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I’m starting to think I was wrong. She doesn’t return my feelings for her—she hates me, and now she pities me, too. If anything, this situation has gone from bad to worse.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t want her so much. That this craving for her could be cured, and I didn’t ache for a mere glimpse of her. But I do, she’s an addiction, one I couldn’t go for more than a few days without giving in to. Now that she’s under my roof, in my bed—so close, yet still so far away—my obsession with her has only grown.
Turning my head, I gaze over at her slumbering form. I still love watching her sleep, and now I can do it without breaking into her parents house.
Tonight, her back’s turned toward me and she’s curled into a loose ball under the blankets. I wish the bed was smaller so she couldn’t leave so much space between us. Resisting the urge to reach for her, my fingers curl into a loose fist.
She’s made it very clear that she doesn’t want my touch, or at least she refuses to admit to her desires. I can tell how much our physical contact affects her—it does the same to me, that warmth, the shock of electricity that surprises me every single time, and the way my heart pounds faster. I know she feels it too.
Arianna whimpers, and my attention snaps to her. Through the faint light, I see her shoulders moving with quick, shallow breaths. Is she awake? Her next pained moan has me sliding across the bed, eating up the distance between us.
I gently place my hand on her delicate shoulder. “Kisa, are you all right?”
She nods.
I’m about to back away when she whimpers again. “What is it?” I ask, my tone laced with sincere concern. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s nothing. Go away.” She gasps, her breathing rapid as she groans.
I peek at her pinched expression, it’s all the answer I need. But why is she hurting? What happened?
Fully alert, my gaze roams over her body, seeking clues. What’s hurt and who’s responsible? I’ll make them pay whoever they are. That’s when I notice how she’s holding her lower abdomen. That must be the source of her discomfort.
“Is it cramps?” I ask, my voice low and soothing.
She nods, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Okay, malyshka, I’ve got you.” Getting out of bed, I grab a couple of pain pills from the bathroom, along with a glass of water and the heating pad I sometimes use after a fight.
Returning to her side, I hand her the pills which she shallows down, then I plug in the heating pad and place it across her stomach. She murmurs something that sounds like thanks, before settling down.
I round the bed and climb into my side. For all of two seconds, I hesitate before scooting close enough to her that my body heat warms her back. She might not want my touch, but right now she needs it.
As soon as I reach her, she freezes. Ignoring her reaction, I start massaging her lower back, using my thumbs to loosen the knots. A soft moan escapes her lips and she relaxes.
Another wave of cramps assault her and she cries out. Shifting closer, I massage her lower stomach beneath the heating pad. At first, she whimpers in distress.
“Shh, kisa, I’ve got you. Just relax.”
Her pained sounds soon turn to blissful sighs of relief, then contented moans. It’s fucking music to my ears.
I continue massaging her until her breathing slows and she falls to sleep. Being able to sooth her like this warms me with pride. Did I finally do something right? Taking care of her, touching her like this, like no other man ever will again, sends a coil of possessiveness straight through me.
I could use this and other tactics to manipulate her into trusting me, into liking me. But I find that’s not my intention at all. I want to take away her pain. This is something I’m proud to do as her husband.
CHAPTER 19
Arianna
I’m having tea and working on my laptop at the breakfast nook table when Dimitri comes into the kitchen. He grabs some cereal and pours it into a bowl, then opens the refrigerator.
This morning, I woke up to his arm draped over my waist, his soft breath in my ear. It took me a few minutes to convince myself that everything that happened last night was real, and not a dream. Now, I find my emotions surrounding Dimitri in a state of flux.
How can I reconcile the arrogant brute that I know, with that understanding man in bed with me last night? It’s almost like that abandoned child living on the streets split into two completely different adult men—one I loathe, and the other… I don’t know what to make of the glimpses he shows me of his softer side.
The fact remains, he took care of me when he didn’t have to.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, drawing me out of my thoughts. He clears his throat, his gaze not quite meeting mine. “I mean, how are you feeling after last night?”
