Ruthless Stranger by Maggie Cole

13

Aspen

Guilt eats him.Pain slices through his soul. Self-loathing emanates off his muscular frame.

It tears me to shreds. My heart hurts from all he's been through. I struggle to breathe, thinking about what that monster made him do and the hold he still has over him and his brothers.

The strongest man I've ever met stands in front of me. And he's broken. I don't know how he survived it all. But I see how he blames himself for his brothers' involvement and even his mother's death.

I'm overwhelmed by it all. I wouldn't have anticipated how he became dangerous. In any hypothetical world, I would make it black and white.

He's a killer.

He tortures men before he steals their last breath.

He will do it again if he sees fit.

But I can't seem to hold him to my usual moral standards. All I see is how destroyed he is by who he is and his lack of ability to control his family situation.

And it hurts. So much more than I could have ever comprehended. The anguish on his face is a blade dicing up my heart. I try to find the words, but all I can get out is, "Maksim."

He bravely takes a deep breath and strokes my cheek. A new pain sears through his expression, but his voice remains steady and strong. "It's okay, my krasotka. I don't blame you. Let me call Adrian to pull the car to the front. I'll take you home." He pulls back, walking into the kitchen and away from me.

What? No.

I gape in shock for a moment then follow him.

He picks up his phone, but I step behind him and throw my arms around his waist.

He freezes. "Krasotka."

"Shh." I don't know what else to say. I can't get my thoughts in order quickly enough. All I know is I don't want to go home and be anywhere he isn't. His truth hasn't changed how I feel about him. It's not created the loathing for him he warned me it would. It only makes him more human.

For the first time since we've met, I understand that it's not just me who needs him. He needs me, too. I thought his hunger for me was just our chemical attraction. But this sexy, dominating, powerful man needs something no one has given him.

He needs love...from me.

His hand slowly slides over mine, but he still stays planted, breathing harder.

Instinct takes over. I dip my hand to his belt and release it and his pants, stroking his erection as it hardens under my touch.

He quietly groans, gripping my hand that is still on his waist. "Aspen—"

"You told me the truth. I am still here, wanting—no, needing you. I didn't ask you to take me home. There's not one part of me that is running from you. If you want my truth, I'll give it to you, too."

He spins, and his pants fall. His fingers slide through my hair and tilt my head. He brings his lips inches from mine. The intensity of his eyes pins me. "What is your truth?"

"Since I woke up in Vegas without you, I've been falling apart. You brought me to life, and without you, I'm wilting away again."

He blinks hard, steps closer, and traces my cheekbones.

"No matter what I did, I couldn't escape you. But I also didn't want to. I tried to hold on to any memory I could while the hole in my heart kept expanding until it started suffocating me."

He nods, as if he, too, experienced the same ache, but says, "I still don't want you near any darkness, my krasotka."

"It's darker without you," I whisper and admit what I've been trying to avoid over the last few weeks without him.

He closes his eyes, and I panic he's going to open them and tell me I can't be with him.

I stand on my tiptoes and draw his lips to mine. Desperation to be his, not only tonight but in the future, drives every flick of my tongue crashing against his.

He picks me up and sets me on the counter, pulling off my pants while never leaving my lips. Not that I would let him. I'm gripping his head, as if my life depended on it. But in some ways, maybe it does. Everything only feels right when I'm with him.

He enters me, and I cry out his name, clinging to him and pretzeling my legs around his hips. I meet the speed of his thrusts, matching each delicious one as he pounds his length and girth into me.

"Maksim. Oh God!"

"I've missed you, my krasotka. Every second. It wasn't only you suffering."

"Yes." I nod then pull his face back to mine, panting into his mouth.

The cold quartz does nothing to cool my scorching skin. Within seconds, we break out in a sweat. I fumble to remove his shirt, wanting to see the magnificence of what I could previously only feel. I yank it too hard. The buttons go flying.

He grunts and takes his two hands, puts them on the neck of my shirt, and rips it in half.

I laugh but not for long.

He expertly unhooks my bra, shimmies one of my sleeves off me, along with the strap, then leaves it hanging from my other arm. I lean forward and kiss his torso, but he dips down and sucks my breasts while slowing his thrusts to an excruciatingly pleasurable speed.

"Oh God," I moan, digging my nails into his shoulders. Every feeling I had with him in Vegas reignites, but this time, I can see him. And nothing is more beautiful or sexy than his face.

He wraps his arms around my back and palms my head, murmuring something in Russian in my ear while speeding up his thrusts.

He unravels me. An uncontrollable trembling starts in my core and consumes every inch of my body. Heat and adrenaline burst in all my cells. And his murmurs become growls as he pounds harder into me until I'm a rag doll in his arms, unable to do anything but make animalistic sounds I've never heard before.

When he pumps his hot seed into me, he cries out my name, and I see stars.

We collapse against each other. Clothes torn. Flesh pumping with blood. Skin covered in sweat.

We don't move or talk. The sound of our heavy breathing and beating hearts seems to echo in the room. When he finally pulls his head back, he pushes his forehead to mine and closes his eyes.

I shut mine, too. More time passes. We breathe together. When our air intake is back to normal, he pulls out of me.

"Shit," he mumbles.

My eyes fly open. "What?"

Guilt fills his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about a condom."

I caress his cheek. "I can't have kids. And I'm clean."

Shock fills his face.

I look away, feeling my pulse creep up again.

He gently moves my face toward his. "Krasotka?"

I bite my lip and focus on the ceiling, avoiding him. "I had a hysterectomy a few years ago."

He strokes my cheek. "And you're okay now?"

"Yes."

He hesitates then asks, "But you wanted children and didn't have them before you had the operation?"

My chest tightens. "Yes. I never felt stable enough to have kids. I could hardly keep our bills paid with just Peter and me. Then one day, I had no choice in the matter," I admit in a low voice, feeling the reoccurring sting that always creeps up whenever I think about the fact I don't have kids.

I'm not sure what I expect Maksim to do with this information or why I answer him so freely. But he pulls me into his chest and kisses my head. He doesn't say anything but strokes my hair.

I let him comfort me until I'm no longer choked up. I finally pull out of his embrace. "I'm assuming you're clean?"

"Yes. You don't have anything to worry about."

I brush the hair off his forehead. "Good. Guess we don't need to use condoms anymore."

His lips twitch. He glances at my ripped clothes then his. His eyes twinkle. "Might be better not to worry about."

We both start laughing, and he picks me up and carries me into his bedroom. We spend the rest of the night entangled with each other. When morning comes, I wake up in his arms, and nothing has ever felt better.