Page 46 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

One hard stroke, her body, already wet and greedy for more, took him straight to the hilt. He filled her with every inch of his cock until his balls were seated again damp, shivering skin. Her head tilted back, and a breathy laugh echoed from Vera when one of his hands cupped the front of her throat. His other hand pressed the small of her back down until her stomach was flat against the mattress.

With his feet planted on either side of her legs, he could get good and deep. Every pump of his hips came harder and harder until those whines of hers were a constant crescendo of moans that he wouldn’t soon forget. Vera made beautiful music when he fucked her.

He couldn’t hold her tight enough. Couldn’t get enough of her skin against his. There just wasn’t enough to go around—not of her smell, the way she looked under him, or how just being like this with her was more than enough to almost make him forget about the constant ache deep in the base of his skull. He swore the faster and deeper that he took Vera, every slap of his body against hers started to match the thump-thump-thump of pain in his head.

He could deal with it like this.

Didn’t mind it as much.

“Oh, my God,” he heard her mumble into the bedsheets.

Sweat slicked down her spine.

She clenched all around him.

Vaslav put a bit more weight behind the next flex of his hips; and he knew in that moment he’d been right. He could feel every single flutter of her inner walls and the way her muscles milked him the closer she came to her orgasm.

The thoughts of his pain were already a distant memory. Life had given him something far better to enjoy for the moment.

*

“Vas, did you hear me?”

“As hot as you can stand it,” he called back.

The answer to her question on the temperature for the shower she promised to share with him must have satisfied Vera as the next thing he knew, the sound of rushing water spilled out from the attached master bath.

He should have followed her right in. Had she been a little more observant, Vera would have realized there wasn’t actually that much of a mess on the bed for him to clean. A pile of sheets in the corner that Mira could wash and dry later. Nothing terrible.

The few minutes gave him time to think, however. Or rather, time to make a phone call. One he didn’t particularly want Vera being privy to if he could help it. Not because he thought she would use it against him at a later date, either. He simply didn’t want her to have to deal with his mother.

Not yet.

Early morning wasn’t exactly the best time to call his mother, but he didn’t care about her preferences when it came to him. Not to mention, he couldn’t think of a single alcoholic that could manage to drag themselves, coherently, from a bed before seven.

Nonetheless, he stepped out of the bedroom and into the sitting room of the master suites as he dialed Natalia’s familiar number. His mother wasn’t the type to pick up on the first or second ring. He’d also added her contact to his block list in his cell phone so that by some chance she did manage to get ahold of his new personal cell number, he’d already been ahead of the issue.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t call her.

It would also come up private.

After the sixth ring, he started to think the call might go to voicemail, but then he remembered that the last time the bill came in, he’d ordered Mira to remove every extra thing from his mother’s side of things. Including her voicemail, call waiting, and extra data just because he had been feeling extra spiteful that day.

So, he didn’t hang up.

Vaslav let the phone keep ringing.

He’d come to stand at the windows overlooking the front property, giving him a good view of the entire yard, and the hill all the way down to the towering lilac trees and the gate at the very bottom. His mother picked up the phone after what felt like more minutes than he would consider acceptable for anyone else expecting a call from him.

Even if she hadn’t been expecting it.

That didn’t really matter.

“D-da, da—chto ty khochesh'?”

Vaslav chuckled, and silence fell over the line. “Is that anyway to pick up a call from your only son, Natalia?”

A phlegmy cough answered his question, and he swore he heard a piece of furniture squeak on the other end of the call. “Vaslav?”