But I didn’t brace myself for a hit, didn’t expect pain from my disobedience and putting my foot in my mouth, speaking my mind and my opinion. Instead Nikolai lifted his hand and cupped my cheek, staying silent for so long I didn’t know if he’d ever respond.
“I am who I am.” His words were finally spoken after long moments, his voice low, almost distant in tone. “I’m not a good man.” He’d been previously looking at my lips and slowly trailed his gaze up to my eyes, his hand still on my cheek, his thumb sweeping gently under my eye. “But you’re the only good thing I’ve ever had in my life.”
I sucked in a short breath and then held it in.
“Don’t you know I’d never hurt you? Don’t you know I’d never let anyone ever harm you again.” His eyes flashed fire and ice, his voice a balm that soothed my battered soul.
I knew he was referring to my father and I got emotional over it.
“Hey now,” he crooned and brushed an errant tear from my cheek. “You save those tears for when I’m fucking you and you’re begging for more.”
My heart was pounding so hard it was painful, threatening to burst through my ribs. How could I hate this man? How could I loathe what he did when he said things like that, when he protected me above all else.
“Nikolai…”
“Tell me you’re mine. Only mine.” His gaze was back on my lips and I wet them, my throat feeling tight, dry. My pussy was soaking wet, and I clenched my thighs together, a little needy sound leaving me.
“I’m yours.” The words were breathless, and as I watched his nostrils flare, his eyes spark fire once more, I knew what was going to happen. I knew he was going to take me fast and hard, brutal and unforgivable.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Amara
“Easy, baby.”
Nikolai’s voice soothed me and I glanced over at him as the car that had picked us up from the airstrip stopped in front of my childhood home. Even after only being gone for less than a week, staring at the massive two-story structure made me feel nothing but empty hollowness.
It didn’t feel like home. Not anymore. Not when I felt alive for the first time being with Nikolai. He gave me that genuine feeling, that sensation that I actually belonged somewhere.
The sun started to set and I was thankful that we wouldn’t be here that long. Dinner, Nikolai and my father speaking, and then hopefully we’d be able to plan for Claudia to come stay with us.
Thinking she’d be able to come back with us tonight was wishful thinking, and something I wasn’t holding onto hope for.
I wasn’t surprised that the front door wasn’t opening for us automatically, even though I knew everyone was aware we’d arrived. The way we left last time had no doubt put a toxic wall between us. I’m sure my father hated me even more than he already had.
And the fact he didn’t welcome us, didn't have staff there to greet us, showed me as much. In his eyes I was not welcome here as family.
Maybe Nikolai felt my physical reaction, because my muscles certainly felt like they constricted at the thought. He smoothed his hand up and down the length of my spine, murmuring something in Russian, something I couldn’t understand because it was so soft. But it sounded sweet, encouraging even.
Nikolai brought his knuckles down on the front door. Three hard, almost aggressive raps that almost had my lips twitching. He was in full alpha mode it seemed. He wanted to fight my battles, and I wasn’t ashamed enough to not welcome it. I might be strong in several aspects of my life, but when it concerned Marco Bianchi, I’d take all the help I could get.
And who was going to turn down help from Nikolai Petrov, head of the Bratva?
After thinking that, I turned and looked up at him, his dark hair catching the sun and appearing to have an almost blue tint to it. His profile was so masculine I felt my ovaries explode. Square jaw, full lips, severe blue eyes, and dark scruff covering his cheeks.
Just as he turned and looked down at me, our eyes catching and holding, the front door opened. I forced myself to look away from my husband and saw the wait staff standing on the other side, head bowed low, refusing to meet our gaze.
I didn’t recognize her, but then again over the years we’d had a revolving door of servants thanks to my father getting displeased with any and all small annoyances he had with them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Petrov,” the servant said in a soft voice, sweeping her arm out to allow us entrance.
Nikolai ushered me to go first, his hand on the center of my back, as he followed me inside. The door shut behind us and the servant gestured for us to go to the sitting room.
Once at the entrance, I saw my mother standing over by the bar mixing a drink, and Claudia sitting on the leather couch with her head lowered and her hands in her lap. She was wearing an elegant gown, something you wouldn’t normally see for a family dinner.
My mother heard us enter and looked over her shoulder, her smile instant, but when she took in my appearance that pleasantness faded.
I wasn’t dolled up like they were, in fact I wore a pair of soft leggings and a cashmere tunic. But my mother’s mask of social pleasantry fell back into place and she set her glass down before turning fully around and walking toward me.
She embraced me but even I felt like it was stiff, and that pain of hurt and realization settled in my chest.
Once again my father was twisting my mother up, turning her against her own children. I vowed silently I would never be like this, never allow a man to control how I acted and thought, how I felt, no matter how much I feared him.
Those days were done.
“It’s so good to see you, Amara.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled, wanting the mother I’d known as a child to come back, the one who nicknamed me Sparrow not that long ago. The woman looking at me wasn't a mother admiring her daughter.
It was of a woman who was looking at someone she might pass on the street.
And God, that hurt more than anything else.
She pulled back, her hands curled around my shoulders as she smiled at me. “Married life suits you. You’re glowing.”
I found a flush stealing over my face as I thought about exactly where this “glow” came from, and it wasn’t because of nuptials. And as if Nikolai knew where my thoughts were, the hand that was still resting in the center of my back flexed.
It was as if we were both thinking about what we’d done in the private jet just a couple hours before, how he’d pulled down my leggings, hooked my legs over either side of the armrest of the leather seat, and ate me out until I came twice.
I cleared my throat and willed myself to stop blushing. I gave my mother what I hoped was a polite smile. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. But thankfully she turned her attention on Nikolai, cutting off the weird energy that moved between us.
“Mr. Petrov, a pleasure.”
He gave her a tight-lipped smile and said, “Oh no, Fernanda. Call me Nikolai. We are, after all, family now.”
The look my mother gave him was one of surprise, but there was something else, something that subtly screamed right in your face that she’d never see him as family. That, right there, the clouded hatred in her blue eyes, was reminiscent of my father looking through her.