Page 27 of Weeping Roses

I don’t believe I have ever seen anything as beautiful in my life as I gaze down at the woman bound under me. She is a goddess, an impossible dream and knowing she is dancing an unfamiliar dance makes me strangely protective over her. Yes, I know everything about Pollyanna Scott-Stanley. It’s all in a file on my desk. As soon as I learned her name, I instructed my private investigators to do their job and they did it well. There is nothing I don’t already know about this woman, which included a thorough search of her home when she was out one day. Not that she would guess. We are masters of disguise and her social media history painted a very solitary life for such a beautiful woman.

The luckiest break of all was discovering she writes a diary, and has done since high school. Every thought and every desire she craves has been stored in my mind to use against her. However, now I know what she tastes like and how well I fit inside her it has complicated the issue. I already know I don’t want to leave her body, but nature has a way of dealing with that and as her body relaxes around my cock, it suffers a brutal exit.

Her breathing is erratic and her face is burning as the realization of what just happened sucker punches her morality.

I stare into her eyes and note the uncertainty mirrored back at me, and I have a strange urge to soothe away her troubles. She jumps as my hand strokes her face and I whisper, “Good girl, malyshka. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Her eyes fill with tears and I marvel at how brightly they shine and yet she says nothing at all as she gazes shyly through her lashes and smiles softly.

The darkness surrounds us and the chill of the night casts its icy fingers over our heated bodies and I untie my companion and rub any ache away, kissing her delicate skin with a reverence that surprises me.

I care. Something I don’t associate with me, ever. I am considering how she is feeling right now and for some reason, I want to make sure she’s okay after what just happened.

A shiver passes through her and I don’t hesitate and wrap my arms around her and pull us both under the quilt. Drawing her body to mine and making certain she is flush against me.

I kiss her head softly and whisper, “Sleep now, little one. I will keep you safe.”

Her low laugh makes me smile as she whispers, “Who will protect me from you, Valentin? I have a feeling such a person doesn’t exist.”

It makes me chuckle and as she falls silent, I lie awake for quite some time, enjoying every single moment that she lies sleeping against me.

CHAPTER 15

POLLY

My body aches and my eyes are heavy as the dawn awakens me and brings with it the realization I’m not alone. Strong arms are holding me tight and my heart beats a frantic dance inside me as the events of last night come back to haunt me with a vengeance.

Oh God! I let Valentin fuck me last night, and I wanted it more than I wanted to breathe. I am such a desperate slut. What the hell is wrong with me? I was delirious. Perhaps the ghost possessed my body, and I was someone else entirely. That is exactly what must have happened because Polly Scott-Stanley is only intimate with her trusty vibrator, not huge tattooed Russians who kill people for fun.

I can’t breathe. I am so ashamed of myself and now I must endure his arrogant smirk for the rest of the day.

I am beyond mortified and the fact his cock is already hard and pressing against my back doesn’t make for an easy getaway either.

“Morning, malyshka.”

I screw my eyes tightly shut and whisper, “I’m guessing that name means brazen slut in Russian because what the hell was I thinking last night?”

His soft chuckle annoys me and I hiss, “It’s okay for you to see the funny side, but I can assure you I’m not laughing. What will the others think?”

“The others?”

He sounds amused and I gasp, “Your men. They will think I’m, well, easy.”

“You are.”

I gasp and he laughs softly. “You’re easy on the eye, and that is all they need to know. Anyway, if I remember rightly, you loved every minute of it and, in fact, begged me to fuck you, did you not?”

“I fucking hate you, you arsehole.”

I am so mortified, ashamed, and embarrassed, and I try desperately to escape his clutches to no avail because he is way stronger than me and merely takes it as a game of wielding his strength over me.

“Relax, it’s no big deal. Only we know what happened and I’m not about to shout it from the rooftops.”

“Why not?” I am seriously offended now. “Are you ashamed that we, um, well, did it?”

He laughs out loud. “How old are you? We fucked, Polly. It happens. Get over yourself.”

Once again I attempt to leave and find myself lying on my back with him grinning above me and he reaches out and cups my face and whispers, “For the record, I loved every minute of it and if you’re willing–”

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