“This is real,” he murmured. “Don’t run away from it.”
A wet blob of rain hit her cheek. Then another. And another.
Before long, the smattering drops came down harder. Misha closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky, letting the sensation of water wash away the tears brimming in her eyes. He was right. She accused him of running, but it had been her excuse her entire life. Don’t get too involved, run from love, run from emotional risk because the pain of losing someone wasn’t worth it. But… it was more than that.
She didn’t believe she was worth it. She wasn’t worth the pain someone else would feel when they lost her. Better not to get close, not let someone hurt that bad. Better to leave this earth without making a dent in it… but as the thoughts formed in her head, she knew her ideology was full of holes. How could you be in someone’s life without love? That pain you felt when they died was a tribute to that love. That pain proved your worth.
Finally understanding her problem somehow… liberated her. She smiled at the beautiful sky, watching the lines of rain slash down. You can’t have love without pain, and without any of it, there was nothing.
Wyatt’s hand slid to hers and he tugged, directing her to the ladder. He was already a step down, but she resisted. They stared at each other. Water sluiced down his body, running in rivulets that delineated all the hard lines of his torso. Thick black lashes spiked, and his cheeks took on a flushed glow. With his free hand, he pushed back the stringy, jet-black locks from his face. Powerful. Built. So goddamned sexy. How on earth could she pretend to not want him any longer? Without the feelings he evoked in her, she was empty. She was nothing. She didn’t want that anymore.
“No,” she said. “Let’s stay.”
He glanced up at the sky. “But it’s raining.”
“Exactly, silly. We don’t run from the rain. We make love in the rain.”
Twenty-Five
With one foot on the top ladder rung, and one foot on the water tank, Wyatt looked up at the woman whose hand he held. Rain spilled from the turbulent sky, but it was warm and gentling on his skin. It refreshed, it cleansed, and it wiped the slate clean.
An angel in the flesh, Misha looked down at Wyatt, clearly with impure thoughts radiating from her eyes. Her devious intent hit every male button in his body. It always had. She could entice the worst and best from him with a glance. His eyes trailed down her long neck to where nipples peaked through her wet slouchy shirt.
No, silly. We don’t run from the rain. We make love in the rain.
Every bone in his body ached to do that—make love to her, to claim her for his own. This was the opportunity he’d waited for, yet… something stood in the way. She used sex as another wall around her heart, and Wyatt didn’t want half of her, he wanted all of her.
Good thing he was built for destroying walls.
He let her guide him back to the top of the tower, and when she lifted her face to the sky and bade him to do the same, he did that too. The water was a joy on his skin and he couldn’t remember the last time he did something simply because it made him happy.
Speaking made him happy, but only when he did it for her. It felt intimate. Before he met her, before Sara had sliced his throat, Wyatt had used words to hurl insults, to bully kitchen staff into submission, and to shout his fury at the world. He’d had a voice, but he’d alienated people, made enemies and lost friends. Now, he knew time was a precious commodity—a non-renewable resource—he had to choose his words wisely, because he couldn’t take them back.
Wyatt cupped Misha’s face between his hands. He forced the raspy sound out of his mouth. “I won’t leave you, Misha. Ever.”
Her face crumpled. Distance formed behind her eyes.
Don’t do it Misha, face this head on.
“You can’t control that, Wyatt. You can’t make promises like that. Dimitri has armies. He’s insane. I’ve seen him shoot down someone for sneezing on him.”
“He can’t hurt me. I’m bulletproof.”
She hesitated. He already knew she was attracted to him. It wasn’t Wyatt who’d propositioned her for sex; she’d come onto him first. So, if it wasn’t the attraction, and it wasn’t her fear of losing someone she cared for, then… “What’s holding you back?”
“I’m not the person you need, Wyatt. You’re this amazing, brave man who saves the world, and I’m the kind of person you fuck once, and then cut out of your life.”
His heart clenched at her harsh words. She tried to turn her face away, but he held on and forced her to meet his eyes. “You realize that you stepped between me and a gun. Me, who is bulletproof. Only someone completely selfless would do that. Misha, you’re not the kind of person you cut from your life, you’re the kind you hold on to with both hands.”
“What if two hands aren’t enough?”
He brushed away the tear on her cheek as it mingled with the rain. “Then I’ll hold on to you with everything I have. I’ll use my lips”—he kissed hers—“my body”—he enveloped her in his powerful arms, and then he lifted her hand to his chest. “And my heart.”
A burst of laughter bubbled through her tears. “Who would have thought my koteczek was a poet.”
“Only for you.”
Her lashes, dripping with water, lifted. The raw emotion staring back almost had him undone. “If I let you in, koteczek, I’m not letting you go.”
“Good.”
Her gasp of surprise confused him. Did she really need more convincing? Fine. He’d convince the fuck out of her.
His lips hovered near hers, but hesitated. He wanted to push her down, tear her clothes from her body and make her his. But he was acutely aware the last time they’d screwed like animals, and he wanted to make this special, to make it last. Make love in the rain. She was used to one-night stands, and he was used to betrayal. He wanted to remember every moment with Misha, to sear the sensations into his mind.
Dipping his forehead to hers, he pressed against her. Their hot breaths intermingled through the rain, little white clouds puffed through the air between them, but it wasn’t cold. It was nice.
Aching for her, he didn’t know where to begin. Her plush lips, taut nipples, tight curves. All of it. He wanted all of it. A groan of anticipation filled the air, and he wasn’t sure who it belonged to. It didn’t matter that they stood on top of a water tower, drenched in rain, or that the ever present city loomed around them. It was just the two of them in that moment, hearts beating against the other.
She made the first move. Delicate fingertips scraped down his torso, from his chest to his abs, sending slippery pleasure shooting to pool with heat in his groin. Careful not to exert too much force, he traced her jaw to her ear and then to her nape. When her touch tickled inside the waistband of his jeans, he almost jerked into her hand. He studied her reaction to his hardness. Her breathing increased, her pulse fluttered at her neck. She liked it. She liked him. It all felt right.
Misha pulled back, and a rush of cool air came between them. For a moment, he feared she’d turn this into a game, but she lifted her shirt over her head to splash at their feet. Standing before him, half-naked, she trembled. Perfectly round breasts were hard, nipples peaked and straining toward him. Tiny goosebumps rippled over her flesh, but she didn’t look cold. She looked flushed with fever.
“This is the first time I’ve been with anyone more than once,” she confided.
“And it will be the last time,” he croaked. “Nobody else after me.”
It was a demand he didn’t have the right to make, but he was making it. So fucking what?
His lips found hers with a gentle touch. It was the kiss he should have given her from the start. Not some hard and fast coupling where he didn’t look in her eyes as he fucked her from behind, but the kiss to show how much she was worth. He slid his tongue past her lips, while hers caressed back. Hot, slippery and damned erotic. Deep heat rose in his body. Prickling awareness told him he reacted on a biological level, pumping phero
mones from his pores, demanding she become his.
He tugged until her soft front met the hard planes of his chest. “You’re mine, Misha.”
She moaned into his mouth, submitting. “And you’re mine, koteczek.”
Her words snapped whatever control he had. All the lust and desire he’d leashed since she’d danced for him came roaring to the surface, flooding his senses. He scooped her up and lowered her to the mat. Deepening his kiss, he let his hands roam over her body, learning her, relishing her for the first time. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more.
Snarling with impatience, he found the top of her waistband and tugged her pants down. She lifted her hips enough for him to get them over her ass, and then she helped kick them off the rest of the way. He sat back on his heels to study her, bare and pale under the falling sky.
Stunning. So fucking beautiful, and he wanted her with an irrational fury, a fever possessed desire. It had never been like this with Sara—the second her name entered his thoughts, he pushed her away. Done. He was done comparing, done thinking of her.
Misha. Misha his bright bubbling goddess. His infernal drug. The woman who had his heart and didn’t like waiting for it. He smiled when she gave a bark of protest at his pause and rose to meet him. Mouth crashing against his, she tore at his jeans with impatient hands, desperate to get into them. The button popped, the zip came down, and she pulled his length out, heavy and hard into her hands.
He groaned, eyes rolling in pleasure as she stroked him.
Misha, Misha.
Then quickly, rashly, he pushed her down and irreverently kicked off his jeans. He kissed down her neck, licking and tasting the water pooling on her skin. From the dip in her collar bone to the valley between her breasts. His fingers found her nipples, and she arched into his calloused touch.
“Wyatt,” she begged and thrust into him, her core meeting his erection.
Impatient. So delightfully impatient.
He grinned against her skin, already making his way down her stomach. He cupped her sex, teasing her gently with a finger while he laved around her belly. She whimpered and pushed back. But he made her wait. His turn to play a game. He slid back up her body, letting their wet skin slip and bump together, then he whispered in her ear and told her all the naughty things he would do to her, how he was going to take his time and make her beg for more.
“You talk dirty,” she groaned, then gripped him by the shoulders, excitement flaring in her eyes. “Oh my God, please tell me you role play too.”
A chuckle rumbled through him and he nuzzled into her. He would do whatever she asked. Fuck, he was falling in love. Maybe he already was. His humor gave way to pure emotion, and he pulled back to stare into her eyes. There was only one thing standing in his way.
“No secrets between us, Misha. Now’s your chance. If there’s anything you need to tell me, do it now.”
Twenty-Six
Misha lay before the big warrior, naked as the day she was born, and he was worried about secrets between them. They were on top of a water tank in the middle of the city park. Sure, they were far from prying eyes, and it was raining, but there was an element of danger, of arousing urgency. Someone might catch them.
“No, koteczek. You know every dark and dirty thing about me.” She took his hand and placed it between her legs, urging him to continue.
But he didn’t.
He tugged away and pierced her with intense, storm brewing eyes. Then without warning, he gripped her knees and yanked them apart. Misha gasped as rain kissed her intimately. Squirming, her hands rose to find something to latch onto, but found only the edge of the wet rubber mat. It was something, an anchor to steady herself as the first lick of his tongue between her legs set her mind spiraling. She moaned, arching into him.
A strangled sound of satisfaction came from him as he unleashed himself on her. His tongue swirled and twirled and teased. He pushed a finger inside her and pumped. He sucked and devoured with a single-minded ferocity she couldn’t resist.
This man is a god. A fucking sex god.
She must have shouted it, because she felt him chuckle against her flesh before resuming his relentless pace. She wouldn’t last long at this rate. And to think she only wanted one night with him. She threw her head back with abandon as her body tightened, and then, just as he brought her to the edge of insanity, she propped up on her elbows and looked down at him with the irrational urge to take a picture memory, fearing this is all there would be.
Sensing her movement, he glanced up. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture memory. Making sure I don’t forget.”
His eyes flashed with sexual hunger, and then slowly, torturously, he licked a long stroke down her center before resuming his feast. Her vision blurred with climbing bliss. Seeing her man—dark shock of hair, vibrant blue eyes filled with passion—pleasuring her was the most erotic thing she’d ever witnessed. The sight tipped her over the edge. Her climax crashed through her, screaming with intensity.
When she opened her eyes, he’d risen to his knees between her legs, cock jutting proudly. And goodness, it was great. He was great. Every muscle and tendon in his body pulled taut with need until she could see the shape of him beneath his skin. He was strained. So tense. Afraid.
And she knew why.
The last time they’d come together, he’d hurt her—bruised her—in his passion. God damn it, she’d liked it, but she understood his hesitation. She diffused the situation the only way she knew how, with humor.
“And on the sixth day, God created cocks,” she said with an impish grin and lifted herself to take his erection in her hands. She whispered as she stroked, “Don’t overthink it, Wyatt. You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”
He gripped her nape, brows drawing together. Still hesitant.
“You trust me, don’t you?” She stroked him lovingly. “You know I’m telling the truth.”
She guided him down until his tip met her entrance. “Do it,” she challenged.
Pushing her back to the mat, he eased inside until he was all the way in. He stilled, letting her adjust to his thickness, until she writhed with impatience.
“I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, then drew out slowly, and thrust in hard. She slid on the wet mat. “Two hands, Duchess.”
It was another joke. She should have laughed, should have gripped the mat for support, but his raw hunger snapped her inhibitions. Like a wild woman, she clawed at him, kissed him, moved with him. She tasted his skin, inhaled his wicked scent, and begged him to go faster and harder. And for a while, they did. Relentless. Unforgiving. Electrifying. She didn’t want it to end, but couldn’t get enough of the man.
Slowing his pace, he lovingly tended her mouth with soft and gentle but fleeting kisses.
“You’re playing with me, koteczek,” she snarled half-heartedly.
“No,” he said gruffly. “I’m loving you.”
Misha pushed him off and twisted until she was on top and he laid below. Clearly, he let her. There was no way this big strong hero conceded to anyone—but her. That awareness kept her from moving. They stared at each other, chests shuddering with stilted breaths, hearts beating a staccato rhythm, rain pouring around them, adding to the symphony. Did he mean it? Did this insanely powerful man mean it?
I’m loving you.
She took his hands, held them to her breasts and dared him with her eyes. “Two handfuls, Wyatt.”
The laughter rumbling from deep within his chest pierced all the hard walls she’d erected around her heart. That unadulterated laugh was so rare, and because of her, for her, and only her. She ground into him, taking over the rhythm, beating him at his own game. Before she knew it, their joining had her mindless, breathless, and unable to move. His hands dropped to her hips and steadied her trembling pace. Between the two of them, they hit every spot, every nerve and every inch of her soul. When she felt that telltale knot of sensation, tightening inside her again, her muscles clamped down hard
. Feeling invincible like a goddess, she lifted her soggy hair from her neck and arched. She tipped her face to the rain and let go, shattering apart while he held on, two hands like he promised.
While she went limp, sated and satisfied, he rolled them again so she was on the bottom. He drove into her hard, increasing intensity until he tensed with need, slammed himself to the hilt and cursed his release, muttering in her ear.
He languidly kissed around her neck and continued to mutter curses, as if his release had taken him by surprise, as if he was angry it was over. She laughed at his fierceness. “If I had known sex would always be like this with you, koteczek, I might have given you a different nickname. Perhaps little savage is more appropriate. What do you think, dzikusku?”
“What does it mean?” he mumbled. “Koteczek, I mean.”
“Kitten.”
His laughter roared so loud it shook the tower.
They spent the better part of the next hour indecently fooling around on the top of the water tank. Eventually the rain eased, and the wind picked up and even the heat of their love making wasn’t enough to keep them warm. Their clothes were drenched, but they somehow managed to put them back on. It made Misha laugh. They’d really lost track of time. But what made Misha the happiest, was the permanent smile plastered on Wyatt’s handsome face.
That smile was still there as they walked back to the studio, his arm slung casually over her shoulder, heedless of their soaked attire. Wyatt even stopped to point out a group of sparrows hopping around a puddle, taking a bath.
It neared lunch time when they approached the door to her studio, and she was surprised to see a group of people milling about. Misha recognized some faces, and it hit her—she’d forgotten about a scheduled class. She was twenty minutes late.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry guys.”
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