“He was another fighter,” Mikhail said without hesitation. He wanted no more secrets between them. He'd lost her anyway. There was nothing else to try to save. “We were fighting an underground match. Bare knuckle.” Involuntarily, he ran his thumb over the sore knuckles of his right hand, remembering how he'd broken his hand in that fight.
Gennifer gnawed at her lip, making her way to the couch and plopping down. He stared at her, remembering Itzak's face as he lay on the ground, a bloody pit where his eye once was. Splattered blood had covered his Mikhail's arms and chest. He would never forget the blood. Ever.
“Who was he? The fighter?”
“A mob fighter. One of the Grekov family's men. They threatened my brother Vadim's restaurant, so I agreed to fight. It was an illegal boxing circuit. Lots of money to be made.”
“What happened?” she asked, her eyes boring into his.
“I hit him and I could feel his eye socket implode. Instead of pulling back, I continued hitting him. I didn't stop and he died.”
“And afterwards, you left Russia?”
“A year or so later, yes,” Mikhail said, matter-of-factly. “No one fucked with us after that, but I did not want that life anymore.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she murmured. “You didn't have to.”
“Does it scare you?” Mikhail asked.
“I don't know,” she shrugged, running a hand across her forehead. “You left that life, so why are you fighting again?”
“You know why,” he said, clenching his jaw to stop himself from telling her that what he'd feared had come true anyway. One way or another, he'd still lost her. She didn't care that he loved her. She didn't care about him. The thought was just as painful as the memories of the death he'd caused. Her eyes widened and she stood abruptly.
“You're bleeding,” she said. “Hold on.” She rushed, barefoot, down the hallway to the bathroom and flicked on the light. He heard her open the medicine cabinet as he swiped at his nose, feeling the thick blood smear above his lip.
“Sit down,” she ordered when she returned, carrying gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“I am fine.” He brushed her off, glancing toward the door. He knew it was probably time to go, but he couldn't seem to get his feet to move.
“Sit!” she ordered and nudged him with her hip toward the couch, like she was a cattle dog herding a stubborn bull. He reluctantly sat and she leaned over him, dabbing at his nose with the gauze.
“A tampon would be best, but I'm out,” she murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose to staunch the flow of blood. He grunted in pain. His nose wasn't broken, but it was bruised as hell. “Big baby,” she admonished, a small smile curling her lips.
“Did you have a big man punching your face over and over tonight?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then do not tease.”
“You should try protecting your face every once and awhile.”
“Do not tell me how to fight, little girl,” he growled, half annoyed and half turned on. He wanted to grab her hips and throw her onto his lap. He wanted to spread her legs open wide for him. He wanted her moans in his ears. He wanted so many things.
"I think you were scared," she said, moving on from his nose to the cut above his eye.
"I am not scared," Mikhail corrected her with a wince as the alcohol stung him as she cleaned him up.
"You didn't tell me before because you thought I would hate you," she continued, and he focused his eyes on the front of her baggy T-shirt, so that he wouldn't look at her face. "Because I told you about my parents."
Mikhail didn't respond. His throat was tight; it felt like a fist was squeezing his windpipe closed. The love he had for her was slowly suffocating him. Well, it wasn't the love that was killing him. The fact that a wall had been erected between them and he didn't have the tools to tear the motherfucker down was what was doing it. Every day without her was one day closer to death.
The worst part was that when he looked in her eyes, he didn't see his Gennifer anymore. She might as well have been a stranger. He was scared, he realized, as he stared at the faded Mother Cabrini High School Emblem on her shirt. He was terrified that she was gone forever.
“You thought I would leave you,” she said, her fingers light on his skin.
“I killed a man! That has to mean something.”
“But you didn't mean to kill him. That makes a difference.”A stray curl escaped over her shoulder, dropping to her chest. He stared at the thick lock, remembering how good her hair had smelled. His willpower was almost gone. There was only so much a man could endure before he snapped.
“I killed him and no one gave a shit. People disappear in Russia every day. He was a criminal. No one looked for him. No one cared that he did not come home that night,” he said, teethed gritted.
“You cared,” she said softly.
“I care about you. And it does not matter. You left me anyway,” Mikhail forced out, and just as he was about to touch her, she moved out of his grasp.
“Do you know how hard it is to lose months of your life, just like that?” She snapped her fingers, angrily. “Do you know what it's like to want to remember so badly, but you just can't?”
He was on his feet in a flash, towering over her.
“I am still alone, solnyshka. You give me nothing!”
“I'm not doing it on purpose!” she screamed.
“It does not matter,” he said through gritted teeth. “The outcome is the same.”
“Besides, you lied!” she said. “Whatever relationship we had was a lie!”
“So I did.” His voice was low as he leaned closer to her, their noses almost touching. “But do not speak of that which you do not know.”
“What don't I know?” she lowered her voice to match his, her eyes flashing dark fire.
“You do not remember how we were together. You don't remember—” Mikhail broke off, his anger fading as the crushing sadness crept in. He knew then he had to go. It was why he left in the first place. He had to get the hell out of New York before he went mad. The ghost of his love was haunting him, driving him slowly insane. He had to go for his own sanity. Now he just had to convince his body to move toward the door and leave Gennifer for good.
How he would ever get through it, he didn't know.
“We were not a lie,” he finally said.
***
Mikhail's face betrayed his feelings for her. His blatant pain was impossible to deny. Staring up at his bruised and battered face, Gennifer knew exactly what she was going to do. She knew exactly what she had to do. She wanted to remember so badly. And she wanted Mikhail. She grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him to her. And then they were kissing, his mouth hard against hers. His beard was rough against her face, but she ignored the strange sensation. She let herself get lost in how he tasted and how he felt. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes as his hands roamed down to her ass, gripping the soft flesh.
“How was your day?” Mikhail asked, flexing his fingers against her thigh. He tipped his head back and drained his glass of vodka.
“Getting better,” she said. He chuckled, placing the empty drink back on the table. She snaked her arm around his neck and pulled him close. She kissed him softly but hungrily, tasting the alcohol on his lips. She dragged her tongue against his, cupping his stubbled chin. When she pulled away, he mumbled something in Russian. “Definitely getting better,” she said, rubbing at the lipstick on his lips with her thumb.
Gennifer jerked against Mikhail, moaning deep in her throat. She could feel his erection pressed against her thigh, and knowing how much he wanted her turned her on even more.
“What does 'ty dostavlyaesh mne radost’ mean?” she said, mangling the Russian that he'd spoken to her in the restaurant—Mikhail's restaurant, Tsar. The new information was revealing itself to her like clouds parting in the sky. He stared down at her, his clear gray eyes unblinking. He repeated the phrase in his native tongue, saying it pr
operly.
“It means 'you make me happy',” he said, his voice hard.
“Did I make you happy?” she whispered. He didn't answer; instead he captured her lips again, his tongue probing her mouth fiercely. She kissed him back, feeling her control quickly dissolving. She wondered vaguely if she'd ever had any control where Mikhail was concerned. He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly how to kiss her. She bet he knew exactly how to make love to her, too. A shiver of arousal ran through her belly as she thought about fucking Mikhail. She knew he was an animal in bed. She knew he would not stop until they both dropped from fatigue.
Neither would she.
“No, you do not make me happy,” he hissed, pulling away from the kiss and dragging his teeth down her jaw. “You torture me.” He ripped her T-shirt down her shoulder, exposing bare skin. He sunk his teeth into her flesh, his beard tickling her neck. She jumped at the strange painful, yet pleasurable, sensation. She heard herself moan, cradling his head, as he nipped and sucked at her skin. “I did not come here for this,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured and then he found her lips again, and she felt herself starting to lose it. She wanted him. Badly. He was doing everything right. Very right. Lust dropped her defenses and she let them go without a fight. Her puny defenses were useless against the man anyway and he took full advantage. His hands held fast to her ass, grinding her hips against his erection. His beard scratched at her as he dragged his cheek across hers. “I hate this fucking beard, Misha,” she murmured without thinking, raking her fingernails across his broad shoulders. She felt him stiffen against her and he pulled back to look at her.
“What did you say?”
“I said I hate your beard,” she repeated.
“You called me Misha.” His eyes were wild now, and he hiked her up against him like she weighed nothing. He carried her into the bedroom, like he'd done it before. He knew exactly which door was her bedroom, too. He kicked it open and tossed her on the bed in the dark, the only light the triangle of light from the hallway. She sat up on her elbows, her chest heaving. He pulled his shirt and hoodie over his head. She watched him, his muscular form silhouetted against the light, as he kicked off his sweats. Then he moved around the bed and flicked on her bedside light.
He stood before her completely naked, a perfect specimen. He had a few bruises on his ribs, and surgical scars on his lower left side, but even those imperfections made him look good. She longed to run her hands over his skin, learning every inch and every tattoo. And his cock—it was mouth-watering. Big. Thick. Beautiful. He grabbed her ankles, yanking her toward him. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him, licking her lips when she thought about sucking his perfect cock. He caressed her cheek, clenching his jaw as he looked down at her. “I am going to make you remember me, solnyshka,” he finally said.
God, she wanted to remember.
“Okay,” she said simply. A small smile curved his lips and then he bent and yanked her pajama pants down her legs. She tossed her T-shirt over her head and then his big body was on top of her, pinning her down. She arched her back, whimpering. Please, her mind was saying. Please love me. She felt like she was going crazy with need. She'd never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Mikhail.
He dipped his head, dragging a rough tongue over the swell of her left breast. Gennifer called out, thrashing her head against the bed. Then he sucked her tight nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive tip. When she was whimpering and panting with lust, he moved onto the other tit, sucking and licking until she thought she was going to scream. Then he slid down her body, pressing kisses along her ribs. When he thrust two fingers in her wet pussy, she almost came out of her skin. But he was just getting started. He rolled his tongue over her clit, then spread her open wide. He began to tongue and finger fuck her in earnest, and Gennifer grabbed handfuls of the duvet, trying to hold on to her sanity. He held her hips in his iron grasp, not letting her move away from the all-consuming pleasure he was giving her. It was too much, but at the same time, not enough. She wanted everything.
She wanted all of him.
Waves of pleasure crashed into her and she squeezed her eyes shut. She came hard, the intensity causing her to call out, her voice hoarse. While she lay there, twitching with the aftershocks, Mikhail vaulted up. He opened the top drawer of her bedside table and found the condoms she kept there. Within seconds, he was sheathed and crawling over her, positioning himself between her thighs.
“I think you've done this before,” she joked, weakly. He didn't smile, just smoothed her hair around her face.
“Potseluy menya,” he quietly demanded. Gennifer heard the phrase echoing in her head, and a ghostly memory unfolded before her.
“Mikhail,” Gennifer whispered.
“What, solnyshka?”
“How do you say 'kiss me' in Russian?”
“Potseluy menya,” he said, then kissed her. She repeated his words, whispering against his lips. “Your accent is awful,” he teased, his voice strained.
“We'll have to work on it,” she replied with a smile.
Back to the present, Gennifer closed her eyes and did as he asked, brushing her lips against his. He growled low in his throat, angling himself to enter her. He pressed inside of her, gently stretching her, then thrusting hard and deep. She moaned against his lips as they began to move together, his hardness filling her perfectly.
“You are like air to me,” he breathed. “I need you.” He closed his eyes, then slammed his cock deep inside of her. She screamed, muffling the noise against his shoulder. He growled again, pumping harder and faster. “I love your pussy,” he rasped in her ear. “I never want to stop.”
“Don't stop,” she moaned. “Please don't stop.” He hiked her knees up against his chest and drove into her, unrelenting. She screamed again as he hit a sweet spot. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them down. He slowed his pace, wincing like it pained him to do so. He slid out of her, then slid deep again, so slow. With each inch, she felt like she was losing more and more control. She clenched around him, arching her back. He let out a ragged breath, the veins in his neck and arms bulging.
“You are mine,” he said, swerving his hips against her, slowly. Agonizingly slow. “I will always want you.” He thrust hard and she gritted her teeth against the overwhelming pleasure. “I am out of my mind without you.” His words sent ripples of pure lust through her. Her muscles tightened, the tension spreading from her belly throughout her whole body.
“I'm yours, Misha,” she said, wanting so badly to let go and drag him down with her. He dropped his head, making a sound like a wounded animal. He pressed his forehead against her chest and released her arms. She held him against her, and he snaked his arms around her. She pressed her cheek to his damp temple as he picked up his pace, finding a desperate rhythm. He lifted his face, his eyes catching hers. She blinked at the emotion she found there, his cold demeanor gone. He was completely open to her, all of the pain and hurt of the past weeks on his face. She felt her chest tighten. This big, beautiful, mysterious man was in love with her, she realized. The thought was as utterly terrifying as it was undeniably sexy.
She guided his lips to hers and kissed him, softly at first. Then his desperation was pouring into her, and they moved with each other, harder and faster, their bodies crashing together in a mindless, cathartic rhythm.
She felt his arms stiffen around her and he opened his mouth, his eyes still on hers. He was about to go over the cliff, and she wanted to go with him. She rolled her hips with him, holding him deep, caressing him. She couldn't give him her love, but at least she could give him her body. She flicked her tongue against his lips, then delved deep, her tongue matching the pace of his thrusts. She felt him jerk against her, and she knew he was coming. A memory crashed into her, clear as day.
Gennifer rolled her hips, meeting his thrusts with equal force, gritting her teeth against the onslaught. He threw his head back, the veins in his neck straini
ng under his skin. The muscles in his arms and chest were hard and bunched – he was almost ready. Gennifer wanted him to come inside her. She wanted to feel him lose control and fill her up with his passion...
Mikhail's body stiffened and she felt his cock jerk inside her, his hot come spurting and filling her up. He called out against her mouth, continuing to thrust until she milked him dry. Then he collapsed on top of her, his heart feeling like it was going to beat right out of his chest. She stroked his back as he came down, his skin moist with sweat...
Gennifer came hard, remembering how it felt to have his come filling her. She bucked against his still-hard cock, loving the feel of him. She cried out, her voice so rough and jagged it was foreign to her own ears. She had been waiting for this, she realized. Every day that she was away from Mikhail, her body was craving this. Her brain had clouded the memories of him, but her body had never forgotten. Pleasure pulsed through her, taking her breath away, it felt so good. He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. His cock slipped out of her, and she moaned, immediately missing him. He tossed the condom over the side of the bed and pulled the duvet over them. Gennifer pressed against his warm body, her chest heaving and her muscles tingling under her skin.
Mikhail put a hand on her hip and angled her ass into his groin, spooning her. She lifted her torso and he snaked his arm underneath her head. When they were finally comfortable, Gennifer let out a contented sigh, feeling her body melt into his.
“Go to sleep, solnyshka,” he murmured in her ear, his hand stroking her from her ribs to her hip. She felt her eyes droop, the warmth of his body and the aftershocks of the orgasm lulling her to unconsciousness.
“Wake me up when you're ready to fuck again,” she mumbled and smiled at his deep chuckle.
“Soon,” he promised, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
True to his word, she woke to him raising her leg over his hip, his arm around her neck. “Gennifer.” His voice was like a caress. He cocked her head, running his lips down the curve of her shoulder. She felt the head of him rubbing against her, her pussy getting wetter by the minute. For a minute she stiffened, wondering if she was dreaming. Then she remembered. Mikhail. None of it had been a dream. Unbridled lust, hot and liquid, shot up her spine.
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