Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chiara
“How much money does Dimitri have?” Guilia asks, for what seems like the millionth time today.
We’re in the pool room, again. Beso has ordered room service, and we’re having lunch here. I don’t think Guilia has wanted to leave this room since we arrived two nights ago. I had to almost force her to shower and go to bed last night. The room Beso gave us has double beds, thankfully. I have no idea how many bedrooms Dimitri’s “suite” has, since it is the size of an entire floor in his hotel. I’m sure Guilia will ask, eventually.
“I already told you, I don’t know.” I shouldn’t be so irritable with my younger sister. She really doesn’t understand what’s going on. She doesn’t know that I haven’t heard from Misha since he was headed to meet with Frankie. She can’t comprehend that our father tried to barter us like chattel. And that’s really not a bad thing.
“Mr. Federov has millions and millions of dollars. He owns the hotel you’re staying in, Miss Guilia,” Beso answers her. His voice is calm, even though his thick accent is almost harsh. I’m so glad Misha doesn’t sound like that.
“Does Dimitri have a girlfriend?” Guilia mutters, as she sips her soda. Then she looks up at Beso, through her thick dark lashes. I know that she is only hoping for an answer to her question. Dimitri’s valet probably only sees a beautiful woman in front of him, gazing up at him with curiosity shining in her big blue eyes.
I finally clear my throat to get his attention, after he stares at her for several minutes.
“No, Miss Guilia. Dimitri is married.” He says it as he places a white rose in a tiny vase on the table between us, where he placed our food.
“Darn,” she exclaims, and begins to pick at her lunch with her fingers.
As if she was going to date Dimitri Federov, or anyone else for that matter. That will happen over my dead body. Although, if I had to pick a person to marry my little sister, she could do much worse than Dimitri, I admit as I look around his suite again. The glass walls are darkened, so the sun doesn’t bother our eyes. How does someone even afford that sort of thing?
“Use your silverware,” I chastise lightly.
“Ugh, you’re always so uptight,” she replies, but she picks up her fork and places her cloth napkin in her lap.
When everything is as Beso thinks it should be, he leaves the room. Guilia’s eyes follow him, watching the man in the dark suit walk away. “Do you think Beso is cute?” she asks, as she returns to picking at her salad with her fingers.
“Please stop,” I grumble. She looks at me with her sparkling eyes, so sweet and innocent, and I want to shake her. Stop being boy crazy! I want to exclaim. Instead, I say, “Use your fork, please.”
She chuckles, and picks up a bit of onion with her fingertips. “Doesn’t Beso know I don’t like onions?”
“I’m sure if you tell him, he’ll remember for next time,” I assure her.
I’m fairly certain he’ll hang on every word she says to him. It bothers me that she’s right, he is handsome. And he’s very attentive to her. I sigh loudly. If my sister has to get married, which seems more likely to happen with every passing day, I would hope it would be to a man like Dimitri, who has the money to take care of her. Not a valet. Guilia probably won’t be able to hold a job. She won’t be the bread winner in the family. And Beso is at least nine years older than her. What happens when he retires? Will she end up homeless, or penniless?
“Dimitri’s here,” Guilia exclaims, wide eyed. “And so is your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
I turn toward the living room, and smile brightly when I see him. He looks even better than I remembered, if that’s even possible. He’s wearing all black, like some kind of super spy. But the thing I can’t get over is the beard. He probably hasn’t shaved since I saw him last, which was two days ago. It’s been the longest two days of my life.
“Misha!” I cry out. Lunch, my sister, and everything else I’ve worried about over the last few days is forgotten when I find him striding confidently toward me.
“That’s his name,” Guilia says.
I stand up and practically run at him. His eyes grow wide, and that’s when I remember I’m wearing the hot pink bikini with nothing over it. I don’t care. I leap into his arms, and he catches me and spins me around.
“Misha, I-“ I begin. But he interrupts me when his lips meet mine. He has me held so tight against his big body, his arms wrapped around my lower back and his hands on my waist. He feels so damn good. I thrust my fingers into his hair, and my tongue past his lips. I want him inside me, right now.
I hear someone clear their throat, and Misha stops suddenly. “Sir, there’s a room right this way.” It’s Beso’s calm, unfaltering voice.
Misha stops kissing me, but doesn’t let me go. I don’t think anything will come between us for a very long time. “Show me the way,” he says, right against my cheek. His new beard is thick, scratchy, and oh so manly.
“Misha!” I counter, but I don’t have an argument as to why we shouldn’t catch up alone, and immediately.
“I’ll keep an eye on Miss Guilia,” Beso assures me, with a barely contained chuckle.
I’m sure he will.
Beso shows us to a room, and Misha tosses me onto the bed. His eyes are again as wide as saucers, as he stares at me with just the tiny triangles of fabric covering my curves. He’s looking at me like he did the first night we spent together, like he is the wolf from the tattoo on his torso.
“I’ve only been away from you for two nights, and I feel like it’s been forever. Damn, I want you,” he murmurs, as he continues to stare at me. It’s as if he’s not quite sure what he wants to do. Does he want to take in my nearly naked body? Does he want to undress and join me? Or does he want to remain clothed, and jump into bed so he can undress both of us?
The power that I feel as he gazes at me makes me giddy. The thought that this man, this strong, commanding, stunning man wants me, no needs me, so much that he was willing to go to war for me is thrilling and a little scary. But I like it. I like it a lot.
I bend my right knee, and begin to play with the string that is holding my bikini top in place. “Are you just going to stand there and look at me, Misha?” I give him a smile, and hear his sharp intake of breath. I’ve grown to love that sound, as if he’s being tortured by his need for me. “Come here and make all the fantasies I’ve had the last few nights come true.”
He clicks the lock on the door, but leaves the light on as he strips for me, slowly removing his shirt. His body is incredible, an intoxicating mixture of muscles, pale skin, and bright ink that I feel like was created only for me. I watch as he removes his boots, then his pants, and his cock practically jumps out of his boxer briefs as he slides them off. Quickly he pulls on a condom, even though we’ve already had unprotected sex once. But that was an accident, and I’m sure he’s doing it now out of habit. I’m glad.
It’s my turn to take a deep breath, as he stalks toward me. My insides begin to shake with anticipation.
“Tell me about your fantasies,” he mutters, as he lowers himself to the floor in front of me.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, because I think I know what he’s going to do. And when he places one of his rough palms on each of my knees, my outsides begin to shiver too. “I want you, Misha.” It’s so easy to say, and I know he likes it.
But he shakes his head, and as he does his lips brush against my shins. “Tell me what you want, Chiara.” His hands slide up my thighs, and they part on their own. My hips flex, too, and my stomach tightens. He smiles, enjoying the effect he has on me. “Damn, you’re beautiful, my treasure. Tell me what you want, so I can give it to you.”
“I want your lips, and your hands, on my body,” I whisper, as I sit up to grab hold of his hair and pull him closer.
“My hands are too dirty, and you are too pure.” He says it, but his hands have already reached the bottom of the bathing suit, and his fingers tug at the bows at my hips that hold it together.
“I like your hands, and what they do to me.” I can’t believe I got the words out.
I lean forward and kiss him, and his fingers find my core, wet and welcoming for him. I spread my legs, and he moves up onto the bed. Suddenly he’s on top of me, and inside me. His hands easily push the top aside, and his calloused palms cup my breasts.
I love you rings through my head, as he’s kissing me, making love to me, owning me. I’m already his, and he knows it. I am his princess, his treasure, and he is my protector, my guardian, my knight in shining armor.
“Come for me, Chiara,” he whispers against my ear.
My entire body quakes in response. And when I feel my orgasm erupt inside me, I gaze into his eyes and tell him, “I love you Misha.”
He smiles brightly. “I love you, treasure. Forever.”