Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

10

Skylar

"Acnestis,"Adrian blurts out. We finished our taco cones and are walking along the shore.

I wince. "Something to do with pimples?"

Adrian trails his finger down my spine. "The part of the back between the shoulder blades and the loins which an animal cannot reach to scratch." I shudder, and he takes his jacket off and puts it around me. He pulls both sides of the coat together. "The temperature is dropping. We should head back."

It's unfairly warm for this early in the spring. The wind coming off Lake Michigan is calmer than usual, but it still creates a chill on my skin. My lips slightly shake. I tilt my head up. "Biblioklept."

An amused grin lights up Adrian's face. The sun has set, and the only light is the streetlamps. His face seems sharper against the warm glow. "A bible thief?"

"Close. One who steals books."

He groans. "So close!"

"You almost had me. What's the score?" I ask.

"Five to five. I have to admit. I'm impressed with your vocabulary."

I bat my eyelashes. "Aren't all your dates as well versed as me?"

His cocky expression appears. He drags his eyes down my body and back up. "No. You're the only one with impressive skills." He slides his hand through my hair and leans down. "Besides the catastrophe in the restaurant, I had a good time. Thanks for not letting it ruin our night."

I can't stop the smile forming on my face. We ate taco cones, walked along the lake, and talked about random things while throwing out crazy words trying to stump the other person. It's the most fun I've had on a date in...well, forever. "I had a good time, too."

His icy-blue eyes pierce mine. "Sorry I didn't have coffee for you this morning. Tomorrow, I'll make you a raf in the morning."

"Well, I didn't wake up until one in the afternoon, but what is a raf?"

He jerks his head back and gasps. "It's a Russian coffee drink with espresso cream and vanilla sugar."

"Yummy. So it's like a latte?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "No. Lattes have milk. A raf is with cream."

"You seem very serious about this drink."

Arrogance appears on his face. "I promise it's better than any latte you've ever had."

I laugh. "That's a big statement to make."

More smugness erupts, which only makes my lower body throb. "I'll make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"If it isn't better than any latte you've ever had, I'll scrub your kitchen floor naked."

The image of Adrian, on his hands and knees, cleaning my tile, wearing nothing fills my mind. I bite on my smile, reach up, and lace my fingers around his neck. "I might need to claim it's horrible just to see that."

His lips twitch. He brushes them against mine while he speaks. "I assure you, when I drop you off Sunday night, I won't be cleaning your floors. However, if you love it and I'm right, I get to teach you how to do a proper push-up."

"Do my arms need work?" I ask.

He palms my ass and tugs me so there's no room between us. "No. But you'll do it naked and keep going until I say stop."

I laugh. "Deal. Get ready to scrub floors."

Silence fills the air, and several moments pass. A firestorm of blue blazes in his orbs, taking my breath away. No man has ever indicated they wanted me with their eyes how Adrian does or displayed such a cocky expression about what he can deliver. It's electrifying and terrifying all at the same time. "We're good together," he finally murmurs then parts my lips with his tongue, kissing me with controlled speed, as if savoring every part of my mouth.

"I have brunch tomorrow with the girls," I mumble, suddenly remembering the text conversation I had with Hailee and Kora about meeting Kora's friend who wants to cook for us.

"Then I'll drop you off and pick you up. You can do your naked push-ups after."

I softly laugh, and he kisses me some more. "I can take a cab."

He snorts. "My woman isn't taking a cab."

His woman.

Is that what I am?

Have we already moved into me being his, or is it just a statement?

"Ready to go home, my printsessa?" He slides his tongue back in my mouth, and my knees go weak.

Home. He says it, as if it's where we both live.

"Mmhmm."

He pulls back. "Let's go." He guides me to the SUV and opens my door.

I slide in the seat.

"Adrian," Dasha's voice calls out then continues rattling off Russian.

I freeze, and my stomach flips. I watch Dasha trot through the parking garage like the building is on fire.

I need to learn Russian.

Why does she have to sound so sexy when she speaks?

Adrian's shoulders tense. He shuts the door and crosses his arms over his chest. He and Dasha have what appears to be a heated conversation, but since I don't understand a word they are saying, I can't be sure.

Dasha reaches for Adrian's arm, and he shrugs her off him. He angrily shakes his head and moves to the driver's side.

She keeps talking, follows him, and tugs on his shirt. Adrian spins. He lowers his voice. Even in the dimly lit garage, I can see his face turning red.

It seems to last forever. Dasha never appears to back down. She reaches for Adrian several times. Each time, he removes her hand or stops her from touching him. His actions should give me some comfort, but they don't. Dasha glows in the barely lit garage. She's like an angel of beautiful strength. I don't consider myself unattractive or weak, but I can’t help comparing myself to the picture Dasha portrays. She and Adrian have a past and share the same culture. I don't even know my full heritage. Side by side, Adrian and Dasha are a stunning couple. I can visualize them together and Adrian looking at her the way he stares at me. I hear and see him saying "I do" while she wears a white wedding gown.

He points to the door she came through and says something. She replies then turns and goes in the direction he pointed. The entire time, he watches her until she disappears through the door, which only makes me more jealous.

Is he staring at her ass?

She has a nice one.

No, he's making sure she gets inside safely, that's it.

What if it isn't?

When she is no longer visible, he pulls out his phone and gets in the car. He turns on the engine and reverses out of the spot. "Obrecht," he growls, followed by more Russian. From time to time, I hear, "Dasha."

Why is he calling his brother about Dasha?

Adrian parks in the garage to his building and gets out. He comes around the front of the car toward my side, but I get out and meet him halfway. He puts his arm around me and tugs me into his body, as if I’m his possession. His lips brush my forehead before he hurls out more Russian. The conversation with Obrecht continues inside his penthouse. He paces in front of the glass. I perch on the edge of the couch, watching him, twisting my fingers, not sure what to do. His agitation only seems to grow. He slides his hand over his head and barks something out then hangs up.

Minutes pass. He doesn't move. I finally rise and cautiously approach him. I softly ask, "Adrian, is everything okay?"

His jaw stays clenched. He grinds his molars. "Yeah. I'm sorry, my printsessa. I don't mean to be rude."

"You weren't. It's okay. Umm...what's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. Everything will be fine."

Will be. Not is fine. Will be fine.

"Adrian—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, savagely moving his tongue in and out of my mouth, as if I'm his lifeblood.

"Ad—"

His tongue shuts me up again, and he unzips my dress. Before I know it, I'm naked, facing the back of his couch on my knees, and he's licking my spine.

"Adrian," I whimper, still wanting to know what occurred between Dasha and him that required him to speak for over twenty minutes to his brother.

His lips brush my ear. He thrusts in me and growls, "We're not talking about it, my printsessa. She doesn't get our time. She's not the one I want." He drops his hand to my clit and manipulates my body further.

Blood, heat, and adrenaline mix into a potent concoction of chaos in my veins.

His lips travel across my jaw. "Look at me."

I turn my head, meeting his thrusts, short on breath.

His blue eyes are a mix of ice and flames piercing into mine. He doesn't speak until a domino effect of Os annihilates me. His intense gaze never falters. He mutters a mix of Russian and English against my cheek, but nothing seems to register as coherent.

The power of his body over mine is unlike anything I've ever experienced. When he finally releases, blackness flashes in my eyes. I go beyond any point I thought was possible. My nails dig into his leather couch, and my back arches into his dense torso.

He buries his face in the curve of my neck. His stomach muscles contract against my spine, sending fresh zings through my nerves. Several minutes pass before he pulls away from me and flips me over.

I reach for his face. "Adrian. What did she do?"

His face hardens again. "Nothing."

"Adrian, don't lie to me."

"It's taken care of, and we aren't talking about her, Skylar. Never. She doesn't get any piece of us."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What Adrian is saying, I can't find fault in. I don't want her to have any piece of us.

But does she still have a piece of him?

She has to, or he wouldn't have had to call Obrecht.

Before I can speak, his tongue is in my mouth. He picks me up and carries me into the bedroom. For hours, we don't converse. He's an animal, focused only on me and how much pleasure he can create within my body.

The sounds and smell of us fornicating fill the air. Every time I think he's going to take a break, he pounces on me with more fervor. His face is between my thighs, I'm in the middle of an orgasm, and his phone rings.

He groans, finishes me off, then grabs the phone off his nightstand. He answers in Russian, sucks on my breast, then freezes with his tongue over my nipple.

He says more words I don't understand, rises, then hangs up. The hardness is back in his expression. His eyes turn dark. "I'm sorry, my printsessa. I have to go."

"What? It's the middle of the night."

"Yes. I'm sorry." He goes into his closet.

I get out of bed and follow him. "Adrian, what's going on?"

"I have to take care of something for work. I'm sorry. I'll have my driver take you home tomorrow."

The hairs on my arms rise. "You aren't coming back tonight?"

"No." He avoids looking at me, slides a pair of jeans over his legs, then reaches for a T-shirt.

"Adrian!"

He pulls his shirt over his head and sticks his feet in his shoes. He turns then kisses my forehead. "I'll call you in a few days." He passes me, leaving the closet.

"A few days? Adrian, please. Tell me where you're going." I reach for his arm.

He stops but doesn't turn. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Skylar. I need to go. I'll talk to you soon." He continues through the penthouse and never looks back. When he leaves, I sit on the couch. My insides are shaking. I've never had any man leave in the middle of the night while with me. What could be so important, and why wouldn't he tell me what's going on?

Only one thought comes to mind.

He went to see her.

A chill consumes me. I pull the afghan over my body, realizing I'm still naked. No matter how much I try to convince myself that Adrian wouldn't go see Dasha in the middle of the night, and especially not when I'm in his bed, it's the only conclusion I have.

After so many minutes of sitting in terrorizing silence, I put my clothes on and grab my bag. When I get to the lobby, the security for the building orders a taxi. I avoid the curious gaze from the young man at the front desk. I shouldn't be bothered by it, but I feel like I'm back in college doing the walk of shame.

When I get into my apartment, it's after three in the morning. I attempt to go to sleep, but all I see is Dasha and Adrian. I finally let the tears fall.

How can anyone love so passionately like Adrian does but run to another woman the first chance he gets?

Because it's not love. It's sex.

I was in his bed. His mouth was on my body when he got that call.

He said it was for work.

He's Aspen's bodyguard. She's asleep, at home with Maksim.

I don't sleep. When the sun rises, I look at my phone, but I already know there's nothing there from Adrian. I curse myself for even expecting it.

Around eight, my phone dings with a message. My hope dissipates when I see it isn't from Adrian. I loathe how much I still want to hear from him.

Hailee: I'm running late. I'll be there in ten.

I almost tell Hailee I'm not going but then I decide I'm not going to let Adrian's dismissal of me stop me from hanging out with my friends.

Me: Don't rush. I'm still getting ready.

I throw on my yoga clothes and several layers over them. I put eye drops in to try and get the red out of my eyes. When Hailee's Uber pulls up, I'm already in the lobby.

She assesses me. "Skylar, what's wrong?"

The truth of my night is too embarrassing to talk about, even with my closest friends. I force a smile. "Nothing. Tell me what you know about Kora's friend we're meeting."