Gripping his forearm, I rode his big fingers and never once broke our shared gaze in the mirror's reflection. His other hand snaked around my front. He put those fingers to good use by strumming my clit while he continued to thrust up into me. My body was on fire now, and I stood no chance against his sensual onslaught.
"Sergei!" I came hard, my body jerking against his as he used those masterful hands of his to work me into a frenzied state. The power of the climax punched the air out of my lungs. When the last waves rolled through me, Sergei gently took away his hands, and I fell forward onto the bed, my shaking arms barely holding me up.
I realized my mistake a moment too late.
Sergei gripped my hips and held me in place as he delved into my pussy with that wicked tongue of his. It had never occurred to me that a man would go down on a woman from behind, but Sergei showed me exactly why that angle of attack felt so sinfully good.
"Oh. Oh. Oh!" Clutching the sheets beneath me, I tried not to scream too loudly as the second climax hit me. Every time I tried to wiggle free, Sergei used his brute strength to hold me exactly where he wanted me. His tongue did things to me that were probably illegal in most states. With the wanton sex kitten inside me unleashed by him, I pressed back against his invading tongue and let him do whatever the hell he wanted because it just felt so amazing.
When I fell forward in a trembling, shuddering, limp heap, Sergei wiped his mouth on my plump bottom and reached for a condom. He sheathed himself in record time and clasped my waist, hauling me back up onto my knees. With only a slight nudge of warning, he thrust into me and slid home, burying that shockingly long cock inside me.
"Ah!"
"Take me, Bianca." He retreated and pushed forward again. "Take my cock."
Watching Sergei make love to me in the mirror was an experience I would never forget. He gazed down at my body with such appreciation and adoration and ran his hands over my skin as if he wanted to memorize every last inch of me. The glistening, rippling muscles of his chest, arms and legs enthralled me. He was utter perfection in the male form—and he wanted me.
Making love to me like this had demolished those lingering walls I erected around myself. It didn't matter what the rest of the world thought about my dress size or the number on my bathroom scale. Sergei thought I was beautiful and perfect. He made me feel feminine and desired. He reinforced my own belief that I was fine just the way I was.
A long time later, we came together, me first and him a few strokes behind. Limbs tangled atop the bed, we clung to each other while trying to breathe normally again. My body throbbed, and I shivered every time Sergei's callused palm glided over my belly and along my thighs.
"Are you convinced?"
"Yes." My throat was so raw that I winced.
Sergei chuckled with amusement and kissed my neck. "We'll be lucky if your neighbors haven't already called the cops after all that screaming."
Blushing, I buried my face against his chest. "Sorry."
"Don’t ever apologize for that. It makes me feel good to know I can make you lose control like that." Kissing my temple, he murmured, "I am sorry about what happened at Samovar. I'll speak to Lidia and let her know that was unacceptable. For my own part, I promise I won't ever doubt you again."
"I'm holding you to that."
"Do you believe me now, Bianca?"
Smiling, I snuggled closer to the man who had made me feel so beautiful and desired. "Yes."
Chapter Thirteen
When I came downstairs the next morning, my poor wobbly legs barely held me up, and I expected to collapse at any moment. Sergei's sensual therapy had cured me of any lingering doubts about my desirability or his attraction to me. This morning, while showering, I had decided to let that mess with Lidia go.
I found him standing at the kitchen island prepping vegetables for omelets. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I kissed his back. "Good morning."
He lifted his arm so I could sneak under for a better angle at kissing him. Our lips lingered together for a few seconds before he brushed them against my forehead and returned to chopping a red bell pepper. "Did you sleep well?"
I smiled and made my way to the coffee pot. "I'm pretty sure I didn't move once."
He laughed. "I don't think I did either. My legs are killing me this morning."
"Mine too!" Pouring coffee into my favorite mug, I said, "Maybe I need to start working out."
"It's not a bad idea," Sergei answered carefully.
I sweetened my coffee with half-and-half and sugar and joined him at the island. I slid onto one of the stools and watched him prepare some green onions. Convinced that he accepted and adored my fuller figure, I confessed, "I've tried losing weight, and I've been successful at it for short periods of time. I get so tired of dieting, Sergei. Counting calories and denying myself entire food groups? Squeezing in two hours of exercise every day with work and Mama? I can't do it."
"So we won't diet or do crazy amounts of exercise," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll make small, sustainable changes."
The way he said we made me smile and filled me with such warmth. "Like?"
"Cutting back on the sugar in your coffee," he suggested. "Switching those sodas you drink at lunch for unsweetened tea or water flavored with a lime or lemon wedge would be a good trade. You could try having a salad for lunch a few days a week. We could try some different afternoon snacks."
"Well…that does sound better than rice cakes and soup and never touching bread again," I agreed. "What about exercise? And don't even think about suggesting I start going to Ivan's warehouse of sweaty horrors!"
Sergei chuckled. "First, the only woman allowed in that place is Erin. Secondly, that's much too hardcore for you. Why don't you try walking in the evenings after work? Or we could pick out some fitness DVDs for you to try here at the house. You can work out, say, three days a week to start. When you feel more comfortable, we'll nudge it up to four and then five days."
"I guess I could do that." He was offering me sensible, realistic choices that were quite unlike some of the crash diets and insane exercise regimens I had tried over the years.
"What made you think that being so militant about your diet would work long-term?" He seemed genuinely interested.
"I don't know. I broke out those unhealthy regimens whenever I had a big social function looming. There was a time when I would have done anything to shave a quick twenty pounds off my body. Nowadays, I'm more worried about the business and Mama's rehab. Losing weight is a low priority."
"I don't think it should be your main priority in life right now, Bianca, but I do think it should be a priority to get healthier." He looked at me with an expression that betrayed his fear that he might have overstepped his boundaries again. "I don't care if you lose a single pound, milaya moya, but I do want you to be around forever."
"Forever, huh?" His words touched me in ways I could not even express.
"I worry about you, Bianca. Your mother nearly died because of high blood pressure and diabetes. You've been lucky, and you're still very young. There's time to make changes now that will help us enjoy a long life together."
"If you'll help me, I'll try really hard." I doubted I would ever be truly thin but healthier? That seemed like a goal I could attain with some dedication and my very own personal trainer.
"I'll help you. I'll do anything for you."
I swallowed nervously. "Anything?"
He suddenly had a wary look but nodded. "Yes. Anything."
"You want me to make changes that will make me healthier so we can be together forever. Well—you need to make changes, too." I gulped again as I realized what I was asking of him. "I'm not saying that you have to choose them over me, okay? I know that's a battle I can't win for myriad reasons. No, I'm just—I'm asking you to think about exit strategies."
Sergei picked up the knife and started slashing at mushrooms. "I already am thinking of exit strategies, Bianca."
"You are?" His admission caught me
by surprise.
"I have been thinking of how to get out ever since I was forced into this life. Now, with you, I want out much sooner. I'm trying, Bianca." He gazed at me with such yearning. "I'm doing everything I can. I'm laying the groundwork—but it's going to take some time."
"How much time?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." He hesitated. "It could be a few years, two or three." Sadness rounded his shoulders, and he returned to his chopping. "If you can't wait that long, I—"
"I can wait." I reached across the island and held out my hand. He stared at it in disbelief but finally placed his palm atop mine. "I will wait for you."
"I don’t deserve you, Bianca. You are so fucking far out of my league. You're the woman every man dreams of finding, that one woman who makes him better by simply allowing him into her life." Squeezing my fingers, he said, "Nikolai calls Vivian his sun. I never really understood why he chose that pet name for her, but I understand now. It's melodramatic, I know, but she brings light into his dark life." Lifting my hand, he leaned forward to kiss it. "You're my light, Bianca."
My lower lip wobbled, and my eyes stung as his incredibly romantic confession washed over me like the warmth of sunshine. "Thank you."
He winked at me and went back to making us breakfast. Clearing his throat, he said, "So, while you're at work today, I'm going to tackle some projects around the house. I have some plumbers coming over to switch out the water heater and give me an estimate on the pipes. I'm going to measure the bathroom and sketch out some ideas for you about the renovations in there…"
Listening to him rattle on about the ways he planned to tackle all the problems around my house, I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't know how we were going to make this work, but I had faith that we would figure it out somehow. Replaying the sweet things he had said to me, I decided that Sergei was worth it. He was worth fighting for.
* * *
Sorting through tile samples the next morning, Sergei felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Bianca had wandered off to look at faucets and antique-style tubs so he assumed it was her trying to find him in the massive home improvement store. He dug the phone out of his pocket, glanced at the screen and sighed. It wasn't Bianca. It was Nikolai.
"Yes?"
"Sergei, we have a problem, and I could use your help."
He wanted to point out that this was the second Sunday in a row that he had been called in to deal with a problem, but he didn't. "I'm picking out bathroom tile with Bianca. It will be at least an hour unless—"
"That's fine. There's no rush. Kostya is just getting started. Come to the ice house."
The phone call ended, and Sergei grimaced with distaste. Of all the ways he wanted to spend his Sunday afternoon, this wasn't one of them. After spending the morning at the gym with Paco, he had been planning to rip out some tile, make love to Bianca—probably twice—and then grill some steaks. Whatever awaited him at the ice house was going to ruin his entire day.
"Boo!" Bianca poked him in the side and laughed.
Pushing away thoughts of the phone call, he grinned down at her and kissed the top of her head. "Did you find the tub you want?"
"I found a few I like. They gave me some brochures. I figured you would be able to help me figure out which ones would fit best…"
They finished picking out tile samples that complemented some of the paint colors she liked and left the store. He waited until they were headed to her house to tell her. "Look, Bianca, I need to go see Nikolai."
She sighed softly. "I won't ask why."
He hated himself for putting her in this position. "I don't know when I'll be home. It might be late."
"Okay."
"I'm sorry, Bianca. I truly am. I didn't want our day to end like this."
She clasped his hand and dragged it onto her lap. "I said I would wait for you to get out. So this is me waiting and believing that all this crap will end someday."
"It will, Bianca." He wished he could give her a date, but he refused to break a promise to her.
When they reached the house, he was surprised to find Arty, one of Nikolai's most-trusted captains, sitting across the street with some of his crew. At first, he thought they were there for him, but then Arty lifted two of the three fingers on his right hand to his eyes and gestured toward the house. Sergei understood the silent message. Nikolai had arranged for Bianca to be watched.
On one hand, Sergei was relieved to have someone like Arty, a man who had survived some horrible gang wars, taking care of Bianca. On the other, Sergei knew what this meant. Whatever he had been called away to help with involved the Night Wolves. Nikolai expected blowback, and he expected it to land here.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Sergei leaned across Bianca and popped open his glove box. The sight of his handgun made her gasp. When he reached for her hand, she tugged it back. "No freaking way, Sergei!"
"Bianca," he said firmly. "I would feel better knowing you had this."
"And I would feel better knowing my boyfriend isn't tangled up with the Russian mob, but you know what they say about wishes and horses and poor folks."
He didn't actually, but he let it slide. "Have you ever fired a gun?"
"No."
"We should fix that."
"Like hell!"
"Bianca—"
"No, Sergei."
Exhaling roughly, he pointed the weapon away from them. "This is the safety. This is how you flick it on and off. It's loaded. You have ten rounds so use them wisely."
"You are crazy if you think I'm taking that thing into my house."
"Then you'd better call for a straightjacket because it's happening." Sergei tucked the pistol into her purse. "Let's go."
She didn't get out of the SUV immediately. For a moment, he wondered if he was going to have to toss her over his shoulder and carrying her back inside. With a dramatic huff and slam of the door, she exited the vehicle and stomped her way up the front door. He followed her inside, checked the house and handed back her purse.
"I'll be back later. Don't let anyone inside the house that you don't know. Those men outside? The ones in the car? They're watching the house so they might get out and sit on the porch or walk around the yard, especially if I'm not back by dark."
She made an annoyed sound. "What are my neighbors going to think?"
"Probably that you have very bad taste in men," he answered honestly. Certain she was pissed at him, he kissed her cheek and left the house. He had only gotten as far as the porch before she called out to stop him.
Gripping the front of his shirt, she hauled him down for a deep, passionate kiss. "You had better be careful doing whatever the hell it is you're about to do."
Touching his lips to her forehead, he promised, "I'll be back."
The long drive to the ice house did little to dissipate his anger and frustration with his situation. This wasn't going to get any easier. Soon, Bianca would begin to resent Nikolai for calling him away. What was that going to do to her friendship with Vivian? It wouldn't be good.
By the time he reached the ice house, he still hadn't figured out a way to speed up his exit plan. The old building located between two small towns had once been exactly what its name said it was—a house that sold ice. Later, the building had housed a bar and grill. Now, it was a shadow of its former self, all rotten boards and overgrown weeds.
No one ever drove out the lone private road that led to it. Nikolai had seen to that by snapping up all the land around the ice house for his private use. Sergei shuddered to think what secrets Kostya had buried out here.
He wasn't all that surprised to see some of Besian's men loitering around outside, smoking and bullshitting with one another. He nodded at them as he entered the ramshackle building, ducking his head to avoid an injury from the low-hanging beams and short doorways. He crossed the dusty floor to the back room that had once housed the freezers and stopped cold at the sight of Kostya peeling out of his black leather apron.
The cleaner ha
d a reputation around Houston—hell, probably around the fucking world—for his work. Sergei didn’t think the man enjoyed hurting other people. In fact, Kostya seemed to be able to wholly divorce himself from the reality of it to avoid the moral complications of his work. Sergei had suffered the misfortune of watching the man use his skills on too many occasions to count, but he had never seen Kostya take it nearly as far as his black, soulless reputation would have him expect.
Sometimes Sergei suspected Kostya's theatrics got him more cooperation than any amount of bloodletting. The black leather apron, the gloves, the shoe covers, the kits filled with torture gear—it made for a convincing show. Most of the time, a couple of pulled teeth, a cut here or there and a good beating got a man to spill his secrets.
The plastic covering the floor crinkled beneath Sergei's boots. He quickly surveyed the scene before him. Nikolai and Besian stood nearly shoulder to shoulder and stared at some poor, naked bastard strapped to a chair. He had been worked over a bit but there was hardly any blood to be seen. Some spatter from a few punches but nothing outrageously violent.
In the back of his mind, Sergei recognized that thought was more than enough evidence that it was time to get out of this life.
The swastika tattooed on the younger man's chest held his attention. So. He was one of them. At the same time Sergei spotted the ugly tattoos, the man became aware of him and looked like he was going to piss himself. Whether it was his size or his reputation around the underworld for being a brutal fighter in the cage, he couldn't say.
Glancing at Nikolai, he said, "Boss."
"Ah, Sergei, come here. I want you to meet our new friend. His name is James, and he's got some photos I think you'll find very interesting." Nikolai waved a cell phone.
"No," the man said nervously. "Look, please. I'm just the guy they gave the recon mission. That's it. I never meant to hurt her."
At the mention of her, Sergei went rigid. He crossed the floor in four quick strides and snatched the phone from his boss' hand. Running his thumb across the screen, he nearly puked as images of Bianca appeared. Swipe after swipe filled the screen with her beautiful face. In a few of them, Vivian was even present.