Okay, maybe not the latter—I turned him down when he called a few days ago, and I still can’t work up any regret—but I’ll definitely go out dancing again.
One way or another, my new life will start soon.
36
Peter
She’s sleeping when I enter the room, her slender body swaddled in a blanket from head to toe. Quietly, I turn on the lights and stop, my breath catching in my chest. During the past two weeks, as I lay recuperating from the stab wound I sustained in Mexico, I’ve entertained myself by watching her on the house cameras and devouring the Americans’ reports on her activities. I know everything she’s done, everyone she’s spoken to, all the places she’s gone. That should’ve lessened the feeling of separation, but seeing her like this, with her shiny chestnut hair spread over her pillow, steals the air from my lungs and sends a stab of longing through me.
My Sara. I missed her so fucking much.
I approach the bed, curling my hands into fists to contain the need to reach for her, to grab her and never let her go.
Two weeks. For two impossibly long weeks, I couldn’t return for her because I’d missed the knife hidden in one guard’s boot. Granted, I was dealing with another guard pointing an AR15 at me, but that’s no excuse for sloppiness.
I was distracted on the job, and that nearly cost me my life. An inch to the right, and I’d have been laid up way longer than two weeks. Maybe permanently.
“What the fuck, man?” Ilya grumbled as he and his brother patched me up after the mission was over. “He almost nicked your kidney. You have to watch your fucking back.”
“That’s what I have you two for,” I managed to say, and then the blood loss got the better of me, preventing me from explaining the reason for my distraction. It was just as well. The truth is, I missed the knife coming at me because, as I was staring down the barrel of the AR15, I thought not of my team or my mission, but of Sara and never seeing her again.
My obsession with her almost became my downfall.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I carefully pull the blanket off her. She’s sleeping naked, as always, and lust roars in my veins at the sight of her slim, graceful curves. She doesn’t wake up, just huffs like a disgruntled kitten at the loss of the blanket, and I feel something soft slither into my chest. My heart fills with a warm glow even as my cock stiffens further and my pulse picks up pace.
I have to have her. Now.
Getting up, I swiftly strip off my clothes and place them on the dresser, making sure my weapons are well hidden. The jerky movements pull at the fresh scar on my stomach, but I want her so much the pain scarcely registers. Putting on a condom, I climb into bed with her and roll her over onto her back, settling between her legs.
My touch wakes her up. Her eyelids fly open, her hazel eyes panicked and dazed at the same time, and I smile as I grasp her wrists and pin them by her shoulders. It’s a predatory smile, I know, but I can’t help myself.
Even with the warm feeling in my chest, my hunger for her is dark, as violent as it is all-consuming.
“Hello, ptichka,” I murmur, watching the shock creep into her eyes as her gaze clears. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. It couldn’t be helped.”
“You’re… you’re back.” Her chest rises up and down in an uneven rhythm, her nipples like hard pink berries on her deliciously round breasts. “What are you—why are you back?”
“Because I’d never leave you.” I lean down and inhale her scent, delicate and warm, as captivating as Sara herself. Lightly nibbling on her ear, I whisper against her neck, “Did you think I would just walk away?”
She shivers underneath me, her breathing speeding up, and I know if I reach between her legs, I’ll find her hot and wet, ready for me. She wants me—or at least her body does—and my cock throbs at the knowledge, eager to fill her, to feel the tight, slick embrace of her pussy. First, though, I want an answer to my question.
Raising my head, I pin her with my gaze. “Did you think I’d leave, Sara?”
Her face is a mask of confusion as she blinks up at me. “Well, yes. I mean, you were gone, and I thought—I hoped…” She stops, frowning. “Why did you leave if you didn’t get bored with me?”
“Bored with you?” Does she not realize that I literally think about her all the time, even in the heat of battle? That I can’t go an hour without checking on her whereabouts or spend a night without seeing her in my dreams? Holding her gaze, I slowly shake my head. “No, ptichka. I didn’t get bored with you—nor will I ever.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slender fingers flex, and I realize I’m still holding her wrists pinned next to her shoulders, my grip as tight as if I’m afraid she would escape. She wouldn’t, of course—even with my recent injury, she’s no match for my reflexes or strength—but I like having her like this, restrained underneath me, naked and helpless. It’s part of my fucked-up feelings for her, this need to dominate, to have her always at my mercy.
“Don’t,” she whispers, but her tongue flicks out to wet her soft pink lips, and the hunger within me intensifies, my balls tightening as blood rushes to my groin. There’s something so pure about her, something so gentle and innocent in the graceful lines of her heart-shaped face. It’s
