Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(66)

He rises to an elbow and grips my throat. Staring deep into my eyes, he fucks me until I’m writhing and moaning his name.

“Malyutka. My little bird. My sweet angel. What have you done to me?”

His voice is raw, choked with emotion. His eyes are filled with anguish.

I climax with his hand around my throat, cutting off a scream.

He drops his head and hides his face in my neck. Shuddering, he fucks me straight through my orgasm. Then the motion of his hips falters. He releases a guttural moan.

With one final, forceful thrust, he comes inside me.





33





Riley





My back smarting from rug burn, I lie panting and shaking with my arms and legs wrapped around him, his body buried inside mine.

When his breathing finally slows, he lifts his head and gazes into my eyes.

He lets me see everything.

The darkness. The wreckage. The longing. The need. The loneliness that matches mine exactly.

The confusion that we are what we are, but what we should be is enemies.

I whisper, “I know. We don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

His lids flutter closed. He exhales heavily. Then he kisses me again, this time tenderly.

He withdraws from me, presses a soft kiss to each of my breasts, then picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom.

Setting me on my feet, he makes sure I’m steady before he turns on the shower. Then he undresses, takes my hand, and leads me under the warm spray.

He cleans my face with soap and a washcloth. He rinses bear blood from my hair. He washes my body with such care and attention, it seems like someone paid him a great deal of money to do it.

He washes himself as an afterthought, turns off the water and dries us both off with the same towel, then carries me to bed.

“I’ll forget how to walk,” I murmur, my head resting against his strong shoulder.

“If you don’t want to, you’ll never have to walk anywhere again.”

My chest expands. My insides turn squishy.

He means I wouldn’t have to walk because he’d gladly carry me.

He settles me on my back in bed, crawls in beside me, and pulls the covers over us. He slides his arm beneath my neck and flattens a hand over my belly in the same spot he always does, directly over my scar.

Then he puts his nose into my damp hair and inhales.

When he exhales, it sounds like decades of misery have been relieved, like maybe he was just released from prison.

We lie like that for a long time, holding each other, just breathing.

I know I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and drowsy. “When I first saw you, I thought you were homeless.”

Too blissed out to be offended, I laugh instead. “Such a sweet talker.”

“You were so unkempt. Small, gray, and rumpled, like a tissue someone had kept in their pocket too long.”

My eyes widen. “Good god. You might want to consider shutting the hell up, lover boy, or you’ll never get lucky again.”

He squeezes my hip, snuggling me closer. “You made me want to rescue you. To take care of you. I had no idea you were a dragon in disguise, like that tattoo hidden under your hair on the nape of your neck.”

I say grumpily, “Keep talking. You have a lot to make up for.”

His voice drops to a murmur. “A tiny, fire-breathing dragon, who can cut a man down to size with only a few words from her beautiful mouth.”

I ponder that, unsure if it was an insult or a compliment.

“What did you think when you first saw me?”

“That I was about to be featured on an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.”

After a short pause, he starts to laugh. It’s a purely masculine sound, belly deep and genuine.

I love it.

“I’m surprised you know that reference, considering your hatred of TVs.”

“I never said I hated television. I just don’t have one here.”

“Do you have one at your place in Moscow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Why not here?”

He slides his hand from my belly to my breast, cupping it gently and thumbing over my nipple until it hardens. His voice drops.

“Because this is my sanctuary. The only things I keep here are ones I can’t be without.”

I close my eyes, turn my face to his neck, and wait until my heart has resumed beating to say, “So you watch American crime shows, huh?”

“They’re very entertaining. Your criminals are the stupidest in the world.”

“They’re not my criminals.”

He cups my jaw and kisses my forehead. “No. You only have one of those.”

I roll onto my side and cuddle up against him. He gives me a big squeeze. A few minutes of comfortable silence pass, then I whisper, “I almost got eaten by a bear, Mal.”

“Bears don’t eat people. They just slash them to pieces.”

“That’s great,” I say drily. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to put its stuffed head on the wall where the elk’s used to be?”

“So I can be retraumatized every time I look at it? Pass.”

“You don’t seem traumatized.”