Already, I knew I would not be my father—a mad king in a castle of horrors.
Everything is going to be perfect. Nothing will fuck this up. She’ll love the surprise.
And my father’s burial would have to wait. Everyone would have to understand. How could I leave heaven to get on a plane and venture into my father’s hell?
Chapter 3
Ava
True to his word, Misha fucked me almost raw.
I could barely move.
If this is how he is after a nightmare, then I hope he calls me when he has another.
Misha held me minutes later after the second session.
Sunlight crept in from the windows. The sound of his steady breathing lulled me into staying sprawled across his chest. I walked my fingers down his side, delighting in the jump of his taut muscles.
The first time we had sex, we were clothed. The second time, his mouth was all over my pussy. Then, Misha lifted me, turned me over, and slammed into me.
But for this moment, I finally had the time to drink him.
He had a large tattoo over his entire chest. It was a holy cross, but unlike the ones that I’d seen in a church, some sort of binary code lay within the grooves of this cross. 0101. Over and over the pattern of zeros and ones repeated in the grooves of the immaculate cross.
Why did he pick that?
I made a note to ask later. Now he was suffering and morning his father. It was good that he had a moment to rest.
How sad? I hate that he’s hurting.
I wished I didn’t have these big performances this week. I would’ve loved to go to his father’s funeral. Even though it would probably be in Prague, I would try to get a flight.
Maybe, I can figure something out. I can fly to Prague at the end. . .perhaps I won’t be at the funeral, but I could soothe him that evening. Would he want me there?
A little guilt hit me. In all truth, going to Prague wouldn’t just be about comforting him. I yearned to fuck him again and lay within those huge arms. Misha felt like home, even though he wasn’t American. He felt right. He felt like forever with no consequences.
I left his tattoo and turned my attention to his face.
While I thought he was asleep, Misha had been watching me the whole time. He didn’t say a word as he proceeded to massage my arm. His soft caresses spoke for him. He left my arm and then explored the curve of my hip with tender care, touching me here and there.
And then he made use of his other hand. Strong fingers claimed the area between my breast and belly. The other slid further down. Misha’s fingers danced across my flesh. And in some ways, he tormented me with feather-light strokes. But most of all, this feeling of love poured over me.
He raised my hand and kissed it. “Thank you for last night and this morning.”
“No. Thank you.”
His voice slid over my skin like liquid silk. “And are you dating?”
“No, I’m not.”
He moved his hands up and toyed with the ends of my hair. “Have there been anyone sniffing around?”
There were a few men, but none worth mentioning. None that had taken my focus off of ballet. None that could even compete with Misha.
“There’s been a small few, but they’re not important.”
“What are their names?”
I gave him a weak smile. “It doesn’t matter, if I haven’t been dating them in the first place.”
“But who?”
“Why?”
“Because I like to know my competition.”
“You don’t have any.” My hand found its way to his lips. Misha’s tongue flicked along the sensitive line between my thumb and palm.
“It does matter, Ava.”
“Why?”
“Because you are mine.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his haughty tone. Misha was perfect at sounding like some sort of Viking possessive billionaire.
Misha nipped my thumb. “Are you mine?”
“We’ve only just begun. I’m taking my time and trying to decide if I want to be yours.”
“You need to get to know me?”
“I do.”
“I will help you. We will have time.” He gave me an intense stare. “What do you know about me so far?”
“I read an article about you once.” With my finger, I traced his bottom lip. “In it you told the reporter that you never liked to share, not even during Christmas.”
“It was my publicist attempting to give me a softer image to the media. I was considering taking my company public.”
“You talked about how your cousin—”
“Kazimir.”
“Yes, he would always find and open all of his presents on Christmas day.”
“Yes. His sister and him lived with me for a few years.” Misha moved his attention from me and stared up at the ceiling. “Those were some cold, rough years for three families packed into one castle.”
“You didn’t always have money?”
It was hard to believe that he had not been rich all his life. Style and elegance oozed from him.