But there’s also another emotion there. One that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I’m too fucking distracted to worry about what else on his mind, though, so I just keep riding him until my legs burn with fatigue.
When my movements start to slow, he pushes himself up into a sitting position and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. They’re so sensitive now that the feel of Artem’s tongue engulfing them makes me moan and shudder with a little more urgency.
Then he holds my hips in place and starts ramming into me hard from below. I choke back a cry, my eyes going wide with shock at the strange and deliberate urgency with which he fucks me.
His eyes are intense as he rams into me from below, forcing me to bounce on his cock. I grab ahold of his shoulders and cling on tight as he stabs through me, sending what feels like electric shocks straight to my heart.
His jaw clench fiercely—almost angrily—and his hands grow tighter around my hips.
I know he’s seconds away from coming.
The sight of him coming undone pushes me off the edge first. The orgasm gushes through me with violent force. It’s as angry and fierce as he is.
Sure enough, he comes right after me. I stay on top of him as he rides out his own shockwaves.
When he stills, I swing one leg off him and fall to his side, nestling myself in the crook of his arm so that my head rests comfortably against his shoulder.
Artem’s eyes fix on the ceiling above.
This has been happening for a few days now, I realize suddenly—as if I’m just now connecting the dots.
He falls into deep silences that make me feel like I’m alone in the cabin.
His smiles come a little less easily. And when they do come, there’s a sad tilt to the set of his mouth, a muted tone to the glint in his eye.
I’ve been trying hard to place why this sudden change has come over him, but I’ve only managed to come to one conclusion: this peaceful life in the mountains is starting to wear on him.
Especially knowing that he has responsibilities elsewhere.
I know he’s here for me, to protect me.
But I’m not naïve enough to believe that that’s enough for him in the long run. He’s not the type of man to run from his duties, and the Bratva has been his entire life.
I turn to my side and caress the side of his face, forcing him to meet my gaze.
“Hey.”
He smiles. Again, I see it, the sad tilt to his lips, the worried ebb and flow of his eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
He says it gently, like he has the last few days every time I’ve asked what he’s thinking about.
But this time, I’m not willing to let it go.
“Artem,” I insist, “I may not have known you for very long, but I am still your wife. I want you to be able to tell me if there’s something getting you down.”
He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes intentionally expressionless.
“You were thinking about the Bratva.” I fill in, taking an educated guess.
He sighs. The etch of worry still clings to his features stubbornly. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
I push myself up on one elbow so that I’m looking down at him. “Can I ask you a question?”
His eyes go careful instantly.
I hate that. I don’t like feeling like he’s keeping things from me.
He nods, but I’m not convinced.
“And you’ll promise to answer me honestly?”
He nods slowly, but his eyes are still careful. Still guarded.
I decide to press on anyway. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss… it?”
“The life,” I say simply, before I elaborate. “Being in the thick of it, going on missions, commanding men… Being the don.”
He considers my question for a long time. “I still don’t really feel like Don,” he replies. “I was don for a split-second before my uncle staged his coup.”
“But the rest of it?” I press.
He lets loose a long exhale. “It’s all I know,” he answers eventually. “I don’t know any other life than the one I was born to.”
I nod. I can understand that. I’ve even prepared myself for the answer.
But it still makes me quiver a little.
It still makes my heart sink with disappointment just a bit.
Then I feel his eyes on me, boring down. I don’t meet his gaze. If I do, he’ll see the disappointment. The hurt.
Maybe he’ll see it either way.
“That makes you sad?” he surmises correctly. I hate that he can read me so well, on top of everything else. He’s a total enigma, a black box, whereas I’m an open book, heart on my sleeve at all times.
I take a deep breath and start to stammer through what I really want to say.
“I… I just… do you think you can be happy… if you were to leave the Bratva behind?”
I know I’m showing my hand, but I can’t help myself. My emotions are running high, the baby inside me is growing, and with each passing day I keep thinking about the life I want to give this child.
“I don’t know, Esme,” Artem says. “I never thought I’d ever want to give it up. I never thought I’d have to.”
“So you don’t want to give it up?” My voice quivers no matter how hard I try to contain it.
“I didn’t…” he says. “…Until I met you.”
I freeze for a moment, studying his face for signs that he might just be saying what he thinks I want to hear.
“Really?” I dare to ask.
“The last couple of weeks up here,” he says, “they’ve been better than I could ever have imagined. I never thought I’d enjoy peace and quiet so much.”
I smile, feeling hope rekindle in my chest.
“Artem,” I say, throwing caution to the wind. “Why don’t we just stay? Stay up here and leave it all behind.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You mean give up my claim as Don?”
“Yes!” I
