Page 62 of Defiled Innocence

His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, and his shoes and socks are gone. He looks so casual. Casually hot.

It’s not fair that he looks so damn good after a full day of work, and I look like I’ve been through a tornado.

My hair is all windblown and messy from all the times I’ve sunk my hands in it today.

I haven’t checked a mirror lately, but I would bet this month’s salary that my makeup is smeared and half gone from rubbing my eyes. It’s a horrible habit, but I’ve never been able to beat it.

By late afternoon, most of my mascara is gone. But this time of night, I probably look like the walking dead.

“What’s all of this?” Dmitri asks as I reach him.

“All of the ledgers I found at Lucas’ apartment. He had more hidden in his bedroom closet in a locked chest. There’s a few more boxes in the car, but Boris refused to let me get them.” I shoot a dark look at Boris who completely ignores me, steps around us, and continues down the hall to the spare room.

“He was right.” Dmitri watches Boris turn into the bedroom. “You’re keeping them in there?”

“I didn’t want to clutter up your bedroom.”

“Our bedroom,” he corrects immediately.

“Okay.” I’m too tired to argue with him tonight.

I just want to find the box I marked so I can get the bank reports out of it.

Boris passes us to go back down and collect the other boxes.

“You know, you don’t need to have someone sitting outside my building all day,” I say as we make our way to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Until the issue with my shipments in Russia is resolved, Boris will be with you to be sure you’re safe.”

“You think someone involved in that will hurt me?” I stop short at the bedroom door.

“No. But it’s a precaution. I won’t let you be in danger.” He’s so firm when he says it, a warm current runs through me.

Lucas had been protective, but it wasn’t in this sort of way. It was a brotherly duty. He felt obligated, but with Dmitri it’s different.

I suppose he has an obligation since I’m his wife now, but it’s deeper than that. It’s personal to him.

“All right. But if he’s going to be there, he might as well come inside.”

“I’ll let him know.” His lips curl at the edges.

“Good. Now, I’ve been thinking about a hot bath all day.” Walking past him, my hand brushes across his body, across the hardness in his pants.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about all day.

It’s really becoming an annoying habit to find myself drifting off into thoughts of his hands on me, his lips on mine, and his cock filling me.

Worse is when my daydreams bring me to thoughts of sitting with his arms around me. The casual intimacy of his lips brushing across my cheek before I left for the center this morning. It’s alarming how much of my day was spent reliving that moment.

I make it all the way to the bathroom door before the words hit me.

“Of course. I’ll allow it.”

Pausing for a moment, a scathing response burns my tongue. If he’s looking for an argument, he’s going to have to wait. As much as I would like to rip his pride in half, I want that bath more.

“Great,” I mutter and head into the bathroom.

His tub could hold three people, it’s so large, and there are power jets. Growing up, I’d never wanted for anything. Material-wise anyway. Love and affection from a father who seemed more relieved when his wife overdosed in her en suite than heartbroken was more my desire growing up.

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