But there was something about the way my hands ached from hitting him, and my heart raced, that made me feel alive for the first time in forever.
I’d stood up for myself.
I’d shown I was more than a weak-willed, broken bird.
“You’ll regret hitting me,” he growled, brown eyes darkening by the second with the promise of punishment.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the word a pleading whimper on my lips. But we both knew that I wasn’t sorry. I had enjoyed the feel of his face under my palm.
He reached up and dragged his hand down his cheek, a devious smile playing at the corner of his mouth like he thought this was a game and not life or death.
I had to get away from him.
If he kissed me a second time, I wouldn’t have the strength to stop it.
“Don’t touch me again. Don’t ever touch me again. Don’t even look at me,” I warned, fear lacing my words. I took the opportunity to escape. He was standing back from me now, his arms no longer blocking the way, a confused look on his face.
As I walked swiftly away, I touched my fingers to my lips. They tingled, the memory of his mouth against mine refusing to fade. My heart was still pounding. And that flush of excitement, unlike any I’d ever felt before, was continued to bounce around inside my body. Each time it hit a barrier, to rocket in the other direction, the impact seemed to say the words—Need. Desire… Want.
I nearly fell through the doorway into the lounge, tripping over my heels as I crossed over the steel separator between the two floorings. I managed to right myself, and my gaze roved the room wildly, hoping Ivan had not seen me falter. I could not find him within the room. A small blessing.
Vesna was standing near the open bar talking with two of the other Bratva wives. If I were with her when Ivan appeared looking for me, then he would not ask me questions. There would be no reason for him to wonder what else I might have been doing in his absence, and then all I could do was pray that Alexander would not speak of our kiss to anyone. I walked quickly, running fingers through my curls, guessing that they must be a mess from being pressed up against the trellis.
I passed a mirrored wall and caught sight of myself. The hair was fine… it was my lipstick that was the problem.
The plum hue was smeared around my mouth, a splash of it like a scar across my cheek. I quickly swiped a napkin off a table as I passed it, and then snatched an ice water in a wine glass from a waiter, mumbling a ‘thank you’ in passing. My pulse was racing again, but for different reasons. One look, and anyone could tell I’d been kissed. Against my will or not, Ivan wouldn’t care.
I moved towards the bathrooms, to a giant plant that was tucked next to another mirror. Dipping the napkin into the glass, I wiped away the lipstick gone wrong quickly. I didn’t have the shade with me, but it was the sort that stained the mouth so even after swiping and swiping repeatedly, my lips still carried a hint of the color. Enough so that I’d fool Ivan. I hoped. If I leaned close enough, I saw faint purple still on my cheek. God, I didn’t even have any powder to hide the evidence upon my face.
Though I knew nothing would erase the memory. No amount of makeup remover or showers or years with a man I did not love.
“Marisha,” Ivan’s voice sounded behind me and I crumpled the napkin into a ball, dropping it into the planter as I turned to face my husband. His eyes narrowed on me and I held onto the ice water like it was a security blanket. “Why are you here alone?”
“Ivan, I told you earlier that I didn’t feel well. All the people and the warmth… I’m afraid I’ve been rather sick.” I lifted the ice water into view. “Sipping on cold water has helped. I did try to approach Vesna and the others, but I also did not wish to embarrass you by becoming ill in front of so many prominent business associates, or their wives.” I dipped my head a little, patting my cheek gently as if to check how hot it was. I was still flushed from my time on the rooftop with Alexander, and it made my lie all the more convincing. “I hope I did the right thing, husband.”
He liked to be called husband, liked the show of respect and the reminder to anyone listening that I was his.
Ivan stared at me a moment before nodding. “Keeping your distance is better than bringing embarrassment to us. Come, we’ll go home and see to your needs.”
We would see to my needs. I almost laughed, knowing that my needs would translate to his needs. His desire. His cravings.
Nauseated or not, unless I was sick in the bathroom and incapacitated, Ivan would take what he felt was his due as my husband. I might be spared him shoving his cock into my mouth so deeply that I choked, but I would not be saved from anything else.
I linked my arm through Ivan’s, and we navigated the room towards the exit.
My gaze flicked to the rooftop doors as we left. Alexander was standing just inside the lounge. He leaned casually against the door frame, his hands pushed into his pockets and holding back the sides of his jacket to reveal the tailored dress shirt which was tight enough to show off every muscled line of his abdomen.
He watched me, his dark eyes following our movement.
And the heat of attraction rushed through me again, landing in my most intimate parts to tease me. I gasped softly, the intensity of his look almost bringing me to my knees. Ivan gripped me tighter, sensing my unbalance. It all fed into my lie. I was sick, unsteady on my feet. Weak.
I looked away from Alexander quickly, but the sight of him was seared into my brain. The feel of his kiss was branded upon my swollen wanton mouth, and I could deny it all I wanted, but we both knew that I’d wanted him to kiss me. And be damned or not, I wanted to see him again. I wanted his hands upon my body, and his lips kissing more than just my mouth.
*
Ivan steered the Bugatti deftly with one hand. His other hand was pushed into the bodice of my dress, his fingernails damaging the corset beneath. It was the kind that cinched at the waist, but barely contained the breasts with thin, narrow strips of material. Lace, in this case. He’d ruin it, but he didn’t care. He never did. Ivan hungrily pulled on my nipple and then kneaded my breast. He stopped for a moment, pulling his hand out to grab my own and drag it over the center console to place against his pants, over the throbbing hardness beneath the material.
I curved my fingers around the thickness, stroking it gently as his touch slipped back beneath my silky dress. After a moment, I tugged at the button of his bespoke suit pants, undoing it and then slowly drawing the zipper pull downward. I pushed between the teeth, my fingers finding skin instead of underwear. Ivan didn’t like the feel of another layer preventing his skin from touching the expensive suits he owned.
I focused on his dick, tightening my grip at the bottom, lessening it as I rubbed his hardness up to the tip. If I did it well, if I did it right, I could make him come here in the car. He’d be pissed about his suit, but he’d be satisfied. If he was satisfied, then he’d go to his study when we got home after changing. He’d do… whatever it was he did until the small hours of the morning before drinking and falling asleep on his sofa near the fire. And he wouldn’t make me fuck him.
He moaned as my fingers moved with determination. I felt the pulse in his dick jump as I caressed him. He writhed against the Italian leather seat, his hand leaving my body as he fought to control himself, and fought to keep the Bugatti on the right side of the road.