Page 27 of Brutal Reign
I know exactly what that’s like, how the past burrows into your subconscious and refuses to let go.
“Can I get you something to eat? Drink?”
“No.” She turns until she’s facing me, her eyes searching my face. “Can you hold me for a while?”
The simple request nearly undoes me. The last person who asked me to comfort them was Kamilla. I failed her, and in truth, I’ve already failed Hope. But I can still give her this moment.
We lie quietly together, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my chest while I try to burn this moment into my memory.
Eventually, she breaks the silence. “What’s your life like in Sweden?”
The question catches me off guard. I should deflect, but something about the darkness makes honesty easier.
“Lonely,” I admit. “More than I usually care to think about.”
It’s true, even if the details are lies. My life in Moscow is isolated by necessity. I trust no one, depend on no one, and let no one get close enough to matter except my brothers. But here, with her warmth pressed against me, that existence feels hollow.
“You must have friends? Family?”
“Friends, yes. Of a sort.” Roman and Maxim are more like brothers, but I can’t explain that without revealing too much. “My work keeps me busy.”
“Don’t you want more than that? Someone to come home to?”
“My lifestyle doesn’t really leave room for much else. Marriage, kids, the whole domestic dream… it’s not in the cards for someone like me.”
“I think having kids would be… nice.” Her voice has a wistful note.
“I’m not father material. Some people aren’t built for that kind of responsibility.”
Images of Kamilla flash through my mind: her laughter, her complete trust in me, how utterly I failed to keep her safe.
“I don’t believe that.”
“What about you?” I ask to shift focus. “What do you want?”
“I’d love to have kids someday. If I found the right person, if my life was more stable...” She trails off, staring at the ceiling. “But that’s not exactly realistic right now. Hard to plan for a family when you can barely keep yourself afloat.”
A knot twists in my gut. She wants children and a normal life. Those are all the things I’m about to ensure she can never have.
“You deserve better,” I say and mean it more than she’ll ever know.
“Maybe. But we don’t always get what we deserve, do we?”
No. We don’t. If we did, she’d still have her father, her old life, and her sense of security. And I’d have my sister back.
Hope nestles closer, her breath warm against my throat. “I’m glad you came into the pub. That we have this one night together.”
“Me too.”
I don’t know how long we drift off for, but it’s long enough that I’m still caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking when I feel her bare ass pressing against my cock, and there’s no mistaking her intentions.
I’m instantly hard. My hand glides up to her breast, cupping and squeezing softly. She sighs, arching her hips into me, and I answer with a low growl, nuzzling her neck. I’m not sure she’s fully awake—I’m not sure I am either—but my body knows exactly what it wants. When my fingers slip between her thighs, I find her wet and ready for me.
I rub slow, lazy circles over her clit. She squirms, and I line myself up, pressing the head of my cock to her entrance. With one merciless thrust, I sink into her heat, feeling her body go taut before melting around me.
She gasps, as I roll her nipple between my fingers and drive into her deeper, consumed by a need to claim her, to leave her marked. I want her to feel me with every step she takes for the next week.
Her breath grows ragged, her body tightening with every stroke. I kiss her neck and graze her skin with my teeth, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.
