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Ayla pulled away first, and she licked her plump lips, tasting me and owning my soul all at the same time. “You taste and smell like cigar. Were you smoking again?”
I shrugged in response, knowing there was no point in lying. I had been caught. I didn’t smoke a lot, not like Viktor. But I’d take a hit every once in a while, especially when the moment demanded it. Like tonight. It was all about the image. The more intimidating you looked, your victims would shake harder in fear.
But even the few times I would smoke, Ayla didn’t like it.
Her hands found my cheeks again, and her thumb swiped at the length of my jaw. “You had blood here,” she murmured.
Fuck.
She met my gaze without flinching, her thumb still unconsciously rubbing my jaw. I loved it when she couldn’t seem to stop touching me. Whenever I was in her vicinity, she was either reaching for my hand, kissing my lips, or cuddling closer into my arms.
She was drawn to me, just like I was to her. She was the flame, and I was the moth, chasing after the light and wanting to conquer it. My Angel had a way of making my heart feel like it would beat right out of my chest.
“Do I want to know what you did tonight?” she questioned.
“No.”
She knew the answer; she knew the real monster that lived under skin of Alessio Ivanshov. And Ayla, my beautiful wife, she looked right into the eyes of the monster and smiled.
I remembered the Ayla of a few years ago, the one I pulled from under my bed. Dirty and scared. She had thought her life would end that night, with my gun pointed at her head.
But things happened.
She happened.
She was no longer that Ayla now. Broken and scared of her own shadows. She was now a Queen, and she wore the crown beautifully, with magnificent strength.
“Who was it?” My stubborn Angel. I gripped her chin with my thumb and finger, tilting her head up, and then I slammed my mouth down to hers.
“Abram,” I confessed between the kiss.
I felt Ayla inhale, her chest holding her breath, and then she released it before she kissed me back, with just as much passion. She latched onto my hair and dug her fingers into my scalp, anchoring me to her as our kisses turned desperate and breathless.
“Are you scared?” Of me…of what I represent…of what I do.
She whimpered into my lips and pulled away long enough to whisper the words, “Do I look scared?”
“Too late to back out now. You wear my ring. You wear my name.”
“I’m not leaving, Alessio,” she said, her words ringing with honesty. “Never leaving you.” My Angel could read me like an open book. She saw my silent fears and she kissed them all away. My chest expanded, and then I released a shuddering breath.
“What are you doing to me, baby?” she whispered. Ayla clutched my shoulders tightly. “You have turned me into someone else…”
I understood her words, her silent confusion.
I was the villain. The bad guy. Not the good type of King. I had done many terrible things that even hell would shy away from my sins.
And Ayla was my wife. She didn’t cower. My sweet angel still held a sweetness. The depth of her still held innocence and a shyness that made her all kinds of endearing. There was only a tiny difference. She now danced with evil. What did that make her?
A fearless Queen.
My hands slid down to her ass. “You are bad bad bad.”
I squeezed the firm globes of her ass. Ayla gasped and then grinned. “I guess I am bad for you.”
“Only for me,” I said, my voice husky and territorial.
Ayla smacked my chest teasingly. “Yes. Now, are we going to shower or not?”
I lathered up Ayla’s body silently, paying careful attention to her juicy tits. They were sensitive and tender now, but I also knew they were her greatest pleasure. I gently tweaked her nipples with my fingers, and she gasped, her back arching slightly.
“Alessio…” My name fell past her lips like a silent prayer. Beautiful.
Realizing that it was too late to be teasing her now and Ayla was probably tired, I abandoned my treasures and moved to her stomach, lathering up the round surface with soap.
Our baby kicked and I fought back a laugh. “Look who is awake,” I announced, tickling the side where the little one just kicked.
Once Ayla was cleaned and she was satisfied enough her tits didn’t smell like vomit and rotten eggs—her words…but I agreed. Breastmilk smelled like shit—I made quick work to clean myself too. After I was done, we stepped out of the shower, and I wrapped a white towel around her before I pulled on one of my black boxers.
Ayla and I rarely slept naked now. Not when we had a toddler who liked to waltz into our bedroom any time she wanted. She owned us, my sweet princess.
