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I let him fuck me. Ibeggedhim to fuck me.
I closed my eyes, panting, and wondered if my heart could ever forgive me.
Chapter Thirteen
Elia
The next morning, I woke alone. For a moment I looked around the room, attempting to get my bearings. Then it all came crashing back.
The wedding. My husband. The sex.
There was a soreness between my legs that wasn’t there yesterday, but it didn’t hurt.
It was unusual. I threw back the covers, stepped onto the rug, and stretched, looking out over the Chicago River. It was a lovely day, one that I would have already taken full advantage of with a run through the park or early morning coffee with Lana if I were still in New York.
But I was in Chicago now. All the familiar sights and sounds, my usual haunts, no longer existed.
I had nothing here except my husband. And he too was missing.
Tamping down the loneliness, I cleaned up in the bathroom and changed into a comfortable set of clothing that I found in the wardrobe. The wardrobe was well stocked. Everything from expensive designer dresses to high-end workout clothing. There was also a ton of skimpy lingerie in every color, all my size.
All for the wife of a Bratva Pakhan, and the mother of his future heir.
Looking down at my hand, I turned it in the light so that the diamonds sparkled. No one could deny that it wasn’t a lovely ring, one that any girl would have swooned to wear. But me? I knew it didn’t mean anything other than the fact that it tied me to Aleksey.
With a sigh, I dropped my hand. I couldn’t hide for the rest of my life. It was time for me to face my husband and figure out what the rest of my life was going to be like.
I was a Tarallo, regardless of what my last name was now. I was stronger than this.
I had to be.
I walked through the hallway to the open living room and kitchen, taking in the minimalistic look that had become popular right now. Silver appliances belied a coldness that seemed to suck away all warmth from the space. My eyes drifted to an espresso coffee maker on the granite countertop.
Thank God.
Walking over to the coffee maker, I plucked a cup from the nearby rack and placed it under the spout, pressing a few buttons to get it started.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I whirled around to find Aleksey standing there, dressed in a full suit. My heart skipped at the sight, and memories of last night came rushing back.
“I’m just,” I stammered. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?”
He braced his hands on the island. “I’ve already had my cup. But thank you for the offer.”
It was the most civil that we’d been since our paths officially crossed. My eyes wandered down his body, remembering what I had touched last night. Naked, he had been like a Greek god. But in a suit? Something about the way the finely tailored fabric outlined every sharp angle of his body commanded my attention. I felt my own desires slowly peek up deep within me, and without realizing, I bit my bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t enough, was it?”
Dammit, I was blushing! Thankfully, the coffee completed its cycle, and it gave me the distraction I needed to turn away from him before I said something self-incriminating.
“There’s creamer in the fridge,” he said. “And sugar in the cabinet above you.”
“I—thanks,” I muttered, deciding that it would probably be a better idea for me to suffer through drinking plain black coffee this morning. “Where are you going?”
“I have a meeting with my uncle to discuss the future of my Bratva,” Aleksey replied when he came around the island. “You are not a prisoner here, Elia. You are free to come and go as you please.”
“Within these walls? As long as I have a guard?” I finished for him. I knew the drill. I knew that he might promise me freedom, but there was no way in hell that he’d actually let me roam free. My father never did. Why would my husband be any different?
