Page 62 of Destined for the Devil
Thankfully, she opened her eyes, her smile lit up in happiness. "Yes. I feel great. Thank you." Her cheeks were flushed, and relief flooded me. "I just…feel embarrassed,” she added, her gray eyes shining and filled with sincerity. “That…all ofthat…turned me on so much.” She buried her face in the sheets, but I heard the giggle.
Fuck, she melted my ice-cold heart. I snaked my arm around her and pulled her in, my lips right at her ear. "Don't be. Ever. Not with me," I reassured her, trying to erase the memory of what her submission did for my sex-drive.
Images of us making slow and passionate love floated inside me, but whatever the fuck just happened was so far from that fantasy. Yet I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed it.
“Stay here, okay?” I pecked her shoulder and headed to fill up the bathtub. I returned to her sprawled out on her side, observing me with a small smile, and I recognized how happy she was.With me.
While the bathtub filled up, we figured out what to order for dinner. Gently, as if she were made of glass, I picked up Isla and carried her to the bathroom, submerging her in warm water filled with Epsom salts. She sighed with relief, throwing her hair over the ledge.
“Wait…aren’t you going to join me?” Those pleading eyes and soft voice returned, and I paused mid-step out of the bathroom. Yeah, fuck, I’d do anything she asked.
I stepped into the bathtub, taking a seat on the opposite side of her. The lights dim, the outside dark, it was just me and Isla in abathtub together. Nothing as intimate had ever happened between me and anyone else in the past.
Her gaze traveled down my chest, and she stopped just below my left collarbone. "What’s that tattoo?" Her dainty finger pointed to a rather large one, seamlessly fitting in with my other designs.
"It's the Russian coat of arms."
She nodded, then grinned. "You have the American one too?" Her fingers played with the water, sending ripples across the surface. I stayed still, my arms resting along the edges of the tub.
"No. Just the Motherland," I replied with a half-smile.
"Do you ever go there?" She posed the question curiously, and at that moment it dawned on me how little we knew about each other.
"Yes. I go back often."
"Really?" she asked with renewed energy. "But why? You said you've been living here since you were eight...that's almost thirty years, old man." She chuckled at her own silly insult, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
"I'm not old. I'm justolderthan you." I defended myself in fake offense. "I still have family there. My aunts and uncles. I made friends and...business connections."
I wasn't sure how to word that exactly. But my biggest and most important Russian business connection had just recently picked up his entire life and empire and relocated to New York, for a reason I still couldn’t figure out.
"Businessconnections?" Isla repeated, not convinced in the slightest. "Yeah...that sounds legit.” She spoke lightly. "Do you like it there? Russia seems brutal...cold and gray." She scrunched her nose and bit her lip, as if trying to tread carefully around the subject. That made me laugh.
"Uh huh. Americans think we’re all bad people. So cold-hearted. Ruthless and uncaring. But in reality, American people and Russian people are way more similar than either party likes to admit."
Her eyes widened, and she blinked quickly, clearly surprised at my words. “Really? Tell me more.”
I leaned back, not having to think about it. "Both Russians and Americans are daring, free spirits. They have a deep-rooted love for their country and would fight to the death to defend it. Both are under the impression that their country is the best and strongest.”
Isla listened with bated breath and didn’t interrupt. I continued on. “Both people are caring, welcoming, warm, and genuine. Both Americans and Russians are gregarious and the life of the party. Each country has talent and potential. And both Russia and America choose a path of violence and aggression toward each other, instead of cooperation. Also God. Both America and Russia believe in God and think they have some sort of special connection with him or...it."
I finished my monologue, not exactly sure why I decided to dive so deep into it.
31
Revelation
Isla
Romanfinishedhiscomparisonof Russia and America, and I sat there stunned, trying to digest everything he said. The information flowed out of him, like he was certain of it.
I liked that he was multifaceted. No, Iloved it.We could be discussing geopolitics and history in the morning, sharing our varied tastes in music and movies over lunch, and in the evening, he would finish me off with thefilthiestwords.
No matter what we spoke about, he not only held up his side of the conversation but also added to my knowledge base. He intrigued me, stimulated me…he made me complete.
"Do you believe in God? Seeing as you're both Russian and American?" I blurted out, not having the chance to think over the question. He considered it for a moment.
"I don't know,” he responded truthfully. "I don't know if I believe in God. I was an atheist, but then...certain things happen in your life, and you think...that can't just be a coincidence;it can't."His gaze was unfocused, like he was plunged into memories, but then he returned the question. "Do you believe in God?"
