Page 124 of Little Blue

Still, I feel fragile as I stare at the mostly faded bruises in the mirror. The idea of meeting Ilya’s family, his brothers and his ex-bratva father, is terrifying.

Ilya steps into the bathroom, his big body moving behind mine. His hands come around my waist to tug me into his chest. Then, in the mirror, he studies me. His eyes are so intense as they move over my body, lingering for a long moment on his shirt that covers my body.

His lips twitch. “How are you feeling?”

I devour his reluctant smile.

“Nervous.” No doubt he hears my nerves.

“They will love you.”

“Ilya—”

“I love you.” His eyes bore into mine in the mirror. Heat flushes through my body, rising like a tsunami wave inside me. It threatens to wash all the negative away, if only he’d let me let the heat burn.

But he refuses. To my growing madness, Ilya hasn’t let himself be with me since the fiasco with Boris and, I’ve since found out, his arch nemesis, Ivan.

Learning of the way Boris betrayed Ilya still stings. His betrayal had run deep. I’m sad, because even though Ilya refuses to speak of him, I know he’d cared for him as a friend. And then he’d killed him.

I push away from the vanity, sliding from his arms as I move into the bedroom. I pause at the threshold, glancing back at him over my shoulder. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Blue,” the word sounds like an agonized prayer. “If you want to stay home, we will.”

He’s talking about tomorrow, when we’re supposed to leave for Christmas Holiday at his parents. I’ve been pushed into so much, and he doesn’t want to push me into this.

But the reality is this—us—feels wrong, and I don’t like it. I can’t make sense of it, not entirely, but this thing between us feels dangerously off.

This isn’t us. This isn’t our dynamic.

It’s not what I want. This soft, ever-tender side of him.

What do I want?

“I want to go.” I want him to make me go.

The thought has the whirlwind of confusion inside me suddenly stilling. Understanding settles like a stone in my belly as I stare at the man, I know I’ll crave until the end of my life on this earth, and quite possibly into the beyond.

I can hear as he turns on the shower, and I know what I need to do.

With sure hands, I pop the buttons of his shirt and let it fall to the floor.

Then I walk back into the bathroom.

Ilya’s ice blue eyes lock on me with barely uncontained heat as he watches me cover the distance between us. Every step I take is sure. There isn’t a moment of hesitation as I pull open the glass door, stepping into the steam with him. Loose tendrils of my hair that has fallen from the clip cling to my shoulders where the steam floats around me, the spray from his body hitting mine and drawing gooseflesh to the surface.

My nipples pebble, stretching desperately for him.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl. His cock swells long and thick and deliciously veined.

I lower to my knees as he hisses in a sharp breath. Heat floods my core, a throbbing pressure pulsing between my legs.

“Irelynn,”

I don’t listen to his plea. I can’t tell if he’s telling me not to do this—or if he’s begging, anyway.

Gripping the thick base of his erection between my hands, I pump him once, twice, three times. It’s been so long and he’s so starved, it doesn’t take more than that for the bead of precum to taunt me at his tip.

Leaning forward, I lick it clean and moan.

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