Page 107 of Devil's Vows
To top off this disaster, I’m here in a robe—and only a robe—after he told me expressly to never walk around the house like this, never mind the compound. It’s become painfully quiet around me. No basketballs bouncing, no footsteps falling on the floor, only the far-off swooshing of doors as the last few men disappear.
Ivan pulls off his gloves one by one and tosses them to the ground, thud after thud. As he strides in my direction, each step measured and controlled, he unwraps his hands, one by one, leaving floating wisps of cotton in his wake like corpses. His gaze never leaves mine. He doesn’t even blink.
Then a warm breath and a touch to my elbow make me jump.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Yuri’s voice comes from behind me, low and menacing. And in Russian.
The word has spread.
“I only want to speak to him,” I reply, jerking my arm away.
Yuri lets go but comes to stand next to me. “Foolish,foolishgirl.”
I drag in a shaky breath. I’m sooo fucked.
55
IVAN
Fuck…she’s beautiful.
And she’s mine.
My wife.
My little spy, my little hummingbird, caught in a spider’s web.
But the creamy satin robe, showing too much fucking leg with the belt that’s loosened, the neck that’s fallen open revealing too much cleavage, is going to make me commit murder.
The men know better than to loiter around, looking at her or waiting to see what I’m going to do. Because I’m going to do something. Pounding for an hour at this bag has dulled my rage, and I’m sweat-drenched, chest heaving with exertion, but I’m still wound tight with sexual frustration.
I need to fuck, and then she walks inherelike this? Without my fucking permission?
The need to claim her, to override every hurt that’s been committed to her body, still rushes through me, but I’ve stalled. She’s a traitor in my house, and the last time that happened, I had to kill the man I thought was my best friend.
To be honest, I’m fucking tired of thinning out my inner circle.
A door swooshes closed, and Yuri rushes up the wide corridor. He’s fast but soft-footing it like a panther, showing he’s still fit for a fight, our training muscle memory. Without a doubt, he’s here to keep the peace, but he doesn’t know the full extent of her deception yet. When he speaks to her, she acknowledges him, but doesn’t move.
She stands proud as I stride out of the gym, never taking my eyes off her. In her gaze, there’s a slight cower as I come to stand right in front of her.
Yuri looks at his feet, despite his rank knowing better than to stare at my wife when she’s dressed like this.
I raise my hand to fix her robe, but she leans back with a flinch.
“Ivan—”
She’s clearly expecting a blow of sorts, and it fucking kills me.
I slow the movement, inch closer, and with the lightest touch I can possibly manage, slip a fingertip underneath the gown, at the top where it’s sliding toward the tip of her shoulder.
She inhales softly and bites her lip. Her nipples, visible where they are pressed against the silk, seem to harden even more, and I curse my dick for being a dick and twitching in response.
“Hush,moya ptichka,”I say softly as I meet her gaze, fully in charge of myself now after an hour at the punching bag. “Now isn’t the time to throw fuel on the fire.”
I tug the fabric lightly, and it shifts to cover her cleavage, and then I trail my fingers between her breasts, noticing the gooseflesh, her strained breathing, lower to where the thin belt is loosening. Soon, it will unknot, the robe will fall open, andanybody would be able to see her beautiful body, the alluring softness of her inner thighs, all her little secrets.
