I moan and hiccup, moan again. He begins to pick up speed fucking my ass, pushes in deeper, pulls out farther. Everything feels good. Stretchy, full, but good.
Ravil fucks my pussy with the cone of his fingers put together, and I cry out, needing desperately to come.
“Not yet,” Ravil warns.
“Please. Oh please, oh please, oh please. I need to come now. Stop. More! Oh God.”
Ravil’s breath grows erratic. I open my eyes to watch him, watch his passion take over his face, watch him lose control.
His fingers tighten on my hip, the ones in my pussy falter.
He makes a choking sound then shouts as he shoves in deep. He lets out a stream of Russian that sounds like praise. Maybe gratitude.
I don’t come. I don’t know—it feels too weird with his cock in my ass, but then he pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy some more, and my legs thrash as I come all over his fingers, my anus almost painfully tight around his cock.
“Ahh-ah!” he groans. He leans over and kisses my shoulder. “That’s an apology,” he says with satisfaction when he straightens.
I let out a puff of laughter and watch him as he eases out. He helps me up and propels me to the shower, stripping off his clothes and stepping in behind me.
I turn to face him under the spray of water. “I’m sorry I offended you,” I say. I want to be able to say, “I’m sorry I misjudged you,” but the jury’s still out on that.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Don’t. I was a cunt.”
“You weren’t.” I pick up the bar of vanilla-scented soap and roll it around in my hands getting them soapy. Then I set it back down in the soap tray and press both my palms to his tattooed chest, spreading across his pectoral muscles and down his rigid abs. “What do these mean?” I ask.
Ravil backs up, and I follow. He leans his head back against the tile and sighs, catching my hands. “I don’t want to tell you, kitten.”
“Haven’t you realized yet that the things I make up in my head might be worse?”
He winces. “Doubtful.” He touches a large tattoo on his right pectoral. “This is the symbol for the brotherhood and inside it, the symbol of my first cell—the one in Leningrad.”
He points to one on his right ribs. “This is the cell in Moscow. Igor’s cell. He is still my boss, but I won’t be bending knee to his successor.”
“Is there one for your cell?”
He shakes his head. “No. I have no need for these old ways. I’ve woven a different network here in Chicago.”
“What are these?” I touch the ones across his knuckles.
His face grows stony. “Kills.”
I suck in my breath, trying to keep a poker face, despite my shock. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d guessed that’s what they meant. Still, it’s different to hear it said out loud.
“The placement on the knuckles is to intimidate. To let my adversary know these hands have choked the life out of others.” His eyes are dead when he tells me.
I should run. I should be afraid. But instead, my instinct is the opposite—to lean in. I press my body against his and wrap my arms around him, as if I might impart the same comfort he offered me with his embrace earlier.
He sucks in a surprised breath then lets it out, his arms coming around me. “I would never, in a million years, wish this life on my son,” he murmurs into my wet hair.
A sob breaks my throat, and I bury my head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I offer although I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for.
For his pain.
For judging him.
And yes, for trying to keep Benjamin from him.
I know now, with far more certainty, that Ravil will make an excellent father.
Chapter 15
Ravil
“Zdravstvuyte, Maykl,” Lucy greets my doorman brightly when we return from our morning walk the next day.
“Zdravstvuyte, Ms. Lawrence,” he answers, smiling. She’s already won over everyone she’s met with her continued attempts to speak Russian. I love the fact that she didn’t stop learning after I allowed others to speak English to her.
“There’s a bit of a situation in the elevator.” Maykl jerks his thumb toward the bank of elevators.
Frowning, I walk over to find Adrian and Nadia, his sister, camped out in one, Adrian’s foot stuck in the door to keep it open. Nadia’s facing the wall, crying, gripping the handrail for dear life as Adrian attempts to coax her out.
I hold the elevator door open with my shoulder. Lucy’s hand gets tight in mine, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?” she asks nervously. “Does she need help?”
Adrian twists to look over his shoulder at her with irritability, but seeing it’s us, fully faces us. “I can’t get her out of the building,” he says to me in Russian.
“In English,” I tell him. I’m long over making everyone speak Russian in front of Lucy. It’s far more important that Adrian and Nadia learn to speak English.
“Sorry,” he says to Lucy. “My sister has some… phobias. She doesn’t want to leave the elevator.”
“This is your sister?”
Nadia sniffs and looks over her shoulder at us.
“Da. Nadia.”
“Nadia, you’re safe here,” I say gently in Russian because she doesn’t speak English yet. “No one will hurt you,” I say in English, for Lucy’s benefit.
“Did someone hurt her?” Lucy’s alarmed. Her hand’s clammy and stiff in mine, and I can sense her mind spinning. “What happened, Adrian?”
Adrian shoots a look at me.
I nod.
“Yes, she was hurt. Badly. Now she’s too afraid to go outside.” He throws his hands in the air in frustration.
“We should get her some counseling, Adrian,” I say.
Adrian shrugs helplessly. “If you know one who speaks Russian, I will drag her there.”
“Maybe telecall,” I say, thinking of how Lucy conducts all her business seamlessly from my room. “I’ll arrange something.”
“Was this why you set the fire?” Lucy asks.
I blink, surprised at how quickly she put it together.
Adrian frowns, darting a glance at his sister. He neither confirms nor denies.
“Was she hurt at the sofa factory?” Lucy gasps, putting the rest of it together. “She was a sex slave?” Tears fill her eyes.
As if reminded of the horror his sister went through, Adrian loses his irritation with Nadia and the situation. He steps forward and wraps his arms around his sister. “Another day,” he murmurs in Russian. “We’ll try another day.”
I pull Lucy in, and we hit the button to go up.
“So the fire was for revenge? Or was it part of a rescue?”
“Revenge,” Adrian says coldly. When he turns, there’s still murder in his eyes. “I freed them all the week before.”
Lucy nods a tear skidding down her cheek. “Well, that makes a great defense.”
Adrian eyes her. He’s brave, but I know he’s afraid. Mostly afraid of leaving his sister here alone if he ends up in prison. I’ve already pledged to take care of her if that happens.