Chapter Twenty-Two

Brooke

I woke up suddenly and looked around, as if maybe the past twenty-four hours had been nothing more than a bad dream. But I blinked my eyes into focus and the first thing I noticed was that it was dark outside. The next detail I took in was that I was still inside Ilya's luxury penthouse, which I refused to enjoy. Sure, the sofa was incredibly comfortable, probably more than my mattress back at home, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that I was sad and pissed off and utterly fucking terrified about the left turn my life had suddenly taken. The only good thing was that with Karina with my brother for the weekend, and Lara away at a conference, I hoped that no one would notice my absence. When my gaze landed on Ilya in nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants, I felt two distinct things. White-hot, scorch my panties lust. And equally hot and furious hate. Ilya was the reason I was here. This was all his fault. As my hate outweighed my lust, I wished he'd stayed the fuck out of my life. That he was still back in Russia or had chosen anywhere else in the world other than Winter Valley. If he hadn't returned, then none of this would have happened.

"Still angry?"

I glared in his direction and the bastard smiled. "Nope, I woke up and decided that I'm totally okay with being kidnapped by the guy who snatched my virginity and ran back to Mother Russia." My shoulders slumped forward with regret. "So thrilled to be here," I added with enough sarcasm to fill the spacious apartment.

"Brooke, I can apologize until I am blue in the face, but it will never matter, will it?"

"You haven't actually apologized. You skipped the apology while you were waiting for me to be so grateful that you saved my life. But please, tell me again what crime I committed to sentence me to death." Did it really matter? No, but it helped serve as a reminder of who Ilya was today. Those moments when I looked at him and felt a surge of lust were doused by the reminder that he lived a dangerous life.

One that could put me and our daughter in danger.

"I apologize, Brooke." He crossed the large living room and took my hands in his, twining our fingers together. "I should have called after my father died to let you know that I wouldn't be back. And I am so fucking sorry that you are mixed up in my shit now." His blue gaze was so serious and sincere that I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to, but I couldn't. "Thank you." I tried to pull my hands from his, but he held me tighter.

"I missed you, Brooke."

I snorted my disbelief.

He grinned. "I did. I thought of you often over the years. I wondered what you were doing, if you were enjoying your life in college and if you remembered me. Then I wondered what you would think if I told you the truth of my family's wealth."

I sighed heavily. "Look, Ilya, I accept your apology, but that doesn't change the past eight years. So let's just get through with this and go our separate ways."

"I can't do that."

"Too bad." I pushed at his chest to put some distance between us. "I'm not in your little mafia company, and you can't just decide how things are going to be because that's how you want them to be."

"You still want me," he shot the words at me like an accusation.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" There was no point in denying it—even now I wanted to rip those silky pants off him and ride him like a sexy Russian stallion.

"As much as you hate me, you still want me."

Rather than argue with him, I turned away and went in search of wine. There was no way in hell I'd be able to deal with him sober, not now. Possibly ever.

"Admit it, Brooke. You hate me, but you want me. You crave the way I make you feel."

He had been able to make me come quicker than even my vibrator, but after that, I felt far worse. "You made me come and I enjoyed it, but I didn't appreciate feeling like a ten-cent whore afterwards." I found the wine, yanked out the cork, and poured until the glass was full.

"Brooke," he sighed, and clenched his jaw as he stood there, not five feet from me.

"No!" He didn't get to look as if he was the injured party, as if he was the one who'd been left devastated and pregnant, who had to put off their dreams to raise a child. "You…just no!" I was so angry that I threw the wine glass in his direction, and it shattered against the wall.

"Goddammit, Brooke!" Ilya ducked out of the way and rushed to me, gripping me by the arms and shaking me. "What the hell was that?"

"Just leave me the hell alone," I whimpered, suddenly exhausted and defeated.

"Don't you think I wish I could?" he said angrily. "But I can't." Those words came out on a tortured moan, and a second later his mouth was on mine, devouring me until I submitted to him.

My hands went to his biceps, hard and thick, and I gripped him tight to keep my legs from buckling underneath me. His kisses were punishing, they tore me up and then put me back together again and I was powerless to do anything other than kiss him back. To give as good as I was getting. A soft moan escaped, and Ilya deepened the kiss.

His hands were everywhere all at once. Gripping my hair so he could angle me however he wanted me. Sliding down my back until they cupped my ass and pulled me flush against his silk covered erection. "Fuck," he roared when he pulled back from the kiss. "No one drives me as crazy as you do!"

"Too many words," I said, and jumped in his arms, wrapping my legs around him before I took control of the kiss. I didn't want words from Ilya. I didn't want anything, not really. But getting naked with him and forgetting, at least for a little while, the shambles my life was in and why? That was something I could do.

I would deal with the repercussions later. If I lived long enough for that.

Kissing him had soaked my panties. Made my nipples hard and sent my pulse soaring. I wanted more of that. A lot more.

"Brooke," he whispered, and pulled back, forcing me to slide down the length of his body until my feet hit the floor. "I need you. Now."

My gaze raked over his bare chest once again, and with the anger pressed down—for now—I focused on his muscles and the ink that covered them. Beneath his expensive suits and cufflinks, the man was covered in six-pack abs, rock hard pecs, and ink, lots and lots of ink. Black eagles and black stars on his chest and biceps. A large gun on his side. It was like a twisted fairytale, and I was so curious, but I tamped it down because I didn't want to know.

My gaze lingered on his chest before I met his gaze head on, and the blue orbs pulled me in and made me think of things I stopped thinking about long ago. This isn't about feelings or emotions, it's just about satisfying a need. That brought me back to the here and now, and I removed my shirt and then my slacks. Item after item I tossed them behind me until I was naked and wet and panting for him.

"So fucking beautiful," he bit out, and lifted me onto the counter. He stepped between my thighs, using his hands to spread me wide. "Tell me you want me, Brooke."

I was tempted to deny him, but my pussy pulsed hard when he leaned down and blew a soft breath across my clit. "I want you, Ilya. Right now, I want you."

He rewarded me with a smile and then his mouth right where I wanted him. Ilya devoured my pussy, licking and sucking my clit while he plunged two fingers deep inside me. He grunted as if he enjoyed what he was doing, or maybe he enjoyed my reaction to him. His moves intensified until I flew apart with my hands tangled in his hair and my hips bucking up to rub against his face.

"Fuck, yes," I moaned, and rode out my orgasm with a smile.

Ilya laughed, the sound deep and rumbling as he kissed his way up my body until his lips wrapped around my nipple. "You are so sexy when you orgasm."

I smiled as my eyes fluttered shut, but they flew open when his hands gripped me by the waist and pulled me from the counter. "What are you—oh my god!" He lowered me onto his cock slowly, filling me up, one thick inch at a time until I was so full I thought I might burst. "Fuck."

He held me close against his chest as he pounded into me, fucking me hard and fast while he grunted his pleasure. He was thick and long inside my still sensitive walls, and I felt another orgasm building already. "You have such a greedy cunt." He grinned and laid me across the kitchen table. "I am greedy too." He gripped my breasts, squeezing and kneading them while he pounded into me mercilessly, making me feel better than I ever knew was possible.

Every inch of my flesh was sensitized, covered in goosebumps while he pushed me higher and higher, keeping me perched on the very edge until he was ready for me to come. "Ilya," I moaned.

He grinned. "Again."

"Ilya." I gave him wanted he wanted, and he rewarded me with deeper strokes as he grabbed my legs and rested my ankles on his shoulders, which sent him even deeper. "Oh fuck!"

"Come for me, Brooke. Come all over my cock. Now." He pinched my nipples, and I felt the orgasm build. He rolled his hips in such a way that he brushed against my clit with every stroke.

I exploded. Thousands of fireworks exploded behind my eyes and my body shook and convulsed violently as the orgasm poured out of me for several long minutes, while Ilya continued to fuck me. Harder. Faster.

Even deeper.

"Ilya," I panted, and watched him, his beautiful face twisted in agony as he chased down his pleasure.

"So. Fucking. Good." He released my nipples, and the residual tingle prolonged my own pleasure, but when his thumbs found my clit, there was another round of even more powerful explosions and I was lost to the pleasure.

I heard Ilya somewhere above me roar out his pleasure before I felt soft, sweet kisses pepper my body.

I was so satisfied, so sexually blissed out that I didn't argue when he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. His bed wasn't just soft, it was so indulgent I felt my entire body relax even more. It was like sleeping on angels' eyelashes it was so soft, and before I knew what was happening, I drifted off to sleep surrounded by hot, hard, flesh.