Page 118 of Devil's Vows
When I wake up, I’m immediately plagued by an empty nightstand—no more Bible, no more fairy tales, only the harsh reality of an aborted marriage—and the memory of that Russian’s voice, which seemed to infiltrate my dreams, turning them into nightmares.
Ivan’s side of the bed is empty, and not slept in. So much for a wedding night.
I struggle up as little girl voices sound down the corridor.
“Softly,malyshki,” Ivan warns. “Gabi’s still sleeping.”
Not anymore, but he’s allowed me to sleep in and that says everything.Ivan. I don’t know what to make of the man.
“I’m awake,” I call out.
A quick knock sounds, and the door flings open. Two little bodies pile into the room and onto the bed.
“Gabi!” Irisha is clambering onto me, Katya hot on her heels. Ivan presses the button for the shutters, and they rattle open.
I gather the girls in my arms and kiss the crown of their heads as light spills into the room.And yet you would become a mother to my girls and leave?God knows how deeply those wordsstung. Irisha and Katya don’t deserve any of this. Whatever happens next, these girls will be my magnetic center, and I will focus my energy on making sure they’re cared for…until I get to leave…or die…whichever comes first.
Ivan doesn’t come in but stands in the doorway and shoves his hands into his pants pockets as he leans against the doorjamb. He’s dressed for work, so I suppose we’re back to business as usual. Except, I have business to deal with, too: Chiara.
“I’ll be at home, working in my office today.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting me sleep in,” I say softly.
For listening last night and giving me a chance to talk. For not throwing me in a cellar to rot away. For not forcing me…raping me as he could have. For being gentle, and caring, and in all this a perfect gentleman, even if he is a Bratva Pakhan with blood on his hands.
He walks into the room, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. It’s unexpected and sweet, and my heart starts to thump in my chest at his caress. He smells fresh, all toothpaste and shower gel, whereas sleep is still stamped on every part of me.
Heaven help me, but Iwantthis man. All of him. Even after everything I disclosed and the truth that’s spread out between us now, Iwanthim with every female longing in my body. Our marriage might be a business arrangement, but I dread acknowledging that for me, already, it’s more.
He brushes his lips along my cheek to my temple and whispers in my ear. “You’re welcome.” He inhales softly, and with a barely audible groan, pulls away, but I catch his hand.
“Ivan.” I glance up at him, knowing if I don’t push my case, it might fall through the cracks.
“Yes?”
“Last night, when I told you about my friend, Chiara?—”
“Yuri is already on it. If there is anything to find out, his network will.”
“Okay. I—” I don’t know what to say. Despite everything, he is putting my needs first. “Thank you.”
He nods. “Come, girls, we’ll go down for breakfast and give Gabi time to have a shower and so on.” With a wink to me, he picks Katya up and has her perched on his shoulders in two seconds. “Take your time. And yes, Irisha, you’ll have your turn on my shoulders.”
Irisha is clambering off the bed, and soon, my room is emptied of little girls and one big man whose silent instruction was clear:feel free to touch yourself, moya ptichka, you’re no longer in the convent here.
I drop back onto my pillows and stare at the ceiling, in awe he could turn up desire in my body with a simple kiss and a few choice words. Sexually starved, he’d called himself,and not the only one.
With a sigh, I get out of bed, stretch, and go to the bathroom for my morning routine. The memory of Ivan taking a shower here spills into my mind, and my arousal streams through my veins, hitting my core where I finally feel myself awaken after a very long slumber. I’m no longer a convent girl and have bloomed into something in my time here I don’t recognize: a wanton woman who would spread her legs for her husband at any time, but I’m not sure he wants me.
Not after last night and everything that transpired. And Darya?—
I can’t think of his first wife; I don’t like how that ended. Instead, I home in on the streaks on the shower’s glass walls, where Ivan left his mark.Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus…
I strip my pajamas and step into the shower, not taking my eyes off the squirts of semen that had run down the wall like fatty raindrops, drying right there for me to claim. What wouldit have been like if these had rained into my mouth, onto my tongue? What would he have tasted like…?
