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I’m not going to deny it—my first instinct was to think exactly that of him. He’s so quick to exact vengeance against me for something I did in my childhood.
What’s stopping him from taking it out on my daughter, too?
I press warm kisses to her sweet face and snuggle her deeper under the covers. “Shhh, my sweet Willow-tree. We’re not going anywhere right now. You’re safe. And I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mommy.”
We stay like that for a few more minutes, until her eyes drift close and her breath evens. I slowly, carefully pry myself from her bedroom and tiptoe the few yards to my own room, closing the door behind me at molasses speed so the clicking sound doesn’t wake her up.
One day, hopefully, she’ll be a heavier sleeper. But that day probably won’t come until we’re able to stay somewhere long enough for me to hire a therapist for her. Until then, her traumatized little ears pick up on every sound that might meandanger is near—the closing of a door, heavy footsteps on wood floorboards… Even hushed whispers can wake her if they sound aggressive enough.
I wonder if Demyen knows a good child therapist…?
I slap that thought away almost literally. Go to Demyen for help? For mental health, and for my child? AmIlosing my mind?
But then I remember the way he was with her today. So warm, so kind and funny, not an ounce of tension in his body. He took time out of his busy day to sit and talk with her, and even though I have no idea what it was about, I could clearly see the way Willow leaned into him like she felt she could trust him.
And not only did he treat her with kindness and respect, he treatedmewith respect as her mother. None of his overbearing, demanding, overlording assholery made an appearance. He acted like a man teaching a child to respect her mother’s wishes by setting the example.
He acted like a father.
Like the father Willow never had.
The father she deserves.
The realization should bring me to tears, but something else happens instead—my mind wanders to another version of that same thought.
Demyen Zakrevsky, powerful and dangerous leader of Vegas’ underworld.
Father to my children.
It’s a thought that should make me shudder with fear and disgust, but instead, heat blooms deep within my core and flows between my legs.
Demyen, strong and possessive, holding me in his arms as his hands caress the swell of my stomach where he’s filled me with his baby.
Demyen, firm and demanding, whispering in my ear for me to give him what he wants as he presses me into the bed and works himself deep inside me.
I’m standing at the foot of my bed, so I imagine him there. Reclining on the mattress, propped up against the soft stack of pillows like some dark king of the underworld beckoning me to service him.
No—beckoning me tosurrenderto him.
I won’t do that.
I can’t do that.
But for just tonight, for just a little while… I can pretend, can’t I?
42
CLARA
I can pretend, can’t I?
I close my eyes as I slip my dress off, feeling the cool air of the room caress my skin as the fabric pools around my feet. I don’t have a bra to wrestle with. My nipples tighten as they’re stroked by the breeze from the vents. I try to pretend it’s Demyen standing behind me, teasing them to stiffness.
When my hands smooth up my stomach to cup my breasts, it’s Demyen in my mind doing it to me.
When I pinch, then roll, my nipples between my fingers, I can almost feel his calloused fingers instead.
