Page 54 of Possessive Vows

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and squeeze his fingers before slipping my hand out of his grasp and standing. He watches me with eyes just as intense as when he spilled his seed inside my mouth.

Discomfort pinches in my abdomen as my core contracts. I turn toward the bathroom to hide my wince, but the darkening of his bright blue eyes tells me I failed.

The taste of his salty musk lingers on my tongue, and I can’t stop the small smile or the wonder filling my chest as I take my first few shuffling steps across the room. My hip, knees, and ankle throb from kneeling, but I wouldn’t change the last few minutes for the world.

I kept the monsters at bay. His watchful eyes and deep, smooth voice banished them from my thoughts while his subtle cologne and clean taste banned them from my senses.

I limp into the bathroom and rifle through the cabinet for a toothbrush and toothpaste. As I reach for the faucet, his guttural voice skitters up my spine and instinctual fear stiffens my shoulders, but I take a deep breath and blow it out as I replay his hands encompassing mine as I stroked his cock.

Dimitri speaks in Russian. A masculine voice responds in the same harsh language, and I lean back to confirm with my eyes that he put the phone on speaker and set it on the side table. My mouth waters as he tucks his massive cock back into his trousers.

I duck back into the bathroom and brush my teeth, since eavesdropping will gain me nothing. I vow to learn Russian as quickly as possible.

His children are fluent in English, but it isn’t fair for them to carry the load of communication.

I freeze as I realize how drastically I’ve changed since meeting him. Staring in the mirror at my reflection, white suds leak from my mouth and drip off my chin. My eyes sparkle. A flush shows through my makeup.

I spit, rinse my mouth, and splash water on my cheek.

The eight tiny scars no longer fill me with despair. Instead, anger, hatred, and a deep yearning for retribution fester in my chest.

All because of Dimitri Volkov.

My husband. My protector. My future.

I love him.

The thought spears through me. Nausea follows in its wake. I lean over the sink, brace my forearms on either side, and rest my forehead on the faucet. Love is too much. Too big. Too soon.

It’s too late. The Russian bratva man stole into my heart and earned my trust in less than a day. He shattered my defenses and built me into a stronger version of myself.

His brother may have orchestrated that horrible night a year ago, but Dimitri ended my stalemate with depression and launched me onto a path of healing.

The rushing water and cold metal help me find my center, but when I rise, my head spins. Only my grip on the edge of the sink prevents me from toppling to the floor. I take several measured breaths before turning off the faucet and grabbing the towel off the rack.

Dimitri’s aggravated tone lifts the hairs on my nape.

I finish drying my face and shuffle into the bedroom as he ends the call. The tightness in his expression increases my apprehension.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and a ball of lead settles in my gut. All traces of relief are gone from his features.

“That was my father. You will meet Artur, Maksim, and Zoya sooner than expected,” he says.

I blink and prop my shoulder on the dresser for balance as my head swims.

“What do you mean? Why?”

He can’t ship me off to Russia without him. I won’t go. He promised.

“Their plane lands in New York in twenty-two hours.”

My brain skids to a halt and jumps around his words. They make no sense. Disbelief sweeps through me when I finally understand, and I straighten my spine as fury heightens my senses.

“Your father put your three young children on an international flight without telling you? Tell me someone both you and they trust is with them. And why would he send them herewhen you’re hunting your brother?”

His brows rise, and for a moment, I wonder if I rendered him speechless, but then he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees.

---