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He lifted his hand and ran his thumb along his bottom lip and I could see a smear of blood on the pad. He looked down at it, then dragged his tongue over the digit, licking at that blood.
I lifted my hand and touched my mouth, feeling the soreness on my lip. He reopened that wound he's given me on our wedding night, broke open the seal so I spilled into his mouth, so he took a part of me into himself.
It was insanely animalistic, wholly primal.
For long seconds he didn’t say anything, just stared at me, and I allowed myself to look down the length of his body and saw the massive erection he sported behind his slacks.
He reached down and ran his palm over the hard ridge, causing my breath to catch.
“This is going to be a bitch to drive with.” I couldn’t help it. A bubble of laughter slipped out of me and I pressed a hand over my mouth. Nikolai smirked and I felt the lightness settle over my shoulders.
“You need to smile more. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” The last part was so low I didn’t know if I’d heard him correctly.
Who would’ve thought he could joke.
He walked up to me, smoothed his thumb along my cheek, and leaned down to give me the sweetest, softest kiss along my forehead.
And with a harsh breath he turned and left, shutting the front door behind him and leaving me there to sag against the wall and catch my bearings.
Or try to at the very least.
21
Amara
Nikolai led us toward the restaurant with a steady hand on the small of my back. I tightened the shawl around me, the blistering wintry air picking up and ruffling my hair along my shoulders.
Most of my clothing from back home had come that afternoon, boxes of clothing and personal effects that once I started going through them, they didn’t feel likemeanymore.
I’d have to take Nikolai up on his offer to go into Manhattan and get an entire new wardrobe. I’d waved off the suggestion, but after looking at all the clothing I’d brought from home, all the items that my father had to approve before I’d been allowed to wear it, now seemed toxic.
And as I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at all the clothing I’d pulled out, Nikolai had come into the master suite, as if he’d read my mind, and handed me a white box wrapped in a blood red ribbon.
Inside that box had been what I was currently draped in. A gorgeous full-length dress that seemed far too fancy to eat ata restaurant in Desolation, thigh-high stockings, silky garters, delicate—intimate—undergarments, and high heels definitely not made for winter.
And as I’d looked at myself in the mirror dripped in lacy black decadence my husband had picked for me, items that were new and strange and never something I’d pick out for myself because it was far too sexy and showed off my curves, I felt more like myself than I ever had.
Nikolai held the door toVasyli’sopen for me and I glanced up at him through the fall of my lashes to give him a smile. Although he didn’t return the gesture, I saw the heat behind those blue irises as he blatantly checked me out right there on the sidewalk, right there where the patrons could see.
Once we were inside, the door shut soundless behind us and the soft hum of conversation filled the interior. Diners stopped their chatter to glance at us. I didn’t miss how the women eyed Nikolai with interest, whereas the men swallowed and quickly looked away.
The restaurant couldn’t be called anything but authentic Tsar inspired Russian, with traditional Eastern European music playing softly overhead, a Russian flag proudly displayed on one of the walls, and a very imperial royalty atmosphere.
I was so busy looking at the very traditional and culturally aesthetic Russian theme, that I didn’t realize we were moving again until I felt Nikolai’s palm once again settle on my lower back as we were led to a booth in the back by an older man with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes.
Once we got to the table, the older gentleman, who introduced himself as Akim, took one of my hands in both of his and brought it to his wrinkly face, giving my knuckles a soft kiss and murmuring something in Russian.
And then he was gone and Nikolai was gesturing for me to take my seat first before he joined me in the spot beside where I sat.
We didn’t have to wait long for someone to come by and bring a bottle of wine. They showed it to Nikolai and when he gave a small nod the waiter poured a small sample into a wine glass. After a taste test and Nikolai’s approval, both our glasses were filled and we were left alone once again.
I noticed there were no menus but I didn’t question it when the first courses were brought out, as if the chef and staff dropped everything to cater to Nikolai.
I'd never had authentic Russian cuisine before, but with every dish that was presented and a small description by Akim personally, I felt like I’d traveled to a foreign, faraway place and was experiencing firsthand his Mother Country.
I realized, as the minutes passed and I became lighter, more relaxed, that I'd been tense, almost expecting this awkwardness, this uncomfortableness to fill the space. This was our first date.Myfirst date. But as Akim initiated so much of the conversation, telling me snippets of his life when he was a child in Russia, and how his mother and grandmother made these dishes, I grew comfortable. I laughed genuinely at his jokes, blushed at his compliments, and felt Nikolai’s gaze on me intently the entire time.
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, with me savoring each and every dish that was brought out, and I got to the point where I didn’t mind Nikolai’s intense gaze on me. In fact, I felt flushed and heated every time I looked over and his gaze lingered on my mouth as I brought the fork or spoon, or even a cup to my lips.
