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“Then shut the fuck up and take this dick like a good girl.”
Settling his hard chest muscles onto my tender breasts, Arsen positions his angry, throbbing cock between my legs. There’s no patience in how he enters me. With a single hard, eager shove, he buries himself to the hilt, driving the air from my lungs.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans as he pulls back before driving forward again.
As if to prove his point, I clench my pussy in response, intensifying the sensation of his cock moving inside me with every delicious stroke. Arsen shudders on top of me, gasping as he quickens his pace.
A hand rises to cradle my face, and he kisses me sharply, nipping my bottom lip before moving down to my left nipple. His hand curls under my spine to give him a firmer hold while he continues to piston his cock inside me, reaching places that no one other than him can reach.
It’s these moments with Arsen where I feel the most centered. Where nothing exists that can harm us here. It’s him and me and our burning, fierce desire to be joined as one. My fingers cling to the vast expanse of his muscular back. I hang on for dear life as his pace increases. His cock flexes in my pussy; once, twice, a warning of what is to come. His mouth releases my nipple and traces its way up my neck, and his tongue presses against the thundering vein.
My third orgasm knocks my senses into overdrive. My ears are ringing again as I cry out his name. With one final roar, his cock grows harder for a brief moment before searing ropes of cum flood my cunt. I clench reflexively, refusing to let him go until I’ve milked every last drop of his seed as our heartbeats merge together as one.
His breath hangs hot and heavy against my neck. And slowly, I feel him withdraw, leaving behind a trail of our juices mixing on the blankets with our sweat. There’ll be a stain that has to be washed later. But I don’t care. He takes my lips again, chasing away some of the emptiness in my quivering pussy.
A single muscular arm pulls me into him until I fit perfectly in the crook of his body. Through my spine, I can feel each breath of his.
“Amazing,” he whispers. “You’re absolutely amazing, ptichka.”
Grabbing his arm, I draw it over my shoulder like a seat belt. Tiny, hard nodules press uncomfortably into my skin. Looking down, I see what they are.
The prayer beads.
My fingers ride along the beads on his wrist. I watched him kill someone. It’s a cruel reminder that the same hands capable of such great pleasure are also capable of equally great violence.
Lightly, I give the prayer beads a kiss. “You never take these off.”
Arsen brings his wrist close to his face, studying the beads as if seeing them for the first time. He stretches his arm toward the ceiling above us. “Kristina gave them to me.”
His dead wife.
My fingers find their way to the blankets and curl into a fist against the fabric. I need a way to get rid of the unease in my stomach at the mere mention of her name. Choking the blankets is all I can think of. I’m not sure what to say. It almost feels like he’s telling me a secret that isn’t meant for me. One I don’t want to know.
His chest rises, then falls. “I vowed to never remove them until the day I avenge her.” Lowering his arm, he makes a coiled fist, turning his knuckles from side to side. The beads are glossy in the light cast by the bedside lamp. “I thought I’d have done it by now, but that mudak still lives.”
There’s a heaviness in his tone. It weighs me down as I listen. I understand why he would wear them ... but ... God, how pathetic am I that this bothers me? I’m jealous of a dead woman. A woman who died in the most awful way—forced to see the life growing inside her snuffed out before she died. What right do I have to feel anything for her but pity?
Arsen grazes my cheek with his knuckle. “Go to sleep,” he whispers. “Ptichka.”
I smile and nod, shifting to snuggle against his warm, solid body. My arm drapes over his torso. I absently trace the tattoos, as well as the raised scars that crisscrosses his skin. He’s a man with a dark and textured history, one that I know he can never shed.
I don’t want to be envious … I don’t want to feel upset at a woman I never even knew.
And yet …
When Arsen falls asleep with his hand on me, the beads remain in my line of sight.
I can’t stop looking at them.
They’re the last thing I see before I fade into unconsciousness.
28
GALINA
I’ve chewed my thumbnail down to the quick. The skin splits, blossoming red. Hissing in pain, I shake my hand out, clenching my fingers. I have to quit this bad habit one of these days. I always do it when I’m stressed. And right now, I am very stressed.
After a fitful sleep in Arsen’s bed, I woke with a nagging feeling in my head. Though walls and floors separate us, I keep picturing my mother in the house. Did she sleep okay last night? Did Ulyana meet her, get food for her? How is she getting along compared to my first night?
