Hidden Truths - Page 80

He pinches my clit, then slides his finger back inside. “I asked, how much, Angelina.”

“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper in his ear, move my mouth to his shoulder and bite him. Hard.

A low growling sound leaves Sergei’s lips as he thrusts into me, burying his cock to the hilt. His hand drifts down my leg until it reaches my knee.

“You little cheat.” He moves my leg up and to the side, opening me wider.

I smile, then moan as he starts pounding into me and clutch at his shoulders, trying to keep myself from sliding up the bed. It doesn’t quite work, so I brace my hands against the headboard and pant as his hips jackhammer me into a mattress. He is so big it hurts a little, but it’s the good kind of pain. One that reminds me he’s here, both mentally and physically. As orgasmic tremors rock my body, my eyes drift shut, but a heartbeat later, Sergei grabs the back of my neck.

“Look at me,” he barks while going completely rigid, his cock swelling impossibly more as he finds his own release.

I gasp and open my eyes. Placing my palm on his cheek, I peer into his light depths. “Always,” I whisper.

* * *

Four years later

“Mommy.”

I look up from the juice I’m squeezing and smile when my eyes land on our three-year-old son, who’s clutching Mimi around the neck. With my dark hair and Sergei’s light eyes, he’s the perfect mix of both of us. “What is it, Sasha?”

“Daddy's sleeping awake again,” he says.

I leave the orange on the counter and cross the kitchen to crouch in front of him. “Did you try giving him a kiss to wake him up?”

“No.”

“Let’s go do it together, then. Yes?”

“Okay.” He takes my hand and leads me to the living room.

Sergei is standing in front of the window, motionless, staring at something outside. I lift our boy in my arms and come to stand in front of my husband.

“Ready?” I ask, and Sasha nods eagerly. “Okay, hold tight, just in case.”

As I lean our son toward his dad, he wraps his little arms around Sergei’s neck and places a kiss on his cheek. Sergei’s hands shoot out instantly, seizing the boy around the waist and pulling Sasha tightly to his chest.

“Sorry.” Sergei bends to place a kiss on my lips. “How long?”

“No more than five minutes,” I say into his mouth. “You’re doing great, baby.”

Sergei’s episodes have diminished significantly over the last couple of years. This one was the first in the past three or fourmonths. They don’t last for hours anymore, and it’s easier for him to snap out of them.

“When are Albert and Guadalupe arriving?”

“Why do you keep calling him that?” I laugh. “He hasn’t lived here in three years.”

Sergei smirks. “Because it pisses him off. Crazy old bat. Did you hear what he bought Guadalupe for their anniversary?”

“Nope.”

“A shotgun.”

“Classy. I’m sure she’ll love it. When do they…” My eyes snag on the TV behind Sergei that’s showing breaking news. “Whoa. Did you see this?”

I grab the remote and turn up the volume, staring at the live video of the aerial view of what looks like the aftermath of a devastating fire. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen says it’s happening in the New York area. There’s no way to tell what the structure was before the fire, only the general shape remains. The scene changes to images of a man and a woman who have been presumed dead in the fire. The man looks to be in late thirties, handsome, wearing a suit. He seems like a businessman. I shift my gaze to the other photo. The text under it says the woman is twenty-three, but the black pantsuit she’s wearing, aloof expression, and stern hairstyle make her look older. The news anchor keeps talking in the background, but I don’t catch what she says because Sergei bursts out laughing next to me.

“I knew it.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Someone must have really pissed off the antisocial motherfucker.”