Dr. Balducci had done a masterful job on the scar that traversed her abdomen. It reminded her she’d been taken apart and put back together inside, but she’d gotten used to seeing it, mostly dismissed it. But having Ivan’s hands and eyes on it, she felt as if it was the ugliest thing ever, and that it covered her from head to toe.
On a mental level, she knew Ivan would sympathize. But on the sensual one, the male in him, what she knew from ecstatic experience was ferociously carnal and exacting, had to be put off by it.
But as she tried to reach for her comforter to cover herself, Ivan, still fully clothed, captured her wrists. He pinned them beside her head, his knees imprisoning her thighs.
“Don’t hide from me, moya dusha.”
At hearing him call her my soul, one of the extravagant endearments he’d used to lavish on her, she sobbed, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Letting go of one of her wrists, his hand went to her chin, making her meet his gaze. “This scar?” His other hand shook as it traced it. “It pains me to see it, as a reminder I could have lost you. But it’s also precious because it’s proof you survived. And it’s beautiful, like every other part of you.”
Unable to bear him taking pity on her, she turned her head away as tears of inadequacy slid down her face onto the sheets.
One hand pressed her head persistently, making her look back at him, as his other one took her hand and slid it down his body until it reached the potency tenting his dress pants. Feeling him, so hot and hard and huge, made her whimper.
“That is how beautiful I find it, and you,” he whispered.
Arousal overcoming distress, she twisted restlessly beneath him, moaning, “I don’t even have words for how beautiful I find you. Please, Ivan, don’t take it slow. Show me how much you want me, make me grateful I’m still alive.”
His gaze filled with storms, but it was absolute care that filled his hands as he settled her back and slid down her body. Realizing what he intended, she was overcome by memories and, weirdly enough, embarrassment.
When she tried to keep her legs closed, he raised his head, his chiseled face flushed, his eyes coaxing. “Open yourself to me, Anastasia. Let me feast. Let me heal you.”
“I’m healed,” she cried out. “Please...”
“Your injuries, yes, but you’re far from strong enough to withstand me.”
The words withstand me unleashed a flood of memories, every sensation of every time he’d ridden her to screaming satisfaction. Though she was dying for him to do so now, to hold nothing back, she knew she wasn’t ready for that.
“You can be gentle.” She knew he could be, as he had been, heartbreakingly so, that first time he’d taken her. And every time, after their first explosive arousal had been assuaged, when he’d savored her in thorough, tender leisure.
But she saw it in his eyes. He had no intention of taking her that way. He came up to silence her protest before she uttered it, his mouth on her lips as his fingers sought her entrance. She lurched with stimulation as he dipped in, each slow inch a red-hot probe of mind-melting pleasure.
But though she was going to pieces with arousal, after her trauma and after being so long without him, her body felt too tight. Even two of his long, thick fingers felt like too much. He held her eyes as he pumped them fully inside her, drawing the admission that there was no way she’d accommodate him right now.
Rising to singe her in the possessive flames of his gaze, he started sliding down her body again, burned his way in licks and nibbles and ragged words down to her core. Her efforts to pull him up ended when his magnificent head settled between her thighs. Every nerve in her body loosened as his lips and tongue soothed and scorched the intimate flesh she could surrender to no one but him.
He strummed her to one body-and soul-racking climax then another, and another, holding her eyes all through. She was lying stunned, sated, unable to move a muscle when he finally came up to stretch against her, cupping her, crooning to her, completing her bliss.
But she felt every inch of him like cabled steel, coiled on his unspent arousal. Needing to give him relief, she started stroking him, but he captured her hand. Burying kisses in her palm, he tucked her more securely against his massive body before taking her lips.
“Shh, zvezda moya.” Murmuring another endearment into her mouth, my star this time, his tongue mated luxuriantly with hers. “I only want to hold you.”
She moaned and burrowed deeper into him. “At least let me feel you. I need your flesh on mine.”
His caresses stopped, then he rose partially, started shrugging off his clothes. As his body came into view, she realized she’d been right. He had become a full-fledged god.
Then she looked down on his promise of endless pleasure lying thick and long and heavy against his chiseled abdomen and nothing mattered but having him inside her.
She tried to wrap her legs around him in silent supplication, but he subdued her with extreme gentleness, wrapped his arms around her instead, letting every inch of his flesh imprint hers.
His lips flowed over her from neck to cheek, his whisper hot and soft against her prickling skin. “Let yourself take what I need to give you, dorogoya moya. Let go.”
When she finally did, sank into his being and giving, the one thing left in her mind was that he was the only man who had ever made her feel this incredible, this protected and cherished. This man alone had the power to revive her. Or finish her.
* * *
Warm, wonderful sensations coasted over Anastasia, making her surface slowly from oblivion. Her eyes cracked open to light peeking between blackout curtains. Blinking, she expected to see herself back in her hospital suite.
In the next second it all came back to her. Everything that had happened since she’d come running home to see Ivan. Ivan, who was still stretched out against her, drenching her in caresses.
But maybe it had all been a dream, and still was. She’d seen and felt him like this on countless nights. And each time she’d woken up empty and alone.
“I’m here.” As if he’d heard her unspoken question, he reassured her of his presence. He smoothed the hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, the heartbreaking tenderness in his caress twisting her heart, spiking desire in her loins.
He’d taken her to bed at sunset. With the sun out again, she’d slept for at least twelve hours. Which might mean that...
He again completed her thought for her. “Your parents came to check on you. They were more than surprised to find me in bed with you.” At her embarrassed gasp, something she hadn’t seen since he’d come back played on his lips—the tiniest of smiles. “Don’t worry, I’d already made us...decent.”
It was only then she realized she was in a nightgown, her favorite one, a deep burgundy silk that felt like a second skin. He’d somehow picked it out of all her sleepwear and put her in it while she slept. He was fully dressed again.
“Did they...?”
“They just asked if you were okay. I assured them you were, and your mother insisted I have something to eat.”
“Yeah, that’s my mom for you. Though she is a scientist, the cure to everything in her opinion is a good meal.”
“I ended up accepting tea and a huge slice of delicious homemade apple pie. She served them to me right here.”
Her cheeks flamed as she imagined that scenario. With her being a recluse, her parents had never had to deal with any man in her life. Her liaison with Ivan had been a secret, even from Alex. It had been the one thing she hadn’t confided in him. And just as she’d thought it time to do so, Ivan had disappeared.