Chapter 12: Artem

All through my shower, I had been craving Sierra and imagined boning her in several positions, especially under the running water. I was hard as a rock, and the only thing on my mind was how to feel her skin against mine, how to kiss those cherry lips, and the nasty stuff I would do to her sexually.

She didn't know this, but she was messing with my sanity; since our first time together, I couldn't seem to have enough of her. I wanted her all day, every day, but I had to keep myself in check. I had to subject my body to this torment just so I wouldn't come off as creepy. But how long would I keep torturing myself like this? Sierra was my wife, and her body belonged to me; it was mine for the taking anytime, anywhere. I shouldn't be considering stuff like this.

However, deep down, her feelings mattered to me. What she thought about me and how she saw me was of great concern to me. In my own crooked way, I wanted to do right by her, to try and make her feel more comfortable in this life that I had forced her into. I didn't want her to think that all she was good for was just sex. She was more than that.

But every time I set my eyes on her, my third leg moved in my pants. Thoughts of her often made me hard even in the most inappropriate of times, and I had little or no control over this situation.

With a white towel around my waist, I stepped out of the bathroom, hoping to find her lying in bed, or sitting on the sofa, but she wasn't in the room at all. If she was, I'd have taken her once again, cajoling her into an intimate moment.

She could never resist me, anyway—and no, it wasn't out of fear of what I'd do to her. Sierra simply found me attractive, as I did her. It was mutual, and each time I initiated sex, it was always mind-blowing. She was such a great lover, and somehow, she'd snuck her way into my stone-cold heart. She'd occupied my mind and had managed to make other women look unattractive to me.

I exhaled sharply, hands on my waist as I scanned the room for any sign of her. Her scent was everywhere, but not her. "Sierra?" I called out and received no reply.

Changing into something casual, I headed to Zoya's room to spend some time with her. "Zoya?" I knocked on the door. "Are you there?"

When I received no reply, I pushed the door open and slowly walked inside. "Zoya?"

Still no reply. There was no sign of her at all. Her toys were littered across the floor, and a few dresses were scattered on the bed, but she wasn't in there. As I peered at the room, my eyes drifted to her window; it was open, and the wind was moving the curtain to its rhythm.

Then, a silly thought hit me: Sierra was supposed to babysit Zoya. She'd volunteered to do so. What if…?

"No, she wouldn't." My brows furrowed as I thought about the possibility of my wife wanting to hurt me by escaping with the child.

She had a motive to do me harm; I had kidnapped her and practically forced her into marrying me. She knew how much Zoya meant to me. Who was to say she wouldn't want revenge for me ruining her life?

I withdrew my cell and called the phone I gave her. It rang, but she didn't answer. My muscles coiled in frustration, but I forced myself to remain calm and called again. Still, it rang, but no one answered. Did she really…?

After the third call, I hurried out of Zoya's room and dialed Yuri's cell as I descended the stairs. It was still ringing on the other line when I smelled something nice from the kitchen. The aroma filled the air, and soon, I heard Zoya's tiny voice echoing off the walls. With a quickened pace, I got to the entrance, and there they were, having a good time.

Sierra was taking a plate out of the oven, with an apron wrapped in front of her, as she laughed at Zoya's words. Zoya was sitting on the shelf, her small legs dangling off the furniture as she ran her mouth about God-knows-what.

I knew my niece liked Sierra, but seeing them bond so swiftly was a marvel to me—especially because Zoya was a picky girl who wasn't so free with just anybody. Yet, here she was, chatting and laughing like she'd known Sierra for ages.

Strange but beautiful.

" Pakhan? " Yuri's voice came through the phone clasped to my ears.

"Never mind," I replied to him, hanging up the phone with my eyes fixed on the girls in front of me.

"When I grow up, I want to be like you," Zoya said, dangling her feet in the air, her heels gently slamming against the shelf.

"Really?" Sierra asked, as curious as I was to hear the girl's reply. "Why is that?"

"Well, because you're pretty, and you're married to a handsome man," she replied.

Sierra cocked a head at her, shocked at her response. She tugged against the fingers of the kitchen gloves she had on. "You're pretty, too, and I'm sure you'll marry an even more handsome man."

Zoya giggled. "He has to know how to cook, though."

Sierra had by now completely taken off her gloves. She tossed them on the countertop and leaned against it. "He has to know how to cook?" She raised her brows.

"Yes! Like my daddy!" She laughed. "He cooks for my mommy, and she always says, ‘I love you, sugar boo,' each time he serves her a delicious meal—which is kinda cute. But between you and me, Aunt Sierra," she lowered her voice, "why sugar boo ?"

Sierra burst out laughing, and so did Zoya.

I leaned against the door frame, watching them in silence, my presence undetected by the ladies engrossed in their gossip.

"What's wrong with sugar boo ?" my wife asked amidst chuckles.

"It's not romantic!" she declared. "Dad knows this, too, but I think he's afraid to tell her."

I actually found this hilarious, and I couldn't help smiling with my arms folded across my chest.

"You're so funny, Zoya." Sierra approached her and ruffled her hair before kissing her forehead.

I felt so silly now, seeing how good my wife was with kids. And to think I actually thought she had run away with my niece. That was ridiculous. I hadn't thought it through, hadn't analyzed the facts before jumping to conclusions. My mansion was a fortress, there was no way Sierra could escape with my men all over the place. The window that was open in Zoya's room wasn't an escape route; it was way too high for Sierra to successfully climb down with a four-year-old. If I had seen the situation this way earlier, I wouldn't be feeling so silly about myself right now.

Zoya met my eyes and smiled. Then, she pulled Sierra close and whispered something into her ear. My wife turned in my direction, and I saw something that resembled fear in her eyes. I didn't like the way her smile had gradually faded after noticing my presence. She was having such a good time, laughing and being genuinely happy for the first time since I brought her here. Now, I was the reason she'd lost that joy.

She cleared her throat and headed back to the countertop. "Zoya was hungry. She came to the room while you were in the shower, and I decided to make her something to eat—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," I cut off, wearing a smile to help calm her down.

"I don't?" Her eyes widened.

"Please, don't be so melodramatic," I said, walking into the room. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm not all that bad."

"But you're not fun, either," she said, loosening up a little.

"I can be fun," I said, looking at my niece in a silent plea for help.

"Ah, ah." Zoya threw her hands in the air. "Leave me outta this."

"Zoya, come on, I thought we were buddies," I said to her, feigning disappointment.

"We are. But Mom said never to get in the middle of a couple, so I'll listen to her this time." Zoya wiggled her brows at me.

Sometimes, she acted way more mature than her age.

"How old are you again?" Sierra, shocked by her response, shot a glance in her direction.

"Four." Zoya giggled innocently.

"Hmm." I inhaled the aroma of Sierra's baked goods. "It smells good."

Sierra smiled broadly. "You think so?"

I stared into her eyes, and in mine, she got her reply. She was beautiful, and I was tempted to rip her clothes off right there and then. But a kid was present. I'd have to wait.

"Just kiss already. I know you want to!" Zoya blurted out.

We laughed, and Sierra asked me, "Wanna taste it?"

"Yes, I'd love to," I replied.

She cut out a slice of chocolate cake and slowly pushed it toward me, though I noticed how she herself didn't seem to be eating any. Zoya had already started scarfing down a piece.

I took a bite and munched it, savoring the incredible flavor on my tongue. It was rich and decadent; tangy cocoa mixed with a sweet filling, leaving the cake rich and moist. "Hmm. This is good. This is really good."

"You like?" She fixed her eyes on me, watching my reaction.

"Best I've ever tasted," I confessed, giving her a thumbs-up gesture. "Where did you learn to bake?"

Her face lit up—lips pulling into a smile and eyes brightening—and I could tell my comment meant a lot to her. She was good at this, so it was well deserved.

"When I was a kid, I used to watch my mom bake for my stepdad. Guess I sorta picked it up from there," she replied, gazing off a bit, as if looking into the past.

"Stepdad?" I asked, frowning. "What about your real dad?"

She was quiet for a moment, and I felt I may have overstepped.

Not wanting to undo any of our progress, I said, "I didn't mean to pry—"

"No, no, no, it's fine," she cut me off. "We just don't speak about him often."

I didn't want anything to ruin this blissful moment, so I changed the subject to a less gloomy one. We spent the next few minutes chattering on neutral ground. I tried my best to crack them up with some jokes, but unfortunately, my failed attempts were the primary source of their laughter.

Sierra had never been happier since she got here, and it pleased me to see her in this state—playful and cheerful. Each time she looked at me, there was a glint of something in her eyes that hadn't been there before. I recognized that look, having once seen it through the bright eyes of another woman. It was love. As faint as it was, it was there.