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“We have to?” I blink.
He nods. “I won’t touch you outside this window, so don’t worry.”
He walks towards me, and I want to push him away and wrap myself in his arms. I’m not worried about him touching me. I’m worried he’ll never touch me the way he did before. That he’ll never caress my body and cherish it the way he did the night after our wedding.
“I don’t want to do this if you’re only doing it because you have to,” I say, stepping away from him. “I’m not some dog you brought here to breed.”
Something sparks behind his eyes, but it isn’t realization or awareness…it’s anger.
He grabs my arm just as I try to turn away and pulls me to him. His pupils are dilated, drowning the green in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I’m scared of him. “No, you’re just a bitch who made me look like a lovesick puppy. My father thinks I’m an idiot.”
“You aren’t an idiot.” I try to pull my arm out of his grip, but he is too strong. “I didn’t trick you, Luka.”
His grip tightens. “Stop saying my name.”
I lower my voice and look into his eyes, pleading. “Luka, please. You have to believe me. I had nothing to do with the attack at the wedding or the Irish mob or any of it.”
He pushes me back against the edge of his desk, his legs pinning my thighs in place. “I never should have trusted you.”
My heart breaks. He trusted me. Luka Volkov, the scariest man I’d ever met, trusted me. He let me in, and now, somehow, his father or the Irish mob or whoever had ruined it. They’d turned him against me, and I didn’t know how to get him back. I didn’t know how to convince him that I was telling the truth. That he should believe me.
He grabs the bottom of my dress and starts to lift, and I push his hand down. He starts to fight with me, and I know I can’t win. But I can remind him of who I am. Of who we are to one another. I’m his wife.
I grab the back of his neck and bring his face to mine. He is surprised, his lips firm and still against mine for a few seconds. I can practically hear him thinking about what to do, but I feel the moment he gives in. His body softens, and his fingers working at my hem go still. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and warmth spreads through me. I kiss him as though my life depends on it. I kiss him with everything I have, trying to convey to him that this has become more than a business deal to me. Not only do I not hate Luka Volkov, but I like him. And over time, I think I could come to love him. Our relationship doesn’t have to be cold and emotionless. It can be better.
His hands wrap around my back side and pull me to the edge of the desk. I can feel his hardness against my thigh, and I move to hook my legs around his hips, but he steps away and slides me all the way off the desk. I barely get my feet under me when Luka grabs my waist and spins me around so I’m facing away from him, palms flat on the desk. He lifts the back of my skirt, and I press my hips out as he unzips and positions himself. He is inside me in one thrust, and I am amazed by how much I missed it. How much I missed him.
I reach around and lay a hand on his thigh, feeling his muscles flex as he thrusts. He presses a hand on my spine, pushing me down on the table surface until my cheek is against the wood. I give myself over to him and the sensation of him inside of me. When his hand slips around my hip and finds my center, I gasp in surprise and relief. Electric shocks jolt down my legs, and my entire body is trembling beneath him.
“Luka,” I moan, pressing my forehead against the wooden desk to try and catch my breath. “Luka, it’s so good.”
His thrusts and finger increase in speed at the same time, and it feels like someone has turned the gravity off. I can no longer feel the floor beneath my feet, and I’m floating and screaming his name, shaking so hard things are falling off his desk. His breathing grows ragged at the same time, and I feel him climax.
I was too wrapped up in him to think about the arrangement. To think about anything other than having his body next to mine. But now I remember: he was trying to make a baby.
He pulls out of me, steps away, and zips up quickly. When I turn around and see his face, I realize I’d misunderstood everything. The sex was not an act of passion for him. His eyes are lifeless marbles in his head, and he can’t even look at me.
“The doctor said our chances are better if you climaxed, too,” he says as an explanation for why he still bothered to make the sex pleasurable.
“Luka,” I whisper, my lower lip trembling. “This isn’t just an arrangement for me. I never wanted to marry that man. He meant nothing to me, but you—”
“I have to go,” he says, tucking his shirt into his pants and running a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back later.”
He leaves me alone in his office, and I fall back against the edge and drop my face into my hands.
19
Eve
I walk straight from his office into the kitchen. I can’t bear going up to my room and sitting alone in the quiet. I need to stay busy.
I need to bake a cake.
The pantry has everything I need for a basic chocolate sponge cake and chocolate buttercream, but I decide to make a raspberry coulis to kick it up a notch. Creaming butter and sugar and measuring out dry ingredients clears my mind the way nothing has for the last week. It allows me to find a place of Zen that I’m in desperate need of, and I’ve never been more grateful to a kitchen in all my life.
Occasionally, when I step too far to reach something in the fridge or move to quickly from the pantry to the island, I feel the memory of him inside of me, still sore from his sheer size, but otherwise, I’m able to push thoughts of Luka from my head.
Until he shows up covered in blood.
