Page 133 of Ivory Ashes

If he was willing to slaughter the men who kidnapped me eighteen years ago, there’s no telling what he’d do to the person who killed his brother.

Mikhail spreads my thighs wider and splits me open. He buries himself deep inside of me and I’ve never been so full.

“Come for me again,” he grits out through clenched teeth. He strokes his thumb over my clit. “Milk mine out of me, Viviana. Come.”

My release is instantaneous. It’s like my body exists to obey Mikhail. He tells me to come, I ask how hard… Well, I’m beyond the power of speech. But I come.

“Mikhail.” I wrap my arms around him, holding myself as close as possible to him as I explode. “I’m coming. Oh, God, I’m?—”

He falls on top of me, his forehead pressed to mine. His blue eyes are wide open and looking into mine as he twitches inside of me.

I curl my palm around his cheek. “I feel you.”

His eyes close and the words I actually want to say sit in my throat like a rock.

I love you.

I squeeze my eyes closed to bite them back and ride the release instead, contracting around Mikhail until I’m limp and sated. Until he slides away and lies down on the bed next to me.

We stay like that for a while, quiet and spent.

Then I reach over and press my palm to the warm skin above his heart. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “That wasn’t just for you. It was for me, too, Viviana.”

“Not the sex,” I chuckle softly. “What you did. The gift. I can’t believe you did that.”

He wipes his face clean and scowls. “It’s what your father should have done two decades ago. I was just cleaning up someone else’s mess.”

I’ve never known Mikhail to be humble before. Especially not after he went to so much effort.

“You’re right. My father should have done something about those men. But you didn’t have to.” I can feel his heart thudding out a steady rhythm against my hand. It’s grounding. “My entire life, I existed to be used by someone else. It was always what my dad wanted. And then what Trofim wanted. For six years, I was on my own, but even then, my life revolved around staying anonymous and protecting Dante. I think… being here and not having as much to worry about made me realize how much the kidnapping still affects me.”

“So I brought up old traumas?” he snorts. “You shouldn’t be thanking me for that.”

I blow out a breath. “No. It’s just… Being here with you has been healing. I feel safe. Protected. I’d feel that way even if you hadn’t killed those men.”

“I guess it was a waste of time then,” he mutters.

I lift myself up on my elbow and look down at him. “It wasn’t. Because even though I feel safe here, I know now how far you’ll go to protect me. I’m grateful for that, Mikhail. No one has ever cared about me enough to bother.”

He’s been staring up at the ceiling while I talk, taking my gratitude reluctantly. But suddenly Mikhail jerks off the bed.

“I killed a few assholes,” he snaps. “Don’t read so much into it.”

The whiplash is jarring. I watch him retreat into the bathroom—retreat from me—and I can’t do anything to stop it. The confession I’ve been holding tight for days feels pathetic now. I can’t love him. I don’t. Whatever I’m feeling is just a residual vacation high. It’s exhaustion and relief that I’m not trapped in a dungeon somewhere.

I roll over and face the wall. Hot tears slip down my nose and drip onto my pillow. My shoulders shake, but I fight to keep them still.

This is why I told Mikhail the night we got married that we couldn’t have sex: it complicates things. Sex makes me think I feel something for Mikhail when all I really want is meaningless orgasms.

The bathroom door opens and I catch my breath. I listen to his footsteps, some naive part of me expecting him to grab my shoulder and apologize. To roll me over, kiss me stupid, and tell me he loves me, too.

When he settles silently into bed behind me, the tears come even faster.

48

MIKHAIL