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“Please.” There, at last, was the plea I felt in my soul every time she let me hold her.
She said nothing, and I took her silence for permission. I brought my soapy hands to her chest, one hand lingering around her neck, the other falling to her breast. I cupped her tit and thumbed the nipple, rubbing the sweet-smelling soap into her wet, shiny skin. The feel of her supple breast, wet and soapy in my hand, made me groan.
I dragged her against me, enjoying every inch of her wet skin against mine. Her bare ass pressed against my hard on, and I gently thrust myself up the length of her crack before dropping a soapy hand to myself, lubing it up.I pushed between the tops of her thighs, nestling my hardness along her firm folds, and gently thrust in and out. She shuddered as I angled my hips so the crown of my length rubbed her clit every time. Her tight thighs trembled around me, and I knew I could come like this without even being inside her.
My hands roamed her chest, tweaking her nipples, and dipping to her center as my heavy cock dragged back and forth against her. She was panting, soft breathy sounds that held my name and undid me every time. She arched her back against me, wanting more, and I pushed her forward to brace my arm on the tile to pick up speed. I could slip inside her right now, and she would welcome me, but it felt too good like this. I was hurtling toward my orgasm and dropped my hand to her clit to rub at her furiously, making sure she followed me over the edge.
She stiffened first, and my name echoed off the shower walls as her thighs tightened, threatening to cut off my blood supply. I followed seconds later, bursting against her skin in ropes of white. I pumped between her thighs a few more times until I was spent and turned her to me. The curls of her mound were dotted with my spend, and it was fucking beautiful. She was still breathing hard when I directed the shower toward us and cleaned her. Rubbing my fingers gently through the scant hair there, and then between her legs, I washed the evidence of me off her and she let me.
She took a trembling sigh, and I could sense her pulling away. The strange, wordless spell that had fallen over us was close to breaking.
I grabbed the soap again and took her hand. Squeezing some onto her palm, I took her hand and placed it on my chest.“Your turn.” My voice sounded hoarse.
She blinked at me, looking younger than ever, vulnerable and utterly gorgeous in the falling water. Her eyes lowered to my chest, and her hand started to move, spreading suds across my skin. She soaped me thoroughly, and I glowed under her touch.
There was one place she wouldn’t touch, and it seemed to burn. I grabbed her hand before she turned away and placed it over my heart, against her name written there forever, twin to the word inked on my soul.
Molly’s.
She held her palm against it for a moment, her wrist trapped in my grip. We stared at each other, heartbeats counting the still moments. Molly was letting me have her body, but she was keeping her heart from me. I got it. She didn’t trust me, and she had every reason, but I wouldn’t let her hide from me for too long.
I loosened my grip, and her hand stayed there, pressed against my skin for precious seconds. Then she blinked, and her shoulders tensed. Her hand dropped, and she turned away. It was like being pushed back out into the cold when you’d only just come in beside the fire.
She got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her, and walked away.
And I let her go.
16
MOLLY
Istood on the street and turned my face up to the spring sunshine. It was a beautiful day in the city, and I was out for once. I was going to enjoy every moment. Max had stopped the car on a quiet, tree-lined street where cherry blossoms drifted lazily past my face. It reminded me of the time Kirill had taken me shopping for decent clothes to wear in public after visiting Mara in a nursing home outside the city.
How hopeful I’d felt then, when I’d asked him if he was getting married, and he’d denied it. I wished that was the worst thing he’d kept from me.
“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked my bodyguard.
Today, he was accompanied by four others. I felt like a celebrity and hated every second as we walked toward a boutique. It wasn’t clear if they were there to protect me, or to keep me from bolting.
“Shopping. Come on in. Kirill’s on his way,” Max said, ushering me toward the shop. Tension clutched my insides at the idea of seeing Kirill. It was always like this lately. I was annoyed, excited, resentful, and faintly embarrassed about the night before. Maybe it was hormones, but it was exhausting to feel so much all the time.
“I don’t need any new clothes,” I pointed out.
Kirill had surprised me with the clothes. I wondered if the wardrobe upgrade, like him pulling out every time we slept together, was an unspoken apology. It was very Kirill of him to buy me a few nice outfits and dedicate the entire side of his enormous dressing room to every piece of designer fashion an aspiring mob wife could dream of. Except I wasn’t a mob wife. I was the woman he kept locked in the glass goldfish bowl at the top of the city.
Today, I wore dark jeans tucked into knee-high riding boots in a soft, gleaming chestnut color. They were Prada, and I was in love with them. It had been a very long time since I’d had clothes I loved and wanted to wear.
Over the top, I wore a cashmere wrap coat and had tucked my nearly waist-length white-blonde hair into a neat bun. I felt elegant as I followed Max into the upscale boutique. Another first. In my adult life, I had never felt elegant in my second-hand clothes and bargain finds. I’d never had the money to waste on clothes. It was good to face the snooty looking assistants in an enviable outfit. I liked to pretend I was above caring, but it would be a lie.
“Good afternoon. Mrs. Chernov,” one of the assistants purred, coming forward with a crocodile-like grin. Bitch smelled money in the air.
“No!” I protested at the same time as a deep voice spoke from the doorway.
“Yes, this is her.”
I whirled to see Kirill entering the shop with a coterie of black-suited men flanking him. I wondered what the hell the sales assistants thought of this man who had as much private security around him as a Saudi prince, but they barely batted an eye. He settled himself on a velvet couch in the waiting area, channeling that princely energy, waiting for a show.
A small assistant with a big smile floated toward me with a tray holding two champagne flutes. She offered one to me with a smile. I shook my head, turning away to avoid Kirill’s eyes as he also waved her off.
