words free of my mouth. “I’ve tried to play games,” I blurt out, thinking of all my silly attempts to tempt him. “You won’t play them back.”
Gray eyes narrow, and I sense a debate taking place. I’m so focused on watching him for a sign of what he’s thinking, I suck in a breath when he releases my wrist…and steps forward, pressing me back against the trunk. Traps me there. My neck is forced to crane to keep eye contact, and he looms, so massive and unmoving above me, but his dominance only makes my nerve endings go wilder. “Nothing about us, little angel, is a game. I will not miss you, because I never intend to leave you.” His hand slides beneath my skirt and cups my right cheek, kneading it, stealing the power from my knees. Making my mind reel. “This is mine. Now go put it in the passenger seat, before your father sees me defiling you from the window. It wouldn’t stop my plans, but it might delay us.” He slaps my backside, growling deep in his throat. “And you know I hate being late.”
I’m left with my mouth agape, staring into space as Sasha rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s side, starting the engine.
What in the world just happened?
Chapter Two
Sasha
My Anya does not like puzzles.
She fidgets now in the passenger seat like a bird in its nest, unable to get comfortable. Which means I cannot settle, either, because her comfort is my calling. I do find the way she huffs and peeks over at me from beneath her eyelashes rather adorable, however, so I’ve decided to let it continue a little longer. She will have the information she seeks soon enough.
Revealing my intention to keep Anya was not part of my plan, but I’m a man at the end of his tether. My notorious patience is thinning with every mile I drive. Keeping myself restrained around this girl was never easy, but now that I can see light at the end of the tunnel, I find my desperation to claim Anya growing stronger by the second. To a level of hunger I never knew existed and doubt I’ll ever extinguish.
Her palms travel down her bare thighs then back up. A nervous gesture, but that doesn’t stop it from hardening my dick. When I make her my wife, I will allow the skirts. But I will take her wearing these tiny creations as a signal she wants to be fucked until they’re soaked straight through with my cum. Then she can decide if she still wants to wear them in public.
If I want to make it to our destination, I must cease these thoughts, but I know from experience that it’s impossible. She is my obsession and has been such for longer than I would admit to a court of law. Quitting breathing would be easier than stopping my thoughts of her beneath me. Finally. Her virgin blood staining the sheets of our bed.
Anya sits forward suddenly. “I didn’t pack my favorite pajamas. The long red shirt with the pocket — ”
“I packed it.”
“My copy of Anne of Green Gables?”
A memory of her curled up beside me reading the book makes my throat feel funny. “Done.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “What about my spare pair of reading glasses? I always lose the first and I need a backup until I find — ”
“They’re in the bag with your…lotions.”
“Oh. Thank you, Sasha.” She goes back to rubbing those thighs. The ones that will be living around my waist very soon, but not soon enough for my sanity. “So, um. What did you mean back in the driveway? About never leaving me. Did you mean that…figuratively?”
My lips press together to keep from smiling. Six miles. She made it six miles without giving in to her curiosity. Too bad I have to make it another two hundred miles without giving in to my impulse to fully explain my intentions. “I meant it the way I meant it.”
I feel her low hum deep in my stomach. “I don’t like that answer.”
“You are only satisfied with full explanations.”
“That’s because I’m a normal.”
Again, I suppress a smile. “You don’t find me normal, angel?”
She tilts her head and peruses me with lively green eyes. “Definitely not.” Her jiggling right leg tells me this line of questioning is far from over. When it finally stills, I glance over to find her cheeks pink. “Sasha, you…touched me.”
At the reminder of her taut ass fitti
ng perfectly in my hand, the teeth of my zipper bite into my swelling cock. “I’ve touched you many times. Do you not recall what happens when there’s a thunderstorm and you crawl into bed with me?”
A puff of air leaves her lips. “You’re just so w - warm.”
Memories of Anya tucked tight against me, her hands dangerously low on my belly, make my fingers tighten on the steering wheel. That long red T - shirt she calls pajamas is so threadbare I could feel her nipples rake my sides every time she breathed. Oh yes, she’s tried to play games with me many, many times. I’ve cursed my refusal to break vows on more occasions than I can remember, but I’m a man of my word. I can only hope she will appreciate this about me one day. Tomorrow would be nice. “I’m glad my temperature pleases you, Anya.”
I can hear her quickened breathing across the car. “Brushing my neck accidentally with your fingers when tying my bathing suit or…rubbing my back when I’m sick…that’s not the way you touched me in the driveway. That was different,” she finishes in a whisper. “Did you like it?”
Heat kicks me low in the gut. Years of forcing myself to treat this girl like a niece has taken its toll. How can I resist talking to her about sex? About the off - limits body she’s been tempting me with since I was hired by her father? When I finally answer her question, my voice is nothing more than gravel. “You’re asking me if I enjoyed having your smooth little cheek in my hand, knowing there’s a tan line that slashes diagonally, right across the center?” A rumble of hunger moves in my chest. “There’s a reason I never remove my overcoat while you’re swimming in that green mind-fuck of a bathing suit, angel. My cock is so stiff, you could use it as a second diving board.”
Her knees shoot together, and I barely check the urge to reach over and pry them apart. To see if my confession made her panties wet. Don’t do it. If I see any evidence that her virgin cunt is prepared for me, I’ll pull over and breed her on the hood of this car. “B - but you…” she sputters. “You’re the one who bought the green bathing suit for me.”
“I assure you, Anya, that bathing suit was all for Uncle Sasha.”
* * *
Anya
Is this real life?
Sheltered or not, I’m usually capable of assessing a situation pretty fast. Reading people. Solving dilemmas. But I can’t make sense of this. Sasha, the man I’ve been having illicit fantasies about for years, has been having them about me, too?
No way. I don’t believe it. All those times I snuck into his bedroom because I was “scared of the thunder” (I wasn’t), he refused to take any of the openings I gave him. I mean, call me crazy, but when a half - naked girl combs her fingers through a man’s chest hair and purrs like a kitten, that’s a sure - fire sign she’s interested in more. But he’d only lain there like a stone statue, grunting at me in Russian to stop interrupting his sleep.
All this time, has he wanted to push me down into the mattress and…
I can’t even bring myself to think the word, because I’m already slick. Right where it counts. And he keeps frowning at my squeezed - together legs, as if he knows it.
“I don’t believe you. About wanting me.”
His jaw muscle flexes. Hard. He’s angry now? “Don’t believe me?”
“Nope. Why now? Why would you wait to tell me this until you’re…” I fling a hand toward the passing scenery, “essentially driving me out of your life?”
He bares his teeth. “I’m not leaving you. We’ve spoken of this.”
Hearing that, knowing he didn’t just mean it in some symbolic way, my heart lifts with relief. As much as I want my freedom, the one thing — person — I never want to be away from is Sasha. He’s the one who brings home a cake and candles to celebrate my birthday when my father forgets. He’s the one who fusses and threatens the doctors when I’m sick. My friend, the only man who’s ever made my lady parts clench…my uncle who isn’t really an uncle. Sasha.
But it’s difficult to reconcile the man I’ve grown up with and this new, sexually charged Adonis…who claims to want me. Bad. Even after walking in on him touching himself in the shower, our relationship didn’t change. Not on his end, anyway. I was walking into walls for two months, the hot vision of his big hand stroking up and down his shaft painted on my corneas.
“I need an explanation, Sasha. Or I’ll…” I search the car for some threat inspiration, my gaze landing on the granola bar sticking out of my purse. “I won’t eat until I get the truth.”
If possible, his powerful frame grows even stiffer. “Your lunch time is in seventeen minutes, Anya. You will not be missing it.”
Propping my hand on a bent wrist, I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Then I guess you should start talking.”
He grunts, looking at me with grudging approval. “You are a very challenging creature.” His fingers tap on the steering wheel. “Very well. I will appease some of this curiosity.”
My smile seems to distract him. “Thank you.”
A curt nod. “Try and maintain that grateful attitude.” His cheek flexes for long moments as he stares out at the road ahead. “Do you remember when I came to live with you?”
“Of course.” I turn and lay the side of my face on the leather seat. “It was the week after my mother’s funeral. My father was so paranoid, he wouldn’t let me leave the house, and I thought I’d be a prisoner forever, but…he trusted you to protect me. Before you even unpacked, you took me out for ice cream.”
“Yes.” His expression warms, before the stoicism returns and chases it away. “This trust your father had in me is very important, Anya. It didn’t come for free. Do you understand? Not for him or me.” He pauses. “My mother and sister needed a home in Chicago, and your father had the connections I didn’t, being so new to this country.”
I nod, because I knew this much already. Sasha’s family is private and they don’t come to the house very often, unless there’s some news that must be delivered in person. But I always know when it’s someone’s birthday because he asks my opinion when ordering flowers or a gift online. “I’m glad he helped your family. It brought me you.”
My face goes up in flames as soon as the words leave my mouth. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to let Sasha know I appreciate him. But that was before he touched me. Before he admitted to admiring my near - naked body with looks I used to believe were platonic. Now I worry saying how much I need him out loud might make me sound too desperate. Aren’t I, though? God, I can barely sit still on the seat, I want to be in his lap so bad.
“Anya.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“You will continue as you always have. You will not stop telling me your thoughts.” He rolls a shoulder. “I like them very much.”
My heart is pounding in my ears when I say, “Tell me the rest.”
His eyebrows lift at being given a command, but thankfully he doesn’t pull the plug on our conversation. “I gave him five years of loyal service in exchange for his help with my family. When I came to Chicago, I assumed I would be running…a very different kind of operation for your father. But when he mentioned hiring you a different bodyguard, I protested.”
I catch a laugh in my throat, just imagining what that protest from Sasha looked and sounded like. Sort of like the human equivalent of a volcanic eruption.
“This amuses you, angel?” The car picks up speed. “Men are not to be trusted.”
“Only you.”
“That’s right. Only me.” He slants a look in my direction, those cool gray eyes roaming over my legs and breasts, his humongous arms seeming to expand and flex inside his coat. “I gave him five years. During those five years, I vowed to keep you innocent. Of all men, yes. But when I made this promise to your father, it was clear that it pertained to me. So long as this five - year contract was in effect, you were forbidden.”
Five years.
My mind flips like pages in a calendar, thinking back to the day Sasha arrived. Fall. It was fall. I remember because the first time I saw him
, I was sitting on the front steps of my house, head resting in my lap, wishing I could go ride my bike at the pier with my friends. Never again, though. My father, lost in his grief, had barred me from leaving. Sasha’s black boots appeared first, crunching on the autumn leaves that had fallen from the tree. He crouched down and forced me to meet his eyes. Eyes that reminded me of thawing ice. Angel, he’d rasped.
“And…” My mouth is dry, so I make myself swallow. “And when does the contract expire?”
His big chest lifts and shudders back down. “Tonight.”
Chapter Three
Sasha
It’s time for Anya’s lunch.
When she doesn’t eat, everything I say is the wrong thing. So we don’t miss meals.
She has been quiet since I informed her my shackles come off tonight. Quiet and…restless. I take a book from the glove compartment and drop it in her lap, but she starts to read it upside down, so I stow it away again. Her fingers pluck at the hem of her skirt, her feet perform an awkward dance routine, and she keeps changing the radio stations, never settling.
I have an urge to park the car and pull her across the seat, into my lap. It’s what she needs. A good, hard ride on her man’s cock. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
Soon.
There are some things we must speak about, before I take her body. But even I am not stupid enough to inform Anya of her future when she has an empty stomach. She might have been born in Chicago, but she has a fiery Russian temper. In the future, I have no doubt I’ll fuck her mid - tantrum — frequently — but I want her first time to be…
Romantic.
My lip curls at such a feminine notion. Only Anya could make a cold - blooded killer consider things like candles and high thread count sheets. I never imagined myself as a husband. And I never would have, if I hadn’t met the angel. Now I can think of nothing but making every second of her life happy. Providing and protecting what God has given me. Perhaps Anya and I have different notions about what she requires to be content, but she will come around to my way of thinking. There is no other choice.