19
IVAN
Yasha is leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door when I step out into the hallway.
“Did you get your lady love all settled in?” he croons.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He holds up his hands and shrugs. “That sour attitude must be why Niles just tore through here like he was on fire. I’ve never seen him so flustered.”
“If we want people to believe Cora is my wife, everyone needs to believe it. No exceptions.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
I look to Yasha, brow raised. “What does that mean?”
“It means I knew from the start there was no way in hell you were going to marry some ditzy daughter of a don and be happy. Those girls exist in the safe little snow globe worlds their daddies build for them. But this girl?” He hitches his thumb towards the door and blows out a breath. “I can see the two of you working well together.”
I snort. “You must have missed when she insinuated she’d rather chew off her own leg than marry me.”
“And you must have missed when you went all caveman on that sniper for trying to touch her.”
“He didn’t try to touch her; he tried to kill her,” I snarl.
Yasha snaps and points at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. If that’s part of your husband act, then you’re nailing it. Very believable. ‘The Oscar goes to… Ivan Pushkin!’”
I blow out a deep breath and walk past him towards my room. “Sort out the protection teams for her friends and meet me downstairs in half an hour.”
I think Yasha says something about me “sorting out my hard-on for Cora,” but I slam my door before he can finish.
My clothes smell like gunpowder and sweat. I peel my shirt off and kick my pants into the pile next to the hamper.
Yasha was just being an asshole, but he wasn’t entirely wrong about the hard-on. A fight always gets my blood pumping. Usually, I call up a sure thing afterward. Someone who knows it won’t ever be more than an hour between the sheets.
But I can’t think of a single other woman I want to call right now.
Because the only woman I can think about is only one wall away.
“A shower. I need a shower.” I stomp into the bathroom and turn the handle to searing heat. I hiss as the hot water pelts my back and then sink into the comfort.
Trace bits of blood I didn’t notice swirl down the drain. Bit by bit, my muscles relax in the heat.
But no amount of steam and scrubbing can cleanse my mind of Cora.
My cock is hard, almost throbbing with the need to release. And she’s so close. One room away. There’s even a door connecting us.
But I don’t want her in a separate room. I don’t want her out of my sight, period. I want to feel her body against me, her delicate hand stroking over my skin, her mouth letting loose those delicious little gasps…
I wrap my hand around my cock.
“Fuck,” I rumble. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned-on.
Actually—I can.
Last night.
I hear her voice in my head. I feel her silky skin on my tongue and wrapped around my waist.
I stroke my hand to the feverish pace I set last night. It was almost impossible to hold off my pleasure when Cora felt so good coming around me.
I press one palm to the cold tile and work myself with the other. Pleasure twists low in my gut, tightening the way they did last night when I could feel her orgasm pulsing through her, through both of us.
She was so tight…
“So fucking tight,” I whisper.
I squeeze my eyes closed and see her body, naked beneath the lapels of my suit jacket. Her breasts bouncing with every thrust.
Ivan…
Then I come.
“Fuck.”
I spill down the drain, pump after pump after pump until I sag against the cold shower wall.
But even when I’m done, I don’t feel relieved. The tension is still right where I left it. So is the need.
Goddammit.
This woman might be a bigger problem than I thought.