I finally work up the courage to look up at him.
“Do you hate me for that?” I ask.
Something flashes in his eyes for a second and he grips me tighter.
“Never,” he tells me. “The man you knew was different from the man I came across. The man I came across? He was wearing a mask.”
My eyes go wide at that.
I feel more tears come. But these tears are grateful.
I remove my hands from around my own body and place them against Artem’s chest.
“Thank you, Artem,” I say softly.
He nods, and all I realize is how badly I’m craving his touch, how much of my strength flows from him now.
I think about the hell he must have gone through in the aftermath of his wife’s murder.
I can recognize that pain in him now. It simmers in the rage that I now know he keeps locked away in his chest.
He has learned to control it, but with difficulty.
I was right—knowing the truth has changed everything.
I can never look at Artem the same way again.
I can never think of Cesar in the same way again.
I love him still, but my love for him is different now. It has to be.
“How did you survive it?” I ask, looking up at Artem. “The grief. Losing her.”
“Not well,” he admits. “But I had Cillian then. He got me through that dark time. He told me that one day I would see a light at the end of the tunnel. I called him a fucking fool at the time, but now I can see he was right.”
“He was?” I ask, grabbing that one tiny string of hope dangling before me.
“Yes,” Artem says with a decisive nod. “The tunnel came to an end eventually and I saw the light. I saw the light the day I met you.”
60
Artem A Few Days Later
She rocks back and forth on top of me. Her hair flies wildly around her head and her lips part with a moan that sends a jolt of electricity straight to my cock.
My fingertips graze against her belly that has only just started to swell.
Esme falls against my chest, her breathing erratic and filled with notes of pleasure. I wrap my arms around her and flip us over so that I’m on top.
“Harder, Artem,” she gasps. “Harder.”
I bury my face in the crook of her neck and ram into her with violent thrusts. When that’s not enough, I hook her legs over my shoulders so I can drive deeper.
“Yes,” she moans at once as I find the right spot. She squeezes around my cock and her hands scrabble to cling to something, anything—bedsheets, pillows, my flexing thighs.
When her orgasm comes, it comes hard. Her sounds go silent and it looks for a moment like she can’t breathe.
But then the levee breaks and she dissolves into an endless stream of whispers and curses and pleas to never stop.
It pulls me closer and closer to the edge, too, until I can’t hold back anymore.
“Esme, I’m going to…”
She flips around frantically, takes my cock in two hands, and brings her lips right to my tip.
The suction of her wet mouth around me pulls the seed out in fiery ropes. She swallows me greedily, desperately.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
When I’m fully spent, Esme wipes away the tiny dot next to her mouth and settles into the sheets beside me.
“Jesus, woman,” I tell her. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says innocently.
“This is the second morning you’ve woken me up with your mouth around my cock.”
“Are you complaining?” she asks, in a teasing tone. “Because that sounds an awful lot like a complaint, sir.”
“I’m not and it isn’t,” I reply in a hurry. “I’m just saying, I’m liable to have a fucking heart attack the way you ride me.”
She chuckles. “You’re a big boy,” she says, patting my chest. “You can take it.”
Esme tries to get out of bed, but I grab her and pull her to me. She squirms in my arms, yelping and giggling.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I growl in her ear.
“Brush my teeth…” she says, continuing to wiggle. “I’ve got some man’s taste all up in there.”
“Fuck that,” I growl. “I want to lie here with you for a bit. You like that taste anyways.”
“If we stay in bed, we’ll end up having sex again,” Esme sighs, as though it’s a problem she doesn’t know how to solve.
“Says who?”
She smiles. “Says me.”
I flex my arm. “It’s this mountain man physique of mine that’s revving your engine, isn’t it?”
Esme shoves me away. “Gross. Never. It’s the baby. The damn baby’s making me so horny.”
I grin with satisfaction. I have noticed her increasing demands in the last few days, and I am all for it. My body craves hers, and I’ve spent the last few days exploring every last inch of it.
We haven’t spoken about Marisha and the baby since the night I revealed that sordid part of my past.
But it hangs there between us in the long silences, waiting for the right moment to sneak out and say its peace.
“Oh, sure,” I nod. “Blame the innocent little baby.”
“I’m not—”
“You need to take responsibility for the fact that you just can’t keep your hands off me,” I say, cutting her off.
She narrows her eyes, but I can see the smile she’s trying to hide.
“Well,” she says, running her fingers over the tattoos on my chest, “now that you mention it, I’ve always had a thing for dark-haired Russian men.”
“Is that right?”
“Mm-hmm,” she nods. “With killer abs and a giant dick.”
“Happy to be of service.”
“You did knock me up,” she points out. “It’s the least you can do.”
“I can do so much more than that if you let me, darling.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be, kiska.”
“Oo, I love it when you talk dirty Russian to me.” She snuggles into the crook of my arm and drops a fluttering
