Page 39
After unpacking, I take a long shower. Afterward, I eat very little. my appetite is almost nonexistent.
Not long after I settle under the covers, the door opens. Roman walks in, still dressed in the same clothes from earlier. He looks a little exhausted.
His eyes land on me. “How are you?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still sore?”
“Where do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Your pussy.”
My mouth falls open. “A little… but no, I’m okay.”
He walks over to the bed. “Let me see.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly shy.
“What did I tell you about being shy with me?” He gently pulls down my pajama pants, spreads my legs, and checks me carefully. “You’re still a little red.”
He reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out a tube of ointment. He spreads it along my entrance and folds. The ointment is ice-cold at first, making me suck in a sharp breath, but his fingers are warm. The contrast feels strangely soothing, and then arousing. My pussy clenches tightly around his fingers.
“Stop,” he warns, voice rough. “If you don’t want me fucking you tonight.”
I almost tell him I want him to fuck me. His eyes meet mine and he smirks. “No. You’re still sore. You need to heal.”
He helps me back into my pajama pants, then says, “It’s best we sleep separately tonight.”
I’m surprised, but I don’t let it show. The last thing I want is to come across as needy. If he’d rather we sleep in separate rooms, then so be it.
“Okay.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
As I lie in the huge bed alone, I wonder if I misread the signs between us.
❦ ❦ ❦
The next two days pass in silence. Roman is nowhere to be found. I don’t see him. I don’t hear from him. It’s as though he’s disappeared.
The first morning, I assume he’s already left for work before I wake up. By the second night, I begin to wonder if he’s avoiding me.
When I ask Sofía if he’s coming home, she gives me an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid Mr. Sokolov has been busy.”
The morning after I arrive in Chicago, one of Roman’s men approaches me in the foyer.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark suit.
“Mrs. Sokolov.” He inclines his head respectfully. “My name is Dmitri. Mr. Sokolov assigned me as your personal security.”
