Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(22)

Mikhail lies me down on the bed, pulls off my leggings and panties, and starts unbuttoning his pants. Too slow. I need him inside me now or I’ll go mad. I stand up on the bed, and the moment his pants are off, I jump back into his arms and hook my legs around his waist.

I’ve never been this bold with a man before. Marcus once said that I should get counseling because I was cold and unaffectionate. He was right. I’ve never really enjoyed sex with him or others. For years, I thought something might be seriously wrong with me since none of my partners could turn me on. Sex being necessary for a relationship, I just went with it because it was expected, and faked the orgasm.

Frigid. I thought I was frigid. Apparently not, because I’m so wet that if I could think rationally, I would be embarrassed.

Holding me under my thighs, Mikhail turns around and presses my back onto the wall. He is saying something in Russian, and even though I don’t understand a word, just hearing his rough voice in my ear makes my insides melt. God, I want to feel him inside of me so badly, my whole body is trembling.

“My little ballerina,” he utters as he kisses my neck. “It would be much easier if you weren’t so beautiful.”

Mikhail positions himself and slowly lowers me onto his cock. He’s not even halfway inside me, and I’m already spasming around his huge length. When he buries himself fully inside of me, I gasp and my body shudders. The feel of his hard cock inside of me and the rough wall against my back brings me just to the brink of an orgasm as he stretches me in the best way possible.

He whispers foreign but seductive words in my ear while his big hands squeeze my butt cheeks. His lips kiss the sensitive spot on the side of my neck as he finally begins to move. With each thrust he seats himself further inside of me, hitting a spot that no man has ever hit before. Slow at first, and then faster. I bury my nails into his skin as his thrusts increase in force, and I can feel my body begin to tingle with my impending orgasm. It’s crazy. Intoxicating. The absolute destruction of my body and mind. He pounds into me like a man possessed, each slam of his hips into mine causes my back to hit the wall, stealing my breath. I come and Mikhail is right behind me.

I’m so spent I can’t gather the strength to unwind my arms from Mikhail’s neck, so I just tuck my face into the crook of his neck and let him carry me to the bed. The last things I remember before falling asleep are hushed words and a feather-light kiss in my hair.





I tug Bianca closer to me, marvelling at the feel of having her finally in my arms as I watch her face illuminated by the moonlight. I trace the contour of her eyebrow with a finger, then her small nose and pouty lips. She is so beautiful, it fucking hurts. It feels like sacrilege to have her bound to someone like me, or to have my bloodstained hands touching her—hands that have killed and maimed so many. She deserves better. A house with a picket fence and a carefree life with a normal man. An honest man who wouldn’t have to lie to her or hide the bad things he does when he goes to “work.” A man who would never come home covered in blood.

She deserves to be able to go to a restaurant without being stared at while people around her whisper to each other, discussing why the fuck she is with someone like me. I grew accustomed to the stares and hushed whispers years ago. They don’t bother me in the least. But I don’t like Bianca being the object of gossip. If I was a better man, I would have sent her away, annulled the marriage, and set her free. I guess I’m a bad man, because I don’t plan on letting her go.

How am I going to tell her I hid the fact that I know sign language? That instead of making her situation easier, I only made it harder? How can I explain my selfishness? Will she hate me for it?

I won’t lie to myself by thinking that Bianca is attracted to me, I’m not delusional. She was in a bad place tonight, vulnerable, probably lonely, and craving human contact. And I was the only one here. In the morning, she will likely regret what happened between us, so I’ll enjoy these stolen moments. It’ll have to be enough. I put my head on the pillow behind hers, bury my face into her hair, and hold her even tighter.





Chapter 9





The room I wake up in seems vaguely familiar. I sit up in the bed and look around. Mikhail’s room. Me, in Mikhail’s bed. I smile and fall back onto the pillows. God, just thinking about last night makes me want to run out of the room, find Mikhail, and drag him back to bed with me.

The clock on the nightstand shows 7 a.m. Where is he? Did he seriously leave me here and go to work out as he does every morning? You don’t do that after giving a woman the best sex of her life the night before. Where is the cuddling? Showering together? A second round?

I get out of the bed, go to the closet on the opposite wall, and steal another of Mikhail’s T-shirts. If I remember correctly, the housekeeper is coming to do the big cleaning today, and I don’t want to flash her if she’s early. When I exit the room, there is no one around. No housekeeper, and no trace of my husband. I proceed to the guest room to take a shower and wash my hair, then go to the kitchen to make coffee.

I scroll through my phone while drinking the dark elixir and see three messages, one from Milene and two from Angelo, all dated to last night.

21:12 Milene: What are you getting Nonna? Please tell me you are not buying her another hat.

Damn it. With all that’s happened, I completely forgot Nonna Giulia’s birthday party.