Page 94 of Lord of the Underworld

"All the things that you couldn't give to yourself," I muse, my respect growing for this woman who was willing to let everyone see her as a silly society matron, obsessed with how things looked. In reality, she's far more cunning 1than her husband ever was. “Should you ever tire of Moscow weather," I say, "you will always be welcome at our home."

She waves her hand dismissively. "It's not good to be a mother-in-law imposing on newlyweds," she says. "But thank you. Perhaps, a summer home nearby?"

Rising from my chair, I bow my head respectfully, holding it for a moment before meeting her gaze. "Thank you for the honor of protecting your daughter. Of loving her."

"We should have a chess game soon, you and I," Sofia says with the slightest hint of a grin.

"Anytime you like, Sofia Vasilieva." I kiss her hand and leave her in her sunny little greenhouse.

Epilogue

In which we learn that when you’ve ‘christened’ all the rooms in your house, you have to get creative.

Oksana…

Back in Chicago…

Vadim watches me in amusement as I do an ungainly little hop and skip, charging ahead of him towards the stables.

"I've missed you, baby, so much," I croon to my sweet Zlo, and then to Charon, who's come to accept me as one of the two or three people that he won't bite. "Yes, I brought Daddy home, too," I say, lovingly stroking his neck.

"I am not his daddy," Vadim says. He's leaning against the gate and he's holding a riding crop, tapping it against his boot. The light in the stable shimmers across his blinding blue eyes, and he has that curve, just one tiny curve, at the corner of his mouth.

Gaze darting to the crop, and back up to him, I put my hand on my hip, attempting to look saucy. "Oh, really?" I purr. "Are you my daddy?" I flutter my lashes, and he gives me a grin. Beautiful, and open, and I feel such a surge of happiness that I almost do the ungainly hop-skip thing again.

Putting the crop back on the shelf, he says, "We might use that another day." He swiftly saddles Charon. As I'm picking up Zlo's tack, he stops me. "Will you ride with me?"

Looking down at my sweater and skirt, I shrug. "Only if it's riding dressage." Sliding deftly into his saddle, Vadim reaches down and scoops his arm around my waist. "Well, then!" I yelp as he pulls me up abruptly. He settles me across his thighs, making sure the saddle horn isn't digging into my thigh.

"Comfortable?" he asks.

I'm busy snuggling in and enjoying the feel of him. "Very much so," I say, my ass settling against his thigh. I'm always amazed that for a man with a demeanor as chilly as Vadim's, his body can be so blazingly hot.

It's mid-March, and while we'd be waist-deep in snow in Moscow, nearly all of it has melted from the forest trails here. It's still cold enough to not be muddy, which is really the perfect combination.

He keeps a sedate pace at first, then with a glance at me, picks up the speed into a gallop. I laugh wildly, clinging to him tightly. With his grip around my waist, I hardly bounce. The air is sharp with the scent of pine, and the sun is almost blinding. I remember how passionately he'd talked about horses when we were trapped in those cells, and now feeling his joy, galloping on Charon is almost too much happiness to hold.

Finally slowing back to a trot, we come to a section of trail I haven't seen before. The tall pines and the red cedar trees cluster around a small clearing, and the foliage is so thick overhead that no snow has fallen here.

"Are you cold?" he asks, his hands curving over my hips.

"No, though of course it's possible the weather will change in the next thirty seconds," I say. "This is, after all, Chicago."

"Good," he says this with that dangerous half smile still very much present. "I've missed having you here. It always feels less constricted, doesn't it?"

"I feel it too," I agree, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Here- at home, at least - you get to be more of yourself. You don't have to be a Turgenev." I say it in a deep, rumbling voice that earns me a rumble of a chuckle from him.

"Of course, when I fuck you, it's always spectacular wherever we are," he says. I can feel him getting harder against my right butt cheek. I lean back a bit.

"Um, are you thinking about doing it here?" I ask, looking at the frozen ground.

"Oh, I won't be putting you down," he says. I let out a startled yelp as his hands go to my hips and he pulls me up, swinging my leg over the saddle so I'm straddling him. Now I can feel the full effect of his swelling cock pushing against his jeans. My skirt is awkwardly hiked up, my legs dangling, but I instantly forget how I look when he rolls my hips hard against his crotch. A long, slow move that makes my hands tighten on his shoulders.

"I don't know how you're going to pull this off. I mean…" My concerns don't seem as important as he kisses down my neck.

"We've christened every inch of the house," he says. "Both here and in Moscow. So, it's time for some creative thinking."

I giggle like a schoolgirl, high, and maybe a bit apprehensive as I realize his intentions. He pulls my skirt up and slides his big, warm hand against the lace of my underwear, rubbing against my clitoris.