Page 116 of Thorns of Love
“She’s dead,” he answered flatly. “She wouldn’t break.” I nodded understandingly. If the woman refused to break after days of torture, nothing would break her. “If Nikita was alive, I could have gotten answers. But with him and Adrian dead, she lost her will to live.”
God, I wished I could do something for him. Anything.
I slid out of the bed and padded barefoot to him, wearing nothing but my silky, pink baby doll nightgown with my belly barely visible with each step I made. Taking his hand in mine, I wordlessly pulled him to his feet and over to the bathroom.
“Sit down,” I told him softly, nudging him down. “Let me take care of you.”
He eyed me tiredly as I turned on the sink and grabbed a cloth. I put it under the running water and began to clean his face, wiping away the speckles of his aunt’s blood still clinging to his face.
“You shouldn’t do this in your condition,” he said in a strangled voice. “It made you sick yesterday.” I swallowed, remembering how my throat burned as I puked my guts out last night. “I made a mess. I should clean myself up.”
I shook my head, chasing the memory of last night away. “You’re lucky. I have nothing to throw up,” I teased, wiping blood off his forehead. Each time I put the cloth under the running water, it ran red, staining the white sink pink.
“Besides, we’re partners. Remember?” I reminded him with a soft smile, moving on to softly wiping his knuckles. His hands. “You did that for us. Forthis.” I put my hand on my belly, his gaze darkening. “To keep us all protected. So the least I can do is help my husband clean up.”
His eyes met mine. “You shouldn’t have seen it. You shouldn’t have seen me like that.”
I threw the cloth into the sink and turned off the water, then cupped his face. I pressed my lips against his and my chest fluttered in that familiar way when he kissed me. Deep and raw.
When he finally pulled back, we were breathing heavily.
“I want all of you, Illias,” I rasped bluntly, my left palm against his cheek. Then I ran my fingers over his dark stubble. “I want your darkness. Your light. Your struggles. Your successes. All of it. You save me; I save you. We’re in this together.”
He took my free hand into his, our fingers intertwining. Both of us watched his tanned skin against my pale skin. His big hand against my small one. Yet, we fit perfectly.
“Together,” he rasped.
I smiled and reluctantly let go of his hand, then turned on the shower. The sound of water running filled the bathroom, the constant rush vibrating through the air.
I returned to my husband and put both my hands on his shoulders, straddling him. I wasn’t queasy from the blood, nor of the knowledge he had just killed someone. She wasn't innocent. She might have been once upon a time, but now she was a threat. She planned my death along with Adrian and Nikita. She almost cost us our babies.
His sins were my sins. The blood on his hands was blood on my hands.
I pushed his suit jacket off him and tossed it to the floor. The white dress shirt, stained by the blood of his aunt, fit him like a second skin. I’d never have enough of this man. His strength. His masculinity. I loved every inch of him.
My fingers fumbled with his buttons, one by one, until I was able to touch his skin. I slid my hand down my chest and down his stomach, his warm skin searing through my palm. Fisting my pink baby doll top, he ripped the material. The shredding sound filled the bathroom. Then fisting the string of my thong, he ripped that flimsy material off too, leaving a sharp sting behind.
His gaze grew half-lidded as his eyes roamed my body. My breathing grew shallow at the reverence in those dark pools.
He ran his hand over my little bump. “Our babies,” he said, his voice hoarse.
A smile touched my lips. “Our babies,” I repeated, meeting his eyes. “Safe because of you.”
A groan vibrated through his chest and he wrapped his hand around my nape and kissed me, then slipped his tongue into my mouth. He pulled my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it. Nipping it.
That familiar, hazy lust pooled in my stomach, but it was so much more than just that. It was lust and love, without any thorns. They no longer hurt nor pricked. Those once painful thorns now bound us together. Forever.
“I love you,” I murmured, our lips inches apart and his eyes deep, dark pools keeping me a willing captive.
Pushing the shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall soundlessly to the tile, I let my hands travel over his hot skin. I ran my fingers through the hard ridges of his muscles, scraping my nails over his skin. I shifted to his erection, rocking my hips and grinding against his pants, needing to feel him, skin to skin. Moans and whimpers escaped me as I ground against him completely naked.
He let out a few Russian curses, his fingers pushing into my hair and yanking my head back.
“I love you too,” he admitted. “So fucking much that it terrifies me,” he rasped, the look in his eyes owning the words. Vulnerability lingered there.
A shaky breath escaped me as my hands reached for his belt. “Ditto,” I whispered.
His hands slid under my butt as he stood up. My legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His pants fell down his muscular legs with a quietthunkand he kicked them off.
