by Kate Stewart
It is while I am lost in these thoughts that the door shuts down the hall, and I realize too late that Sasha is walking in my direction.
I shut the door and sit on the bed, hoping she didn’t see me. But I know she did.
And it isn’t a minute later that the door creaks open.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me. And all of my defenses go up, preparing for battle.
“Talia?”
I don’t reply. My mouth is dry and I’m dizzy. I feel like she can see all of the wrong and bad parts of me. All of the things that happened while I was gone. And I understand now why I felt safe with Alexei from the beginning. Because he didn’t know me before.
But Sasha did. And she can see that I’m not the same. That I’m broken and damaged and… wrong.
“Do you remember me?” she asks.
My heart is beating too fast. Too loud. My palms are clammy. And the memories are swirling around in my brain. My last days at the club. How I was so happy when Dmitri came to see me. How excited I was for our time in Mexico.
I don’t want to remember. And she is bringing it all back. This girl who used to know me.
“Of course I remember you,” I snap. “I’m not brain dead.”
“Everyone thinks you’re dead,” she says. “You do know that, right?”
I want to tell her I am dead. That as far as anyone who knew me in my old life goes, I no longer exist. But I don’t. I can’t get the words out. I can’t stop thinking about Mack. Because I know she’s thinking about her too. I can see it in her eyes. It’s ripping me apart. I want to ask her so many things. I want to ask if Mack is really happy. If she hates me. But I don’t.
I shrug. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.
“Do you realize what this has done to Mack?” she asks me. “She’s been sick over this whole situation for months. Do you have any idea what she went through to try to get you back?”
The guilt weighs heavy on me. But it’s too soon. I can’t deal with this now. I’m not ready to face that part of my life again.
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“Okay…” She sighs. “But can’t you call her? Let her know you’re alright?”
“She won’t understand,” I try to explain. “Mack has never understood. She’ll want the girl back that she lost. But I’m not her anymore. I’ll never be her again.”
“So you’re just going to let her think you’re dead?” she demands. “She was your best friend.”
She was. And I care for her. I know my actions don’t show it. That Sasha can’t understand it. But how can I explain it when I don’t understand it myself?
“I’m going to tell her,” she says. “She’s my friend too. And I can’t let her go on thinking that you’re dead when you’re not. It isn’t right.”
“Do what you have to,” is my reply.
Sasha edges back towards the door, and I breathe a little at seeing her retreat. At seeing my past ebb away and preserving my safe little bubble where the present cannot collide with it.
“Are you okay here?” she asks. “Are you safe?”
“Yes. Alexei is very good to me. I don’t want to leave him.”
“Okay,” she says. “Would you like my number though? Just in case?”
I shake my head.
And she walks out the door.
Chapter Forty
Alexei
Ronan is patched up and officially on the mend.
He’s going to be alright, the doctor tells us. She is on the Vory payroll, and her services are available only to us. Which means late hours and sometimes odd locations. But she is one of the best.
Those services don’t usually extend to our Irish alliance as well. Especially not the man who took it upon himself to shoot at Franco and I in the not too distant past.
He is still slightly delirious as the drugs wear off, but he has the coherence to say what he needs to.
“Thank you,” he tells me. “I know I do not deserve such a kindness from ye.”
“You can thank your girlfriend,” is my reply.
I never could stand to see a woman cry. His woman loves him deeply. And it earns him a little of the respect that he lost from me. But nothing in this life comes for free, and both Ronan and I are aware of this.
“I’ll need you to do something for me, once you’ve healed.”
“What do ye need?”
I turn to Franco and speak to him in Russian, asking him to retrieve the information I’ve been keeping on Arman. He is here in the states, staying in a posh hotel while he awaits the return of Talia. He’s going to be waiting a little longer.
Franco returns with the file a moment later and hands it to Rory. But it is Ronan who will carry this out. This is his specialty.
“These are the locations of two warehouses where he is holding our shipments. I need you to hit them and make it look like an Italian job.”
He raises a brow at me, and I shrug. “Or someone else. Whatever you choose, so long as it is not one of us. There can be no doubts.”
“I will sort it out,” Ronan gives me his assurances. “Two days maximum.”
It’s a reach, considering his current state, but I don’t argue with him. I just need it done, and it can’t have any implications that it was connected to the Vory in any way. Arman will look like a fool again, and it will buy me more time. More time to study his operations and find the best way to make him disappear without raising questions.
“Would ye mind terribly if we crashed here for a wee bit?” Rory asks. “We’ve caught some heat back in Boston.”
I don’t particularly care to have them roaming my house. This is why I live so far from everyone else. Because they don’t visit as often and leave me to my solitude. But now that we have an alliance with them, it is my duty to be hospitable.
Before I can even give them an answer, Ronan takes it upon himself to add another reason. One he knows I can’t turn down.
“Sasha is having my baby. We need a safe place for her to stay.”
“You can have the third floor,” I tell him. “But you’ll need to use the back entrance when you come and go. And stay off this level. I have my own pregnant wife to worry about, and we like our privacy.”
Ronan is surprised by my words, but I don’t give him any further explanation. I am anxious to get to my bed. To be inside of Talia.
I move to the door, and Rory follows.
I leave them to their business and move down the hall to my room.
Talia is asleep. Her blonde hair spread like a halo across my black pillow. She looks beautiful. And when I lift the covers and see her naked, my cock is painfully hard.
But I don’t wake her when I climb in behind her. Instead, I simply pull her against my body, breathing in her scent and soaking up her warmth. She sighs a contented sigh and nuzzles in closer to me.
And that’s exactly how we fall asleep.
Chapter Forty-One
Talia
Life with Alexei is a pattern.
Never a straight line. Always a series of highs and lows as we get to know each other. Discover more of each other.
I learn new things about him every day.
Everything he does is done with precision. Carefully considered and weighed out before he decides. A simple trip from his home often takes him several days to prepare.
I know it is because the world has been a cold and cruel place to him. He doesn’t like to feel vulnerable. But he is. He is especially vulnerable when he leaves the house. Always worrying that his secret will be discovered.
His mind must be switched on all the time. He muttered to me once, under his breath, that I had become a distraction for him at the dinner parties. It worries him. But he likes it too.
I like being his distraction.
Which is why I often find myself in his office, in the middle of the day, like I am right now. He likes the way I look on the outside. And he accepts that I’m a whole lot of fucked up on the inside.
But I make myself pretty for him. Every day. In these designer clothes that don’t belong on the likes of me. And then he dirties me up with his eyes and his hands and his cock.
When he sees me today though, he seems distracted by something else. And I don’t like it at all. I want to be the center of his world. I want to be so much more than his wife in name and his fuck toy in the bedroom. Want is a dangerous thing.
Still, I walk around behind him and touch his shoulders. He tilts his head back against the chair to look up at me, and I lean down and kiss him. My fingers move over the sensitive flesh of his neck, hoping to infuse myself with some of the cologne he wears.
I like to smell of him. I like to rub my body all over him.
“You are teaching me bad habits, Solnyshko,” he tells me.
“How so?” I ask innocently.
He turns around and tugs me into his lap, burying his face in my neck and inhaling me. I try to kiss him. To get him going because I know he won’t stop once I do. But he doesn’t let me get that far. He grabs my hands and keeps them trapped between us. Then he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against his chest.
And then he just looks at me. For too long.
This is the thing I don’t like. And I’ve noticed it happening more and more lately. It is intimate, having someone’s eyes on you with no intention of doing anything other than looking. Seeing you.
“I want you,” I tell him.
His hand crawls up my back and reaches for my hair, tangling it in his fist and pulling it tight so that I can’t move my head.
“You want me to do dirty things to you,” he says.
“Yes.”
“What if I just want to look at you?” he asks.
“I don’t like it,” I answer.
“I don’t care,” he replies.
It’s obvious he’s going to do whatever he wants. So I just wait, trying to hide by burying my face against his chest. He plays with my hair, and even though he is hard for me, he doesn’t do anything else.
It confuses me. This type of intimacy from him. One minute he wants all of me. And the next, he backs away. Never letting himself get too close. I just try not to think about it. But when he holds me like this, it’s hard not to. To ask him things that I shouldn’t even be thinking.
Like if he cares.
Like if there will ever be more.
Instead, I ask him other things. Questions that give me small pieces of him. The only thing I can ever really have. Stolen moments. Pieces of his life and his heart. That’s all he has to offer. And I don’t have anything to offer him. Except for my broken thoughts and demented soul, stitched together by my frequent bouts of insanity.
“Magda thinks that we are alike,” I tell him on a whim.
He is quiet, contemplative. His eyes moving over my face again. His hands holding me close.
“Do you agree?”
“Yes,” he answers.
He doesn’t elaborate, and I can tell he doesn’t want to. So I ask him something else.
“Can you teach me something in sign language?”
He blinks at me, and this makes him smile. “I do not know sign language,” he tells me. “So no, probably not.”
“Oh. Well shouldn’t you though?”
He just shrugs. “I never learned. I was young when I lost my hearing. The circumstances did not allow for learning. So I learned the only way I could.”
“To read people.”
He nods, and I touch his face.
“I wish I could read you sometimes.”
“All you ever have to do is ask me,” he says.
I want to. We both know that I want to. But I don’t. Because I am scared. And I think, Alexei is too.
“I kind of like it,” I tell him instead. “That we touch each other to communicate. You touch me a lot.”
“I like it too,” he admits.
But he doesn’t have to tell me. I feel how much he likes it beneath my ass on his lap. The biggest turn on between us is him knowing that I accept him and me knowing the same.
“It’s strange,” I tell him honestly.
“What is?” he asks.
“That you can’t hear,” I answer. “And yet, you are the only person who has ever really listened to me.”
“I will always see you, Solnyshko,” he tells me. “Always.”
“You make me feel,” I whisper.
The words are both an accusation and a confession.
But Alexei does not retreat or shy away. If anything, he indulges in me further and I know the time for cuddling and intimacy is now over. He lifts up my dress and discards it, leaving me in only a bra and panties. But like they often do now, his hands move to my belly first.
“How is my baby?” he asks.
“Big,” I tell him. “Like his father already.”
Alexei smiles at me. And it’s beautiful, that smile of his.
“I think it’s a boy too,” he answers. “I would like that.”
And then he kisses me. It’s soft and sweet for about two minutes before he gets to the good stuff. The really good stuff. His hands all over me. Sliding in and cupping my breasts beneath the lace of my bra. And in my panties. His fingers inside of me.
The entire time, his mouth is on mine. We kiss a lot. And I like it. I might even love it. Sometimes, it’s a slow burn. And sometimes, like right now, I’m consumed by the madness of it altogether. I feel it happening. The falling. Falling for him.
I know what he says. That he doesn’t care. But this isn’t just fucking anymore. This is him, whispering something in my ear and me providing anything he asks. We both get off on it. Any man can fuck me. But Alexei fucks my mind. My heart. My soul.
He lights me up and burns me down.
Every single time.
I want to tell him so, right now. I want to be honest. But inside, I know I need to push those thoughts away.
“Be dirty with me,” I tell him.
“Get down on your knees,” is his reply.
I do. He grabs a handful of my hair and rubs my face against the heat beneath his trousers. My fingers dig into his thighs and my breath quickens as he unbuckles himself.
“Be a good girl,” he says as he grips his cock in his palm. “And beg for it.”
This is new. And I like it. I like it even more when I look up and see him anxious for me to say the words. To tell him how much I want him. And in his eyes, I can see how much he wants to believe it. I will make him believe. Because it’s true.
“Lyoshka,” I tell him as I reach out and take his cock in my hand. “You are my husband. You belong to me. And nobody else. You can’t ever do this with anyone else.”
“I am a Vor,” he answers. “I will do what I like.”
I glare at him, and his eyes fire with satisfaction.
“Now quit pouting and suck my cock.”
I do. I push him all the way into the back of my throat and he groans. Hard. He loves it, but he can’t bring himself to admit how much.
“Do better,” he goads me.
I do even better. I suck him so hard he nearly blows his load in the first few minutes. But I know Alexei would never allow that to happen. So instead, he grabs me by the hair and yanks me up.
“Do you feel the need to please me?” he asks.
I feel vulnerable under his scrutiny. He already knows the answer. I don’t know why he makes me say it.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to please you.”
He brings his lips to my ear and murmurs between kisses. “You always do, Solnyshko.”
I tip my head back and allow him access to my throat, which he kisses tenderly.
“Please me now,” he directs me. “By bending over the desk and spreading your legs for me.”
I do what he says. He pulls aside my panties and fingers me while his other hand comes down on my ass. Hard. I make a noise, and I know he can’t hear it, but he feels how much I like this. How much I like him like this.
H
e smacks me again on the other ass cheek, and then pulls them apart roughly with his hand, kneading the flesh beneath his fingers. And then he backs away, leaving me cold and annoyed.
“Sit on the desk and play with yourself,” he tells me. “I want to watch.”
When I turn around again, he’s in his chair. Stroking his cock slowly and deliberately. Watching as I do what he says.
“Make yourself come,” he says. “And do it fast. Or I’m not going to fuck you.”
Again, I’m doing what he asks. Like a puppet. Like he owns me. But when I look at him, I know he does.
I hate it when he does this. When he takes away what I want from him the most. It isn’t the same when I have to do it myself. But I make myself come anyway, just watching him stroke himself.
“Now fuck me,” I beg him.
“Give me three reasons,” he answers. “Tell me what you’ve done to deserve it.”
“Because you like it,” I tell him. “And I’ll make you come.”
“I could come like this,” he says.
“But you like it better inside of me.”
He smiles.
“And what else?”
“I’ll let you work for the rest of the day without distracting you.”
He makes me wait for an answer. But his eyes are on me. And I know he’s going to give in. He just likes to torment me. Make me beg for this. For him.
“Come here,” he tells me finally. “And sit on my cock.”
I do it. Without an ounce of remorse or shame. He watches and then instructs me to ride him. Which I also do. His hands remain at his sides, his eyes closed, and it frustrates me.
“You aren’t touching me,” I speak into his right ear. “Or looking at me.”
“Did you want me to?” he asks. “Or do you want the master fucking his slave?”
And I know now that he’s trying to prove a point. About my remark earlier.
He tangles my hair in his fist and draws me closer, his mouth so close to mine I can almost taste him.
“I will look at my wife whenever I please,” he tells me. “And don’t ever tell me otherwise, Solnyshko. You will be intimate with me. And you will never hide from me.”