Page 42 of Devil's Vows
“No,” I whisper on a swallow, looking up at him again, shocked by the ease of his seduction, the way he manipulates my body with his voice, his subtle touch, leaving me defenseless. It’s effortless, and I succumb to him as if I were born to it.
To think I’ve been avoiding all thoughts and dreams of intimacy, the horrors of it burned into my mind so long ago now. But Ivan…this…what he’s doing seems to cast a blinding light into the darkness, making me see there could be more, so much more between a man and a woman.
He trails lower, fingers splayed at the top of my chest. My breath catches as he leans down to my ear. He circles his hand around my neck, rushing chills over my body as his thumb rests on my jaw, tilting my head to the side. With one subtle move, he’s opened me up, neck exposed, ready for the sensual invasion of his lips. I’ve never wanted anything more.
“Something to look forward to, or…?”
With him—yes. The warm tease of his breath is such a sudden and intense pleasure as it flows over me, more fire chasing the goosebumps on my skin. I lick my lips as my gaze homes in on his mouth, wishing he’d do it already and break Randazzo’s promise to that Russian for me. Then I can plead innocence, that I was taken advantage of, forced to break my vow under duress.
These thoughts only drag me back over a bed of nails to my truth.
“I don’t know.”
The words simply slip out without me thinking. Kissing is the sweet side; everything else leaves me sour with bile in my mouth. I’ve had night terrors of my first kiss for years, of how itwould probably be. What it would lead to, if it would even happen beforethat man’shands grabbed me, fingers digging into my skin, ruthless, prying me open, leaving bruises. Forcing me, invading me with his body, brutal and painful.
My first time is saved for the man I hate, who has bound me to him with a contract signed by Randazzo—the owner of my body to give away as he pleased. But Randazzo is dead, the contract never honored in his lifetime, and nowthat Russianis hunting me down.
Yet, I’m here, in this moment, with another Russian…
Ivan dips his head, tipping my chin up, staring into my eyes as if he’s looking for an answer to a question I didn’t even know he’d asked. In his gaze, I see how he withdraws, then how he bodily inches away and widens the gap between us.
The way he’s been controlling this encounter—the way he’s been controllingme,with his words, with his fingers holding me at the base of my neck—hits me full in the face.
My inexperience embarrasses me. I’m so naive despite everything I’ve experienced, overprotected and clueless, to the extent where he can manipulate me with a simple, tender touch. I’m not sure what Ivan is expecting of me, or how he wanted me to react, but I feel myself flush, probably a full bouquet of red, from my cheeks to my sex where everything is too hot and wet and bothered.
I am no match for this man. I was never meant to be a match for any man. I was born to serve in whichever way my husband saw fit, and I’ve seen the worst.
As if he reads my mind, seeing there’s no challenge here, he drops his hand away and with a subtle shift of his feet, steps back. I miss his touch immediately, and it does nothing to dilute the tension wound tight between us.
“That’s something to work on, isn’t it,moya ptichka?Your first kiss should be something you look forward to.”
He drags his hands through his hair, gathering the wetstrands, and the movement seems to accentuate every muscle on his arms. He turns away, giving me his sculpted back as he strolls over to the walk-in closet. I have no clue why, but it feels like rejection.
“For now, the gate stands open. If I were you, I’ll make a run for it. Otherwise, you get to sleep here, with us.”
I turn around and flee the room, sensing I’d be clipping my own wings the longer I stay here.
22
IVAN
Something in her eyes made me pause and pull away.
Fear.
Just a tiny flash of it at first, but then more as she went somewhere in her mind that wasn’t pleasant at all. It chilled my blood. The emotions in her eyes—otherwise always so guarded, not giving anything away—were laid bare.
She was experiencing her real core fear, the one we all have, that triggers you in seconds.
Mine is my girls, the intense foreboding of something happening to them, that someone would hurt them, that they’d be ripped from my life just as Milana was repeatedly torn from me as a child when she travelled to Russia with our mom. A fear compounded with the dread that she’d never come back—or even worse, the horror of receiving one of her fingers in the post.
Something triggered Gabriella, and my simple question catapulted her straight into her worst nightmare. For all she grew up in a convent, something happened to her that shouldn’t have happened at all. It’s after all the Catholic Church, and of all the things they have, a sterling reputationwhen it comes to kids isn’t one of them. For all I know, Gabriella Scalera is lying and has been kissed before, and she didn’t like it at all.
It could have been more than a kiss… It could have been?—
And this happening to a girl, or a child… Images of Irisha and Katya flash in my head. They’ll know men one day, good men for sure—when they’re adults. Any time prior, the meaning of it, the mere idea— And now Gabriella, how old was she when?—
I grip the doorjamb with both hands, straining with all my strength to stop myself from striding to her room and demanding to knoweverything. She might essentially be a stranger, but how long does it take to know someone? Some people can live together for years and learn nothing of each other. Others can open the windows to their souls, creating a connection within seconds, giving knowledge and insight that could take decades to tease out of someone else. What I read in her eyes told me everything.
