Ilya moved forward as if to speak, but I held up my hand. “Don’t,” I ordered with a hard voice. “I’m going to my room.”
Turning on my heel, I ran up the stairs and into my bedroom. In seconds I was in the shower, my mind drowning me in the memories of what had just happened.
I pictured Zaal’s eyes softening as I cleansed him. His hand moving my fingers against my face, silently begging me to wash his face. And then him falling to sleep as he pressed my palm to his cheek; drifting off to sleep fully trusting me, a stranger.
I ran my hands down my cheeks. I felt torn. Because I felt. I felt something for him, my enemy. Heat coursed through my body as I remembered stroking him, remembered his hand guiding me to make him come, his stuttered breathing, and the look of pure pleasure that spread across his face as he released on his stomach.
Unable to fight back a moan at the memory, my hand slipped down my soapy body to where I needed it the most. My fingers ran across my clit and I cried out at how badly I needed release, too. The memory alone of his grunts and rumbled growls brought me to the edge. My back braced against the wall as I circled my fingers faster and faster, long moans slipping from my mouth. Then when I imagined him staring in my eyes as his jaw clenched, he roared and came, white streams of his cum in contrast with the olive tone of his stomach. I cried out as pure pleasure ripped through me. My body curled inward at the force of how strong I came, gasping for breath in the aftermath.
Standing under the heavy spray of the water, I washed away the wetness that was coating my inner thighs. I jumped out, toweling myself off.
As I lay on my bed, a wave of shame took hold. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling like I was betraying my own blood. What would my father say if he knew what I’d just done with the enemy?
But no matter how hard I despaired, I couldn’t seem to regret Zaal.
I wanted him.
But I knew I couldn’t go down there again. I owed it to my family.
In ten minutes I’d dried my hair and crawled into my bed. I just wanted to curl up and forget it all for a while.
As soon as I pressed my cheek against my palm searching for sleep, the memory of Zaal doing the same stirred a need in my body, a need for him.
Lifting my hand to my laptop on the dresser, I pulled it open to find my guards had reattached the surveillance feed. I fell into a fitful sleep watching a now-clean Zaal sleeping deeply.
His usually pain-riddled face now expressed nothing but peace.
Chapter Eight
Talia
I didn’t leave my bedroom all day. In fact, I never even left my bed. I’d forced myself to stay away from the basement. I’d forced my self to stay locked the fuck away, period. I’d forced myself to fight my instinct to run to Zaal.
I’d tossed and turned all last night, memories of my babushka plaguing my dreams, filling me with guilt. Memories of her stroking my hair as I fell asleep as a child, telling me about how she met her true love …
“I was only a child really, Talia. But one look at your grandfather and I knew. I knew he was my soul’s other half.”
“You did?” I whispered in awe.
Babushka smiled. “I did. It was his eyes. He had the kindest of brown eyes.” Babushka huffed a laugh. “Of course, I knew who he was. He was a Tolstoi, every Russian knew the Volkov Bratva, but I remember seeing those eyes and knowing that as violent as his life was, he was not.” I watched as Babushka’s eyes filled with water and my stomach sank. She missed my grandfather so much. I could see the racking pain in her eyes.
“Babushka?” I whispered and she pulled me closer into her side.
“Your dedushka was my life, Talia,” she said in a sad voice, “And one day, a man will enter your life and you will know, without a doubt, that he is yours. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and from that day forth, you’ll be his and he’ll be yours.”
I smiled against my babushka’s chest, and echoed, “I’ll be his and he’ll be mine.”
“A good Russian boy. A man from our way of life. A man your papa will approve of, will welcome into the Bratva to stand but his side. A man your family will be proud to have as their son.”
“I can’t wait,” I said excitedly, and closed my eyes, trying to imagine what my true love would be like. I smiled further just picturing my father shaking my love’s hand, with a proud and happy smile on his face, my heart full with the knowledge that I’d chosen my true love well …
I blinked fast, trying to chase the tears from my eyes. Trying to swallow back the nausea creeping up my throat. But Babushka’s words stabbed at my brain. I can’t explain it, but something will snap within you and you’ll be his and he’ll be yours. My heart beat at a furious rate as Zaal’s face flashed in my mind and, at that one simple thought, my heart swelled and filled with warmth.
Something within me had snapped.
The minute my hand had touched Zaal’s skin, and those jade eyes had seared mine, I knew something within me had fundamentally changed.
Sighing in shame, I gripped the comforter in my hands and fought back my tears.
Why him? Anybody but fucking him!
You can’t do this, Talia. You can’t have him. You can’t want him like this! I scolded myself as I jumped from my bed, unable to sit in this goddamn room any longer, hiding, shying away from the overwhelming pull to the man in the basement. I showered and dressed, all the time replaying last night’s dream in my head. I thought of Babushka and guilt took its firm hold. She would be so ashamed of me. Me! Her favorite. I knew I was letting her down. And I couldn’t fucking bear letting her down.
Running down the stairs, I reached the kitchen, brushing my hair back from my face in nervous frustration. My hands were trembling and my legs had the consistency of Jell-O as I drank in the darkening sky outside the large-framed windows.
Just breathe, I told myself. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and breathe.
I sucked in a breath. I closed my eyes. But all I saw when my eyelids drifted shut was him. His large olive-skinned body, his long black hair, and those green eyes. Those soulful green eyes that would fix on me as though he could read my mind, speak directly to my soul.
Shivers broke out along my skin at the mere memory of his taut body, at the sight of those three beauty spots beside his left eye that had me transfixed.
Snapping my eyes back open, my hand drifted to my precious, treasured necklace and I felt my eyes sting with betrayal once more.
I had to forget about him.
He wasn’t mine to have. He couldn’t be.
It was a stupid naive obsession.
The whip of the winter wind thrashed against the house windows’ glass as I stood motionless in the center of the vast kitchen. It howled and whistled and my hands curled into fists, only to slam down on the granite top island with my anger bubbling up inside.
I breathed hard, ignoring the throbbing of my now-injured hand, trying to rid my attraction to the damn man out of my mind. But the more I tried to expel the vision of him in my head, the more prominent his features became, every inch of him in perfect, infallible detail in my mind.
Whipping around, I searched the room for a distraction, my muscles jerking like a drug addict trying to avoid their next fix. My head told me to not go down and see him again, to not give in. My head told me to not go to the security room and check in on him on the basement’s surveillance feed.