26
Oksana
Everything hurt and burned, but it also felt . . . weird. Not unpleasant. My head was a mess.
Vasilije pulled on his pants while he continued his phone call and rose from the couch, striding quickly toward the office and abandoning me. The quiet, tender kiss we’d just shared was clearly forgotten.
His voice was hushed in the other room. I could hear he was speaking, but not make out the words. Was I supposed to stay like this, lying face-down on the couch? He’d climaxed inside of me and I could feel it dripping out, so I needed to get up, but I also ached from how rough he’d been.
I moved slowly, grimacing as I got off the couch, and an angry voice boomed in my head. Why did you let him treat you like that? I wanted to ignore it, not because I didn’t have an answer, but because the truth was terrifying.
I could say I was just doing my job.
Or I could argue since I’d taken a life, and I planned to take another, I deserved whatever Vasilije gave me. But the reality was so much worse. I enjoyed what was supposed to be punishment. His dominance was scary and too much, but it made me feel alive. His control was . . . freedom.
I cleaned up in the half-bath and pulled the pins out of my hair, raking my fingers through the curly mess to get it to lay so it didn’t look quite so ridiculous. When I came out, I glanced down the long hallway and sucked in a breath.
He was off the phone. He stood shirtless in the darkened office, his hands resting on his hips and his head tipped down, looking like he was deep in thought. Light from the arched window nearby played over his lean, sculpted form. He was violently beautiful.
Had he sensed my eyes on him? His head lifted and our gazes met. I couldn’t interpret his expression. The closest word I could use to describe it was ‘conflicted.’ His focus swept down my body, and then back up again, moving more deliberate this time.
“Come here,” he said.
The world tilted on an angle at his quiet request, and it made it difficult to walk down the hallway on heels to meet him at the base of the stairs.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
He blinked. “I’m fine.” His eyebrows pulled together. “Are you? I was . . .” His tone was uneven and he held up a hand like he might pull the word he was looking for out of thin air. Instead, his hand dropped abruptly. “Rough.”
I licked my lips, trying to keep my mouth from going dry. Maybe I’d been wrong about him. Perhaps the devil did have feelings, because this reaction seemed like concern. He was thinking about someone other than himself. He was worried about me. My knees softened and my lackluster heart tripped over itself. “You didn’t do anything I couldn’t handle.”
I was pulled into his embrace, and my body sang a beautiful melody of ache. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed this until his strong arms were circled around me.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his strict tone forced. Like he was using it to disguise his worry. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I lied. It’d been true until this moment, and now I was falling apart, not understanding the cause.
“You’re shaking.”
I was. A tremor rocked my foundation. “I don’t know why.”
His black eyes grew deeper. “Sit down.”
He urged me onto the steps, and as I leaned back, I cupped his cheek and pulled him with me. Did he think I was crazy for wanting him close, especially after what he’d just done, and how I was acting like I was terrified? I was seated with my back against the stair treads, and Vasilije knelt between my parted legs. He supported himself on his fists, hovering over me.
He was too far away. I snaked my arms around his back and dragged him the rest of the way down, clinging to him as our bodies flattened together. I’d never felt so fucking needy in my life. I gripped him tighter and tighter, until I was sure there was no more space between us.
His head was buried in the side of my neck, and as he tolerated my ferocious hold, his breathing went shallow. I expected him to push off me at any moment, or for him to make a shitty comment, but he didn’t. Vasilije crouched over me on the steps and allowed my embrace. He wedged his arm beneath my back and between two steps, holding me as much as I was him.
We stayed like that for a long time.
All the way until the tremble faded from my body, and my arms softened around his shoulders. I felt less shattered, and more like myself as the strange, unwanted emotions drained away.
“Who were you talking to?” It came out soft, but I was stunned at how steady my voice was.
There was a long pause before his lips moved against the side of my throat. “Someone I hired to track down a guy.”
“What guy?”
Vasilije lifted his head, just enough so I could get a look at his intense expression. “A man I need to kill.”
My mouth rounded into a wordless “oh,” as if that were enough information.
“The night my mom died . . .” He sighed. “My dad believed my mom was cheating on him. It’s why she came home to find him with his dick inside another woman. He wanted to get caught. It was revenge.” Vasilije’s expression clouded like an approaching storm. “Except the whole story about her cheating was made up by my uncle’s bodyguard.”
It took me a moment to process. “Why would he—”
“Uncle Goran didn’t like my mother, and he trusted her even less. He planned the thing to drive my parents apart, and it worked like a fucking charm. My dad didn’t know the truth until right before I killed him.”
I swallowed a breath. Goran had orchestrated the death of Vasilije’s mother?
Vasilije shifted over me, moving until he was more comfortable and I was better trapped beneath him. “Goran told my father he’d had the bodyguard killed, but instead my uncle offered him a deal. Tell the lie about fucking around with my mother, and he’d get two hundred grand to start over somewhere else.”
Which the man had obviously taken. Vasilije leaned forward and the tip of his tongue traced the edge of my ear, causing me to shiver. “You found him.”
“He moved back here to be by his family once he heard my father was gone.”
Goosebumps broke out on my legs. Vasilije had probably started planning this bodyguard’s death the moment he went looking for him. “How will you do it?”
“Kill him?” His hot breath rolled down my neck. “My gun. It needs to look like someone broke in.”
“When?” I asked. I should have felt alarm at the ease we were discussing his plot for murder. His tone was casual and distracted, and he sucked on my neck as if he liked the flavor of my skin.
“Tomorrow night.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation, but I tried to focus my thoughts. I was already in deep with Vasilije. I felt like I knew more about him than anyone else. Could I build the bond between us so strong that when he learned the truth, he’d let me live? Strong enough he’d stay by my side?
Nerves raced in my bloodstream. “Let me come with you.”
His body solidified and the lips on my neck ceased. “You want to, what? Help me?” His tone was so dubious, it bordered on anger.
“No.” I had zero desire to take part, and it wasn’t my place. “What you’re talking about doing is personal.”
“Then, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I can stay in the car.”
He pulled back and suspicion cast a dark shadow on his face. “Why?”
“So you can tell me every detail when you’re done. I don’t want to wait until you get home later. I want to see you right after.”
His smile was a mouthful of fangs. He acted like what I’d said was easily the best thing he’d ever heard. “You say shit like that and it makes me want to fuck you again.” In a heartbeat, he had his hand under my dress and his fingers stirred between my legs.
I choked on air. I was so sore, just the idea of his fingers sliding inside me made me ache. I glanced away and put my hand on his wrist. He’d said if I told him to stop, he would, but I was nervous he wouldn’t hold to his word.
“No,” I whispered.
His eyes burned with wicked amusement. “Okay.” His cold hand slithered away. “You can tag along. But be prepared. Your evil little mind turns me on. I might not take off my bloodstained clothes to fuck you on the drive home tomorrow. You’d probably get off on that, wouldn’t you?”
I had absolutely no answer.
♪
Thanksgiving morning, Vasilije slept in. I’d eaten breakfast and was seated at the piano composing when he came downstairs, shirtless and his hair askew. I jotted a few chords down in the notebook and played them, but wondered if I had the right key for the whole piece. My gaze drifted from the paper to watch the boy in the kitchen.
My muse.
I smirked at the thought. Wouldn’t he just love it if I called him that?
Items were pulled from the fridge and stacked noisily on the counter. Bell peppers. Mushrooms. Green onions. Cheese. A carton of eggs. He went to a cupboard, retrieved a bowl, and then drew a large knife from the butcher’s block, the sharp edge gleaming.
I watched as he chopped the vegetables and tossed them in the bowl. He moved efficiently and with precision. I didn’t expect him to be good with a knife. It was an intimate weapon—one you had to be close to use.
I also didn’t expect Vasilije to know how to cook, but he clearly did.
A skillet was put on the stove, the gas turned on, and he dropped a pat of butter into the pan before cracking eggs into another bowl. He didn’t look up as he whisked them. “Are you going to fucking stare at me while I eat, too?”
“You can cook?” I asked.
He cast an annoyed look at me over the top of the piano. “I can do a lot of things, Oksana. You want an omelet?”
I was glad I was sitting down because shock overwhelmed me. “You’re making me breakfast?”
“I’ve already got everything out.”
“You don’t seem like a guy who cooks for a girl after he fucks her.”
He sneered. “You’re right. I don’t.” Had I just . . . offended him? He closed the carton of eggs and put it back in the fridge.
I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t like mushrooms.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re fucking weird.” He poured the eggs into the heated pan.
I’d already eaten, but watching him cook made me hungry. I rose from the piano and drifted closer, my gaze fixated on the guy who seemed to command the kitchen as well as he did my body. He lifted the skillet off the heat and flipped the omelet over in the pan with a clean jerk.
My mouth hung open, and Vasilije’s eyebrow arrowed up. “Whitney taught me how to cook,” he explained.
Anger sliced down through my chest. Who was that? An ex-girlfriend?
I didn’t understand my instant reaction. I couldn’t be jealous. It wasn’t even possible. My tone had a too-bright edge as I overcompensated. “Who’s Whitney?”
“My chef. She does all the shopping for the week. If you want something, you can tell her tomorrow when she’s here.”
“Oh.” That couldn’t be relief in my system, because I wasn’t jealous. My gaze fell to his hands, and I watched him slide the omelet onto a plate, folding the egg perfectly onto itself. “That looks good.”
He set his hands on the counter. “If I made you one without mushrooms, will you pick at it like a fucking bird, or will you actually eat?”
I turned, opened the fridge, and pulled the carton of eggs out. “I’ll do my best.”
He didn’t smile, but I could see he was pleased. I watched him craft my omelet with the same technique, and eagerly took the plate when it was passed to me. It tasted great.
We stood at the counter and ate, all while morning sunlight glowed from the windows. It was too bright and warm in the house to talk about what was going to happen tonight, so we stayed silent. In addition to cooking like a man who’d been trained by a chef, he cleaned like one, too. I put the produce away while he handled the dishes, and when it was done, he set his hands on the low-hanging waistband of his sweatpants.
“Upstairs,” he said, flicking his gaze upward. “You can show me how thankful you are for breakfast while we’re in my shower.”
I nodded slowly, accepting whatever he wanted. Part of me didn’t mind. There might have been a sliver of me that was looking forward to it. We took pleasure from each other.
I climbed the steps, went down the hall, and into his bedroom, listening to his footsteps as he followed me. The bed was unmade and the lumpy comforter was pushed to one side. I’d lost my virginity in that bed, but it looked . . . like any other bed.
His bathroom sink was messy, dotted with whiskers from where he’d trimmed and maintained his scruff. I didn’t wait for his order to do so, and began to tug off my clothes as he started the water running. It was still awkward being naked around him, but I was smart enough to know it gave me an advantage.
Vasilije froze with the shower door halfway open and gaped at me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His eyes weren’t on mine, and I followed his gaze down to the red-purple blotches on my chest. He stared at the marks with fascination. His marks. I quirked an eyebrow. You think that’s something? Wait until you see this.
I tugged off the jeans and underwear, and turned around to show him his handiwork.
“Puši kurac,” he said under his breath.
When I’d gotten dressed this morning, I’d stared in the mirror at the beautiful variety of marks covering my ass. A perfect handprint in purply-blue could be made out on one side.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. His voice was unsteady.
I shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly when I’m sitting on the bench.”
Because the piano seat was lacquered wood with no cushion. Since I was stark naked, I turned back around to face him, and Vasilije slowly came back to life. He undid the string holding his pants up and they flooded to the floor, making him as naked as I was. His eyes heated as they noted every mark he’d given me.
“When we’re done here,” he said, ushering me toward the shower, “you’ll play me what you have.”
I locked up halfway across the door frame. “What? No, it’s not ready.”
When it was clear I wasn’t going to move, he shoved me inside the tiled area that was almost large enough to call a room. I breathed in the heavy, thick steam and stepped out of the way of the falling water.
“I don’t care,” he said flatly, coming in behind me.
“I told you it might take a while for me to—”
He pressed his palm into the center of my chest, right between my breasts, and walked me backward until the cold, wet tile was against my back. His eyes were unforgiving. “I didn’t say it has to be done, but you’ll play it for me. I get to hear it today, got it?”
I felt sick to my stomach. I liked what I had so far, but it wasn’t much. It barely scratched the surface of the man looming over me. When I didn’t answer, he took it as confirmation. He stepped back into the water, letting it pour down his bulky frame, and he pushed the wet hair out of his eyes.
“Good,” he said. “Get on your knees.”