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Wrapping my arms around his neck, I roll my hips to urge him on. He clenches his teeth, trying to hold still when I pull him deeper with my inner muscles.
“Katerina,” he warns.
I lift my hips, taking him faster and breaking his pace.
He lets loose with a growl. Pinning my waist to the mattress with his large hands, he keeps me still and pounds into me with a harsher rhythm. With every thrust, the breath leaves my lungs. The roughness is delicious, taking me to the crescendo I crave.
He punches his hips until his face contorts into a mask of tormented pleasure. Raggedly, he orders, “Come for me one more time, kiska.”
The sensual sound of his accent washes over my ears. The musky smell of man and sex intoxicates my senses. The connection between us is more than a joining of our bodies. It goes deeper than the heat that coils through my insides, but the pleasure momentarily overpowers all else as my body erupts into flames. The fire incinerates everything, burning away the barriers and protection around my heart, leaving me open, vulnerable, and susceptible to Alex Volkov’s loving.
Because it is love, but only on a physical level. Even in the midst of mind-blowing sex, I’m lucid enough to understand how this works. I told him I was falling in love with him. He never reciprocated the words. His declaration is to empty his seed in my body, pumping until he’s dry and I’m dripping with his release. It’s a stamp of possession in the most primitive of ways, an instinctive act of a male leaving his mark.
Panting, I internalize the thoughts that take over as the sensations subside. I’m falling for him a little more every day. The web draws tighter, and like a trapped fly, I’m stuck here with nowhere to go. I have no way to protect myself from being consumed. Alex, on the other hand, doesn’t have to suffer that sensation of slow suffocation. He already owns me wholly. He has me right where he wants me.
In his bed.
In Russia.
Pushing up onto one arm, he brushes the hair from my face. His voice is soft. “You’re quiet.”
“Exhausted,” I reply honestly.
He searches my eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“That we didn’t use protection.”
“You’re on the pill.”
“Yes, but still.”
“We’re both clean.”
I blow out a breath. “I know.” It just seems more intimate and risky. It’s a commitment without the safety net of love.
He gives me a surprised look. “You want to go off the pill?”
“No,” I exclaim. “Of course not.”
“Because if that’s what you want—”
“It’s hardly a subject up for discussion.”
His eyes narrow minutely. “You’re right. This isn’t the moment. We should wait until after I’ve dealt with Stefanov.”
What? Does he seriously think my refusal is only about the threat on our lives? Pushing away from him, I sit up. “I need a shower.”
“Later.” He catches me around the waist and drags my back to his chest. “I’ll wash you myself, I promise. Stay like this for a while.”
“I’ll soil the sheets.”
“Fuck the sheets. I like the idea of my cum inside you.” Pressing a kiss to my ear, he whispers, “Way too much.”
The implications of his words make me tense. I’m already a prisoner, not only of Alex but also of my own heart. I won’t become a prisoner in blood too.
He curves his body around mine, trapping me in a comfortable but dangerous cocoon. We breathe in tandem while our hearts beat with different tunes. The darkness envelops us as he reaches over and closes the bed curtains.
We lie like that for a long time, awake and slumbering, at peace and at war. We’re on the same side but at opposite ends of the spectrum. Even the arms he folds around me are a contradiction in terms. Depending on the perspective I choose, he’s either imprisoning me or keeping me safe.
In truth, it’s both.
He tightens his hold, pulling me closer, and I lay my hand over his where he cups my breast. Neither of us says the words the other wants to hear.
13
Alex
The gnawing worry is always present in the back of my mind, even in my sleep, but I wake feeling a little more at ease. The reason is the woman I’m spooning from behind, the woman I’ll give my life to protect. Her close proximity calms me. As long as her slender body is pliant and warm against mine, no one can touch her. In the circle of my arms, no one can harm her.
Already hard, my cock rests snugly against the crease of her ass. For a moment, I fantasize about an ass wank, as dirty as the idea may seem, but I wore her out last night. The stress of our fucked-up situation is a lot for a delicate, kind-hearted woman to handle. The filth of the world hasn’t desensitized her conscience, the way it has mine. She’s like the angel on my parents’ grave, a compassionate innocent who saves lives without asking questions. The hell I dragged her into is no doubt exhausting on both a physical and emotional level. She needs her rest.
