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He strokes his thumb over my cheek. “We don’t have to keep this secret. Troian will be happy to know in his final days that you’re loved completely and fiercely by a man who will always protect you.”
I nibble my lower lip, considering this. Will Dad be happy, or will he be disgusted by the thought that I’m sleeping with his brother and fret that Kristian is trying to maneuver himself into position as head of the family?
Kristian kisses my forehead. “Something to think about. You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do.”
I’m still imagining Dad’s reaction if I told him the truth, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s said. “Wait, what doesI’ll do what I need to domean? Are you going to cause trouble and upset Dad?”
He shakes his head. “I promised, didn’t I? I haven’t forgotten. Actually, I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I want to do the opposite.”
“What does that mean?”
But he gives me a mysterious smile and goes back to making coffee.
* * *
Kristian’s wordsin his kitchen echo through my mind every day. Sometimes every hour. That Dad would be happy to know that Kristian wants to be with me. I vacillate wildly on this, sometimes picturing Dad breaking into a smile if we tell him we’re together, and sometimes imagining that he has an instant heart attack or aneurysm at hearing the news.
And my feelings? Do I believe that I would be loved, cherished, and protected as Kristian’s lover? Maybe even his wife? Would I feel respected as well as happy? Dad telling me that Kristian was always pushing against boundaries that he set for him haunts me.
The old Kristian was like that.
Is the new Kristian any different?
Kristian.
I adore calling him Kristian.
At first it was only in private, but I found justKristianslipping out at home and in front of our men. Mikhail and the others didn’t blink—it sounds more professional if I call him Kristian—but my brothers and sisters have been giving me strange looks.
Lana asked him if she should start calling him just Kristian too.
“Absolutely not,” he replied.
“Why not? Zenya does.”
“Zenya’s special,” he said, and gave me a smile that made my insides feel like hot syrup and melted butter.
Every time he takes me in his arms and kisses me, pure bliss washes through my body. It would be so easy to carry on just as we are, working together, being lovers in secret, but the answer to one question has the potential to take that decision out of my hands.
Have his baby?
Don’t have his baby?
I don’t know, but for once I just want to live in the moment, and that means reveling in the sensation of Kristian filling me up with his cum as often as he can.
And he does. Every day he finds space in my schedule to drive me to his place and fuck me hard. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. If we don’t have long, we’re frantic about it, not bothering to undress before he shoves me down over the arm of his sofa and thrusts into me. He always takes charge when we have sex, even if I’m on top.
If we have an hour or more, he takes me to his bedroom and goes down on me lavishly, making me come on his fingers and against his tongue. He loves to watch me on top of him, straddling him reverse cowgirl style with one hand on my waist and the other gripping my ponytail. The spot his cock hits in this position makes me see stars, angels, supernovas, and as soon as I’m finished coming he sits up and pushes me face-first into the bed and fucks me hard and deep until he climaxes.
His favorite thing to do is stay lodged deep inside me and then thrust lazily until his cum starts to well up around his length. Then he draws out and gathers it up on his fingers before pushing it all back inside me, murmuring huskily, “That’s my good girl.”
Being told I’m a good girl for laying still with his cum inside me turns me into a puddle all over again. I’m a soft, clingy mess who wants nothing more than to be cuddled and spoiled for the rest of the day and night, but I have to snap myself out of it because I have meetings with Bratva men and orders to give to our men. I work with my thighs sticky with Kristian’s cum, and the man I’m obsessed with glares over my shoulder at any man who dares to come near me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Weeks have gone by and Dad still hasn’t told the kids about his worsening condition and prognosis. It’s his decision and so I keep my mouth shut, but one week turns into two, which turns into four. I keep a close eye on how much pain he’s in. He’ll have to go into a hospice at some point, and it hurts my heart to think he’s suffering just so he can stay with us.
I had a feeling that Lana’s figured out what’s going on when I found her crying behind the laundry door one morning. She pretended to be upset over a bad grade, but two minutes earlier she’d been in Dad’s bedroom. He looks gaunter than ever lately. Our handsome father, turning into a skeleton before our eyes.
Lana deserves some carefree sister time, and on the following Saturday, I take her shopping at all her favorite places. We talk about school, about boys, about who her friends have crushes on. Who she has a crush on.
