Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (72)

Bree and I had laughed about it, and I’d of course lamented the fact that I hadn’t been there to see it in person. Chalk that up as another moment I’ve only experienced virtually.

It looks so wrong to see in another face, another place. Or maybe it’s not wrong at all? Maybe it’s exactly right.

Jo has a father—and he’s right here in front of me. Except he has no idea he has a five-year-old daughter who looks like him and smiles like him and pinches the bridge of her nose. Just like he does.

“Camila?”

I shake my head, but horrifyingly, I feel tears well up in my eyes. It’s not just about me either. I’m crying for all the years Isaak has lost, too.

“Are you crying?”

I turn away from him forcefully, but he’s not going to let it go. “Ignore me.”

“Not likely.”

“Isaak, please…”

“Camila,” he says right back, matching my firm tone.

He walks around me and plants himself directly in front of me. His shadow blocks out the sun, but I don’t need the heat when he’s near me.

Jesus. I’ve got to stop thinking of him like that. Like he’s anything but the man who stole me away and forced me into marrying him.

“Is this about the phone line in your room?” Isaak asks. “Because I meant what I said earlier. I’ll have it restored.”

I look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Isaak, you and I both know that we’re not being a hundred percent honest with each other. And I’m okay with that. But… maybe we can try to be honest with each other for just one question?”

I don’t know what possesses me to go there, but I don’t regret it once I’ve spoken.

“I can do that.”

“You go first,” I say, feeling immediately self-conscious.

He doesn’t argue. “Okay. Are you in love with Maxim?”

My eyes dart to his. I’d been expecting some curveball, but definitely not that. Is this the question that’s been keeping him up at night? Or is it a throwaway question, one whose answer he doesn’t really care about?

“I thought I loved him,” I say softly. “But even back when he was Alex, I didn’t love him the way you’re supposed to love the man you’ve agreed to marry.”

“And how are you supposed to love the man you agree to marry?”

“Wholly. Unequivocally. Passionately.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

I snort with laughter, but it helps to put me at ease. It gives me enough confidence to ask him the question that’s been keeping me up at night lately. “My turn.”

“Go ahead,” Isaak says.

“Why did you approach my table that night?” I ask. “Why did you feel the need to interrupt my date?”

He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. It’s so bizarrely tender that I nearly swoon. I mean it—my head gets faint and my knees turn to jelly. I have to tighten my grip on Isaak’s strong forearm to stay upright.”

“Because I couldn’t stand seeing you with another man when it was clear you were meant for me.”

And just like that, I melt. The only way to keep myself from falling apart completely…

Is kissing him.

So I do. I throw my arms around him and press my lips against his. It takes a second before his hands land on my hips, pulling me against his body so that I can feel his erection at my hip.

There’s no conscious thought involved, because the next thing I know, I’m clawing at his shirt, ripping until the buttons give way. He returns the favor. In the blink of an eye, we’re both naked.

It’s broad daylight. And despite the relatively secluded part of the garden we’re in, it’s still very much a common space. The library incident is still fresh in my mind, but the embarrassment that came with being discovered has almost completely faded.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pushes me against the trunk of one of the broad, leafy trees that stand sentinel around the garden. The bark scrapes at my back, but the discomfort somehow lends itself to the pleasure.

Isaak’s hand squeezes my breasts, pulling at the nipples and rolling them between his fingers, drawing sharp gasps from me again and again.

He doesn’t need to do anything more for me to be ready for him, but his fingers slip inside my wetness anyway. I cry out, desperate for the high that only he can give me.

He had asked me in the library if Maxim made me come like he did.

And the honest answer is no. Maxim never made me come at all. He was too selfish in bed, too oblivious to my needs. I spent eighteen months pretending it didn’t matter.

But now, with Isaak’s body pressed against mine, with his hand on my breasts and his fingers inside me, I know how much I would have been sacrificing in marrying Maxim.

How na?ve I had been. How foolish.

Isaak fingers me hard, forcing a moan from my lips that would have made me blush on any other day. But I need a release now, and all the comfort that comes with it. So I clench my pussy around his fingers and brace myself for the onslaught.

When I’m quivering all over, he pulls his fingers out of me and licks me off them. It pulls me back to the night we met, when he’d done the same thing in the middle of the restaurant.