Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(50)

She’s got one hand on my hip, but the other one is working between her legs.

When I pull out, she collapses on the bed. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling wildly. But her eyes never leave mine.

Finally, she’s admitting what she wants. I’m not going to let her get off easy.

I crawl over her and take her nipple in my mouth. She throws her arms over her head and arches her back, giving herself to me.

But it isn’t enough.

I need all of her.

I press a knee to knock her thighs apart, then line up and bury myself inside of her. Her heels lock around my back as I sink all the way into her until our hips are flush.

“Yes,” she gasps.

I pull out just far enough to slam into her again. Her body shakes with the force of it.

We’re both already teetering on the edge, desperate for release. The road has been paved, so all that’s left is to drive into her and hold on for the ride.

I roll my thumbs over her nipples and nibble at the soft flesh of her breasts as she writhes beneath me, begging to come.

Then her moans turn to screams as her body clenches around my cock. And not a minute too soon, because I empty inside her seconds later.

We roll to opposite sides of the bed, both spent and exhausted. Drops of perspiration cling to her chest. It’s impossible to know if it’s hers or mine. I lean in and kiss them away anyway.

She strums her fingers through my hair lazily.

When I’m done, I lie back, knowing I’m going to sleep well tonight. At least as well as it’s possible for me to sleep.

“Pasha.” She says it so softly I almost don’t hear her.

“Huh?”

“His name. Our son’s name,” she offers awkwardly. “It’s Pasha.”

I turn to her but don’t say anything. Pasha is a Russian derivative of Pavel. Which means…

“I named him after your brother,” she confirms. “Pasha Leonardo Solovev.”

“Leonardo?” I repeat.

A faint blush creeps up her cheeks. “After you.”

I nod. The tightness in my chest is strange and inexplicable. I don’t know what to call it or what to do with it. But it’s not a bad feeling. Not entirely, at least.

Willow takes a deep breath as though a load has been lifted off her mind. But I sense a new worry clinging to her. Or maybe it’s not new at all. Maybe it’s always been there, hiding behind bravado.

“It feels nice to say his name out loud,” she whispers. “I’ve avoided it for so long.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts to say. It hurts to be separated from him.”

“You know you have the power to change that, right?” I remind her.

She looks me in the eye. “I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of this life. Of what it will do to him.”

“This life will find him either way,” I tell her. “The same way it found you. And you weren’t prepared. Do you want the same for Pasha?”

She sighs. “Stop talking sense—it’s confusing me.”

I relent. This battle between us will not be solved tonight. She still needs time to accept. To understand.

“What does he look like?” I ask instead.

She smiles. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on her in weeks. Maybe the first one I’ve seen since I met her in that club almost two years ago.

“He looks like you, Leo,” she says softly. “Just like you.”

I chuckle. “I bet that pissed you off.”

“You would think so, but no. It comforted me, actually. I felt like I had a part of you with me.”

She goes quiet. She’s said more than she wanted to. Revealed more than she should have.

But it just confirms it: tonight was progress, far more than I expected. In time, she’ll write that letter to Anya just like I want her to. This will resolve and then we can decide what comes next.

“Leo,” she says softly.

“Hmm?”

“My parents, are they—are they alright?”

I look at her and nod. “As far as Belov is concerned, they’re dead. Ariel’s orders were to kill them and wait for you. But she faked their deaths and transferred them to me.”

“So they know?”

“I told them only what they needed to know,” I admit. “And yes, that includes your true identity.”

“How did they react?”

“Like any parents would. They were scared. But I assured them that I would find you. That I’d get you back.”

“Where are they now?” she asks with wide eyes.

“I’ve set them up in an apartment by the city. In time, I’ll move them to a house of their choosing. They’re not apartment people.”

She smiles. “You noticed?”

“They’ve never complained about anything, but a couple of visits and I could tell.”

She sits up a little and looks at me with an awed expression.

“What?” I ask.

“You… you visit them?”

“When I can spare the time.”

Her expression softens. “That… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I say.