Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(44)

I keep riding him, marveling at the feel of his hands on my waist and his cock straining against my still tingling walls. Mikhail groans and starts pounding into me from below, while I clutch at his shoulders so hard that he will probably end up with nail marks. When I feel myself coming again, I arch my back and let out a barely audible scream. The next moment, Mikhail explodes inside me.

He is still panting when I lean forward. I gently touch my nose to his and bury my hands in his hair, looking into his mismatched eyes. In my chest, my heart leaps with joy every time he’s near, making me feel complete instead of a flawed, lost person I always believed myself to be. I remember Marcus calling me an ice princess once because I didn’t want to cuddle or hold hands in public. He made it sound like a joke, but I know he meant it.

It’s different with Mikhail. There is this inexplicable urge to touch him that consumes me whenever he’s around, as if my body is somehow drawn to him like a magnet. It scares me a little. Dancing was the only thing that kept me sane, so when the injury ended my career, I thought my life was over. I wanted it back, so much, and I never thought I’d want anything more. Until now.

Mikhail pulls himself up on his elbows and tilts his head to the side, watching me. “What is it, dusha moya?”

I bend to place my lips on his forehead, then his left eye, but when I move to his right one, he turns his head to the side, avoiding my lips.

He’s really sensitive about his eye, but no, I won’t let him do that.

“Mikhail . . .” I rasp, but he just shakes his head.

“Please, don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my eye is hideous. I don’t want your lips anywhere near it.”

I grind my teeth and take his face in my hands. “It’s not,” I whisper.

Mikhail just looks at me and smiles a little. It hits me right in the chest—his impossibly sad smile.

“Okay,” he says and places a finger over my lips. “Please, stop hurting yourself because of me. You promised you won’t do that anymore.” Another sad smile. “Come here, it’s late. Let’s sleep.”

He’s in love with me. I know it without him telling me so. It’s visible in his every single act. Why won’t he let me love him back, then? My dark, dangerous husband—so strong, so unbreakable, and so heartbreakingly alone, even with me next to him. I don’t know why he won’t let me in or why he is still hiding from me. Even after I’ve seen him naked numerous times, he still wears long-sleeved shirts when I’m around during the day. Doesn’t he understand that no one will ever compare to him in my eyes? How can I make him get that through his thick head?

He embraces me, reaches out toward the bedside lamp, and turns it off. It’s not a particularly meaningful thing, and I don’t know why, but him turning off that lamp is the last straw for me. I decide I’ve had enough. Enough of everyone being shocked by the fact I like him, enough of people telling me there is something wrong with me, but most of all I’m done with him thinking he’s not good enough and denying my touch. I sit up, grab the lamp, turn the blasted thing back on, and spin around to face Mikhail.

“This stops now. I will touch you wherever and whenever I want. If I want to kiss you, you don’t have the right to turn your head.”

Mikhail pulls himself onto his elbows and regards me with his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Baby . . .”

“No. Do not baby me now. Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere this time.”

“Sweet talk?” he raises an eyebrow.

“No more pulling away. No more hot and cold. No more long sleeves.” I point my finger at him. “If I see you in another long-sleeved shirt around the house, I am going to tear it off you.”

Mikhail is very good at keeping emotions from showing on his face, but I catch the surprise flashing in his eye as he tilts his head and watches me.

I don’t care if I first met him only a month ago. I don’t care that our marriage was arranged as a business deal without my say in the matter. I. Don’t. Care. He’s mine, and I’ll fight anything and anyone who would try to keep him from me, even if it’s Mikhail himself.

“And I get to kiss you everywhere. You got that? I will draw it for you if needed. Everywhere. Yes, your eye is fucked up. I want to kiss it anyway.” I grind my teeth and stare him down. “And you are going to let me.” I poke him with my finger in the center of his chest, then continue, “Because I am in love with you. Every part of you. Your grumpy personality included. Fucking deal with it.”

I take a deep breath, cross my arms, and watch him as he stares at me without blinking. He is so still that, for a moment, I wonder if he stopped breathing, then he suddenly lunges at me, and I find myself on my back with Mikhail’s body sprawled over mine. He still doesn’t say anything, just presses his palms on either side of my face and bends his head until our noses touch. His right thumb traces the contour of my cheek and chin, and then comes to rest on my lips.

“Tell me again,” he whispers, regarding me carefully, like a hawk, as if he’s searching for some deception. I look at him right in the eyes and hold his gaze, willing him to see that what I'm saying is true.

“I am . . . so in love . . . with you,” I say, and the next second, Mikhail’s mouth crashes down on mine.

His arms come around my back as he rolls, taking me with him until I’m laying atop of him, never breaking the kiss. He’s squeezing me into him so tightly that it’s hard to breathe.