Page 90 of Wrath
Forty-One
Exhaustion batteredMisha’s defenses as she said goodnight to her younger brother and settled him into the spare room in Wyatt’s apartment. He’d insisted both of them stay there while he sorted out affairs with his family, and she was glad for it. Being away from him was not something she looked forward to, especially after the night they’d had.
The sight of the snake crushing Dimitri’s body had burned into her memory and every time she closed her eyes, it was all she could see. Green monstrous muscle, slithering and choking.
When they’d arrived earlier, she’d washed and changed into fresh clothes, and Alek had done the same. Wyatt had been gone for hours in the basement, seeing to his mother’s injuries and conferring with the rest of the Deadly Seven, who had returned in dribs and drabs from their rescue missions. Grace had stopped in for a few minutes to check on Alek’s wounds before she had to leave to work at the hospital. She had told Misha there were many fatalities that night. Many people had died, but many were saved.
After Grace left, Misha wanted to spend time getting Alek used to the unfamiliar surroundings, but as it turned out, Alek didn’t need her much at all. He helped himself to food in the fridge and made Misha a hot chocolate before heading off to bed. He hadn’t mentioned Dimitri and his revelation about being their long-lost half-brother, which meant—hopefully—that he hadn’t heard or seen an iota of that confession.
It didn’t matter now if what Dimitri said was true. He was dead. It would only hurt and confuse her family’s opinion of their mother. Misha could only comment on what kind of person Hannah Minksi was to her, and that woman, the one who shelled beans with them in the backyard, the one who stayed up for hours sewing Roksana’s ballerina costumes, that was the only woman she needed to know about.
After Misha finished her hot chocolate, and while she could still keep her eyes open, she went to check on her brother, her maternal instinct needing to see him safe and in bed. When she cracked the door to his room, she found his long lanky frame sprawled on his back under the covers of the double bed. God, he wasn’t a kid anymore.
Emotion circled her heart and squeezed, spreading warmth throughout her body. She couldn’t help but perch at the end of the bed to place her palm on Alek’s chest. Feeling his breath was the most incredible thing. She remembered him as a child and having to communicate by touch to educate him.
Alek’s eyes blinked open, saw it was her, gave her hand a half-hearted pat of solidarity, and then drifted back to sleep. He was so brave. She’d spent too much time thinking bitterly about parenting, instead of focusing on the amazing humans her siblings had become. She’d never stopped to think that regardless of her regret toward the loss of her prime partying days, she’d helped Alek grow into a strong, capable man, despite his disability. She’d also helped Roksana become one of the best ballerinas in the Tri-state area. Misha had done good. Her mother would be proud.
Misha covered Alek with the comforter and returned to the living area. She gathered a throw blanket and waited on the pillowy brocade sofa. Her eyes had only been closed a minute when she felt herself being carried in strong arms. Rousing from the haze of sleep, she found Wyatt placing her on his enormous bed.
“You’re back,” she murmured into the dark.
He shushed her and told her to go back to sleep, but suddenly, she wasn’t tired. The smell of him lingered, and she became acutely aware of freshly showered man. Sitting up, she blinked at his silhouette, trying to let her eyes adjust, and when they had—her savagekoteczekwore only a pair of low slung sweats, naked torso right there for her to see. The sight made every feminine muscle inside her clench in delight.
The two of them locked eyes for an eternity.
Desire thrummed in her veins as she soaked him up. Still hot, she thought. And she was still filled with want for the heroic man. Not bored after one night. Not at all. Everything about him screamed masculinity, from the dark fuzz trailing down his abdomen to the waistband of his sweatpants, to the bulge in his pants growing under the loving weight of her intense gaze. Every muscle in his carved body turned to stone.
“Come here,” she breathed, but he wouldn’t budge.
She needed to feel his strength around her body, to be caged in his arms. She reached out, and it was that silent gesture, not words, that had him coming to her side. The mattress dipped as he lowered. Curling a knee as he sat, he left the other dangling over the edge. Still not fully committing, he held back. He sat there and toyed with her hair. So serious and stern, as if he didn’t want to break her… or scare her away.
The revelation zipped through her. This was her fault. She shouldn’t have left him. Trust was a two-way street, and she had to work out any problems with him together. She owed him that respect. As his warm touch feathered behind her earlobes, she melted and leaned into him.
“Is Mary okay?” she whispered to fill the silence.
He nodded.
“Are you okay?”
He exhaled in a long slow burst and then adjusted her hair on the other side. Unable to stop, he trailed his touch everywhere. With his two big hands heating her blood, she felt completely at home. He once said that her touch was like a balm to him, like someone injecting valium into his veins, and from the way he visibly relaxed, she believed him. It was such a strong, visceral reaction that it was hard not to see she was made for him. One in millions. It made her feel empowered. Bold. Her internal sensations would never be the same as his, not a lab-created biological response, but she still felt it—the connection that drilled into her soul and basked in the heat of his sun.
Her hands slid up his chest and traced every feverish dip and valley of his satiny skin. Along his collarbone, up the thick column of his neck, around his earlobes, over his stubbly jaw, into his thick hair still damp from the shower. He’d saved her life today. He’d saved her brother. He would keep saving people because that was the kind of man he was, even if he hated himself sometimes.
Maybe she could love him enough for two people. Or three.
She continued to rub and massage, easing his anxiety, but he still held a note of restraint. He wanted to talk about the possible pregnancy, but she couldn’t do it. It reminded her too much of her mother dying. She’d had enough adulting for one night.Tomorrow.
With a pained look, he opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head, silencing him. She just needed to be close to him. To find that joy he spoke of and remind herself it would be okay.
To banish the nightmarish snake scenes still flashing behind her eyes, she kissed the corner of his mouth. He stiffened. She kissed again. His lashes lowered and he shuddered.She kissed again, closer to the center of his bottom lip. Her tongue darted out and tasted salty skin, licking and laving until he opened his mouth and she bit down on the plump flesh.
A hitch of breath and his restraint burst. He kissed back, tongue meeting hers in a demanding dance that made her mind spin. He cupped her head and held them locked together, unyielding in his ardor, until they dropped to the bed, breathless. Lying next to each other, feeling hot breaths between them, he rolled her so her back was flush against the front of his body. Deftly, he adjusted the comforter and sheets so they were both cocooned beneath. With a sigh, he rested his head on the pillow behind her and tugged her close as if he thought she’d slip away.
Staring into the dark, Misha closed her eyes.
Wyatt was the best blanket she could wish for, but it wasn’t enough. Every cell in her body buzzed with him behind her. Hot, firm, smooth, rough. She traced her fingers up and down his forearm resting between her breasts, hugging her to him. In response, he kissed quickly and modestly behind her ear. All that did was ratchet her desire until all she could think of was his unyielding body against her soft rear end—that hard length digging between the two halves of her bottom.
Heat pooled heavily between her legs, her sensitized nipples grazed against her pajama top, making everything worse. She was going to die if he didn’t touch her soon, and when he didn’t, when he infuriatingly laid still, she wiggled and pushed back into him, demanding with her body. The expletive he shot out made her smile, so she took his palm and slipped it under her top to her bare breast, molding his fingers over her flesh, until he couldn’t help himself but knead and plump and roll her puckered bud with his fingers.
