Claim Me (15 page)

L
ucas

I
t takes
me longer than expected to catch up on everything I’ve neglected over the past several days, and by the time I get home, it’s almost seven-thirty.

The first thing I do upon entering the house is go to the library. To my surprise, Yulia is not there.

“Lucas?” she calls out, and I realize her voice is coming from the kitchen. Frowning, I backtrack and go there.

“What are you doing?” I say when I see her carrying two spoons to the kitchen table. Approaching her in two long strides, I grab the utensils from her hand and clasp her elbow. “You need to be resting.”

“I’m all right,” she protests as I guide her to the table. “Really, Lucas, I’m much better. I got tired of sitting on my butt all day and wanted to set the table for dinner.”

“Tough shit.” I pull out her chair. “Sit, and I’ll take care of that. Your only job right now is to recover, got it?”

Yulia gives me an exasperated look but obeys. For the first time since her illness began, she’s wearing her normal clothes—a pair of jean shorts and a tank top—but the skimpy outfit only emphasizes the severity of her weight loss. Her stomach is concave, and her arms are reed thin. I don’t know why she’s pushing herself so hard, but I don’t like it.

“You are not to move a muscle,” I say as I wash my hands and take out a pair of bowls. Yulia must’ve already turned on the stove to warm up the stew, because when I check, I find it simmering on a low setting. I pour each of us a generous portion and bring the bowls over to the table. “I don’t want you to have another relapse,” I say, sitting down across from her.

She sniffs at the stew instead of replying. “You made it?” she asks, looking up, and I nod, curious to see what she’ll think. I tasted it earlier and liked it, though I still have far to go before I can rival Yulia in the cooking department.

She dips her spoon in and tries a little of the broth surrounding the veggies. “It’s good, Lucas,” she says, and I can’t suppress a smile at the surprise in her voice.

“I’m glad you like it,” I say, digging into my own portion. “It wasn’t difficult to make, so I should be able to repeat it.”

Yulia begins eating with evident enthusiasm, and I watch her, pleased to see her enjoying my efforts. There’s something oddly satisfying about seeing her at my kitchen table, eating the food I made and wearing the clothes I got for her. I never thought of myself as the nurturing type, never considered that I might want to take care of someone, but that’s precisely what I want to do with her. It’s particularly strange because, this illness aside, Yulia is one of the most capable women I’ve met.

She’s quiet as we make quick work of the stew, and I let her eat in peace, worried that even this meal might be too taxing for her. When we’re done, I clean up and make Yulia a cup of her favorite Earl Grey.

“How are you feeling?” I ask when I bring it to the table, and she smiles, patting her flat belly.

“Extremely full. The stew was amazing. Thank you for making it.”

“My pleasure.” I grin as she stifles a yawn before sipping her tea. “Sleepy?”

“Just food coma, I think,” she says with another almost-yawn. “I can’t possibly want to sleep. I’ve slept enough for a lifetime.”

“Your body needed it,” I say, my amusement fading as I recall her near-catatonic state after Kirill’s attack. “You’ve been through a lot.”

She looks down at her cup. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Yulia…” I sit down and reach across the table to cover her hand with mine. “What happened? How did you end up with Kirill?”

Her slender fingers twitch under my palm, but she doesn’t look up.

“Yulia.” I squeeze her hand lightly. “Look at me.”

She reluctantly meets my gaze.

“Do you have any other siblings you’re hiding from me?”

She shakes her head.

“Anyone else you’re trying to protect?”

She blinks. “No.”

“Then tell me what happened. Why were you in that cell? Did they think you double-crossed them?”

“They… it… It’s complicated, Lucas.” Her lips tremble for a second before she presses them together.

“I see.” I get up and walk around the table. Yulia gives me a startled look when I pull her to her feet, but I just pick her up and walk to the living room, carrying her cradled against my chest.

“What are you doing?” she asks when I sit down on the couch, holding her on my lap. She’s disturbingly light in my arms, as breakable as after her stint at the Russian prison.

“I’m getting comfortable so you can tell me your complicated story,” I say, settling her more securely on my lap. Even after her weight loss, her ass is soft and curvy, and her hair smells sweet, like peaches mixed with vanilla. My body reacts instantly, but I ignore the spike of lust. Keeping one arm around her back, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with my free hand and say softly, “Talk to me, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you or your brother, I promise.”

Yulia looks at me for a few moments, and I know she’s debating how much to trust me. I wait patiently, and finally, she murmurs, “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about at the beginning? Tell me about Michael. When did you both get recruited by the agency?”

Yulia takes a deep breath and launches into her story. I listen, my chest aching as she tells me about a ten-year-old girl whose parents left her to watch her two-year-old brother on an icy winter night and never returned, about the police visit the next morning and the horrors of the orphanage that followed.

“Nobody paid much attention to me—like I told you, I was skinny and awkward at that age, a real ugly duckling. But Misha was beautiful,” she says in a raw voice. “He could’ve starred in baby-product commercials. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The headmistress kept bringing him to her office, and I’d see men, different men each time, go in. I don’t know what they did to him, but there would be bruises on him, and blood occasionally. And he wouldn’t stop crying for days afterwards. I tried to report it, but nobody would listen. The country was in disarray—it still is—and nobody cared about the orphans. We were out of the way, and that was all that mattered.” Her eyes glitter fiercely as she says, “I would’ve done anything to get Misha out of there. Anything.”

Fury is a pulsing beat in my skull, but I keep quiet and continue listening as Yulia tells me about a visit from a well-dressed man whose cold hazel eyes both scared her and gave her hope.

“Vasiliy Obenko offered me a deal, and I took it,” she says. “It was the only way I could save Misha. We’d been at the orphanage for less than a year, and he was already a mess: acting out, crying at random times, disobeying his teachers… Even if a good family had come along, they wouldn’t have wanted to adopt a child with those kinds of behavioral issues, no matter how beautiful he was. I was so desperate I considered taking Misha and running away, but we would’ve starved on the streets or worse. The world isn’t kind to homeless children.” She draws in a shuddering breath, and I stroke her back, trying to keep my own hands from trembling with rage.

I’m going to find the headmistress of that orphanage and make the child-pimping bitch pay.

“So yeah,” Yulia continues after a moment, “when Obenko came to recruit me in exchange for his sister and brother-in-law adopting Misha and providing him with a good home, I jumped at the opportunity. I knew there was a chance I was making a deal with the devil, but I didn’t care. I just wanted Misha to have a shot at a better life.”

Of course. That explains so fucking much: her bizarre loyalty to an organization that abused her, her willingness to carry out “assignments” after what happened with Kirill. It was never about patriotism; all along, she’d been doing it for her brother.

“And did Obenko uphold his part of the bargain?” My tone is relatively calm.

“Sort of—well, I don’t know.” She bites her lip. “I’m still trying to untangle the truth from the lies. Misha was supposed to have a normal life, and it seems like he did—at least until a couple of years ago. His adoptive parents have nothing to do with the agency; Obenko’s sister is a nurse, and her husband is an electrical engineer. Part of the bargain was that I stay away from Misha and his new family, so I only saw him in pictures. I didn’t realize my brother had been recruited by UUR until I followed Obenko to a warehouse on the outskirts of Kiev and saw Misha there, being trained by Kirill along with the other youths.”

“The Kirill you thought was dead?” My rage intensifies as I picture her reaction to this double blow—to a betrayal so cruel even I can’t fathom it.

Yulia nods, her gaze hardening as she tells me about her capture and subsequent interrogation at the hands of her own agency. “They thought I’d been turned, you see,” she says. “That I betrayed
them
.”

“I don’t understand something.” I slide my hand under her hair and rest it on her nape, managing to keep my fury under control. “What prompted you to follow Obenko to that warehouse? Did you suspect something?”

“No, not at all.” Her blue eyes are shadowed. “I started following Obenko in the hopes that he might eventually lead me to his sister’s family—to my brother. I wanted to see Misha just this once before—” She stops, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

“Before what?”

Yulia doesn’t respond.

“Before what, beautiful?”

“Before I left for another assignment,” she whispers, blinking rapidly.

Her words fill me with such violent jealousy that I almost miss it when she adds, almost inaudibly, “And disappeared for good.”

“What?” My hand tightens on the back of her neck. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

She winces, and I gentle my grip, massaging the area I just abused. She still doesn’t say anything, however, and the seconds tick by, each one adding to my fury.

“Yulia…” Only the knowledge of what happened the last time I let jealousy blind me stops me from exploding on the spot. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I was just—” She closes her eyes for a second before opening them to meet my gaze. “I was going to walk away, okay?” Her voice shakes. “I couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t carry out another assignment for them. I was going to use the plane tickets and the identities they gave me to disappear and start over fresh.”

“You were?” I lower my hand to the small of her back, some of my anger cooling. “Why? Why after all these years?”

She gives a tiny shrug and looks down, avoiding my gaze. “I figured my brother was safe at this point—it’s not like his adoptive parents would put him back in the orphanage after eleven years.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t have put him back after five years either.” I grip her chin to force her to look at me. I can feel her discomfort with the topic, and it makes me even more determined to unravel this mystery. “You didn’t know about Kirill and your brother yet. So why did you decide to run?”

She remains silent.

“Yulia…” I lean forward until our noses are almost touching. This close, her sweet scent is intoxicating. I breathe it in, feeling like I’m on the verge of losing control. My heart pounds heavily in my chest, and when I speak, the words come out rough and strained. “Why did you decide to run, beautiful? What changed?”

Her lips part as she stares at me, and the temptation to kiss her, to taste the pink, lush softness of her mouth is unbearable. I’m hyperaware of her, of everything about her. The shallow, uneven rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her soft, smooth skin, the way her long brown lashes tangle with one another at the far corners of her eyes—it all lures me in, intensifying the hunger burning in my veins. Only the conviction that I must have this answer—that it’s something truly important—keeps me from giving in to my need.

“Tell me, baby,” I whisper, moving my hand to stroke her cheek. “Why couldn’t you do it anymore?”

Yulia’s breath hitches, her eyes filling with tears as she pushes at my shoulders, trying to twist away. Her distress is such that I almost let her go, but some instinct makes me hold on.

“Shh,” I soothe, tightening my arm around her back to hold her still. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me, sweetheart. Tell me why you were going to leave.”

“Lucas, please…” Her tears overflow, spilling down her cheeks as she stops pushing at me. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I feel like I’m tormenting a helpless kitten, but I can’t stop. Leaning closer, I kiss away the salty moisture on her cheeks and murmur, “Don’t ask? Why not? What don’t you want to tell me? What are you hiding?”

Yulia closes her eyes, and I brush my lips across her trembling eyelids. “Come on, sweetheart,” I whisper, pulling back. “Just tell me. What changed for you? Why didn’t you want to do this?”

“Because I couldn’t.” Opening her eyes, she gazes at me, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. “I just couldn’t do it anymore, okay?”

“Why?”

She tries to pull away, but I tighten my arm again, keeping her in place.

“Why, Yulia?” I press. “Tell me.”

“Because I fell in love with you!” With shocking strength, she pushes at my chest, and I’m so stunned that I loosen my grip, letting her scramble off my lap. The momentum propels her backward, nearly causing her to fall, but before I can grab at her, she catches her balance and sprints into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Y
ulia

D
ura
! Idiotka! Imbecile! Debilka!

Sobbing, I shove a chair against the bedroom door, wedging the back under the doorknob to keep it jammed. My arms shake from overexertion and adrenaline, and regret is like a sledgehammer beating against my skull. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have admitted my feelings to Lucas
again
? The last time, at least, I thought I was dreaming, but I have no such excuse today.

Fully awake and conscious, I gave in to Lucas’s relentless tenderness, crumpled under the merciless pull of his gentle demands.

“Yulia!” The doorknob rattles as he pushes against the door. “What the fuck are you doing? Let me in.”

My chest heaving, I back away from the door, pressing my fist against my mouth to muffle my sobs. Why did I do this again? Am I some kind of masochist? I know what I am to him: a sex toy, someone he wants to own and possess. If I had any doubts on that front, the trackers would’ve dispelled them. What he’s done is the closest thing to putting a dog leash on a human being, and no amount of sickroom care can make up for his intention to keep me prisoner until he tires of me.

Love and captivity don’t mix—for most sane people, at least.

“Yulia.” Lucas bangs his fist on the door. “Fucking let me in!” He kicks at it, and the chair makes a creaking sound as it moves a couple of centimeters across the carpet, letting the door open a crack.

I cast a desperate glance around the room. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but there’s nothing, so I continue edging backward as Lucas starts kicking at the door in earnest. The crack widens with each violent blow, and just as my trembling legs touch the bed behind me, the chair breaks and the door flies open.

“Lucas, I—” I’m not sure what I’m planning to say, but he doesn’t give me a chance. Before I can gather my scattered thoughts, he’s on me, and my world goes topsy-turvy as I tumble backward onto the bed. He lands on top of me, and in a blink of an eye, he grabs my wrists, stretching my arms above my head. His pale eyes burn into mine as he presses me into the mattress, his muscular body hot and heavy on top of me. He’s already aroused—I can feel the hard swelling in his jeans— and I know there’s only one way this evening will end.

My flu-induced respite is over.

His hands tighten around my wrists, and dark anxiety beats at me, mixing with perverse excitement. I’m viscerally aware of my captor’s strength, of the power of his large male body. When Kirill had been on top of me like this, all I’d felt was terror and revulsion, but with Lucas, it’s infinitely more complicated. Underneath the instinctive fear and distrust, there’s a potent animal attraction mixed with a deeper longing, a desire for connection that makes no sense in the context of who and what we are.

I’m in love with a man who has every reason to despise me—a man who scares me to my very soul.

“Yulia…” he murmurs, staring down at me, and I draw in a shaking breath, feeling like I can’t get enough air. I feel torn in two: a part of me wants to run and hide, pretend this isn’t happening, but another part, the weaker part, wants to give in to him again, tell him how much he means to me and beg him to keep me forever.

Beg him to love me like I love him—like I will always love him.

“Yulia, sweetheart…” His gaze softens, and I realize I’m crying again, my entire body shaking with gasping sobs. “Hush, baby, it’s not that bad… You’re okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

But I can’t stop crying—not even when he kisses me, his tongue sweeping over my lips, and not when he releases my wrists and rolls off me to strip off my clothes. I can’t stop crying because he’s wrong. It won’t be okay. There’s no future for us, no hope for anything resembling a normal life. He’s an arms dealer’s second-in-command, a man with no conscience, and I’m his prisoner.

There are no happily-ever-afters for people like us.

The pain of that knowledge is so consuming that I barely feel it when Lucas tears off my thong and climbs on top of me after taking off his own clothes. My chest is agonizingly tight, my vision blurred with tears. It’s only when he settles between my legs, his powerful thighs spreading mine apart, that the animal awareness returns, my body responding to him despite my distress. The tip of his cock nudges against my dampening folds, but instead of pushing forward, he stills, holding himself propped up on his elbows as he cradles my face between his large palms.

“Yulia…” His eyes burn with dark hunger, his sun-bronzed skin stretched tight over his sharp cheekbones. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and guttural. “Nothing and no one will take you from me. No more lies, no more running, no more hiding. I’m going to take care of you and protect you. You and your brother both, do you understand?”

I manage a small nod, my hands moving up to clutch at his sides. His hard body is vibrating like a string, his muscles coiled as if for a fight, and I know he’s struggling to control himself. On any other night, he would’ve already been inside me, but he’s trying to hold back, to go slowly because of my recent illness.

Something about that loosens the tight knot in my chest, chases away the panic I was feeling. Maybe I’m not just a toy to him.

He wouldn’t hold back if he didn’t care.

“It’s okay, Lucas,” I whisper, blinking to clear away the tears. Given what he’s promising, letting him have my body is the least I can do. “I’m okay.”

His pupils expand, darkening his blue-gray eyes, and then he lowers his head, capturing my lips in a deep, feral kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, conquering and caressing at the same time, and my lower belly tightens as I feel the hard, insistent pressure of his cock. Heat builds inside me, centering between my legs, but a flutter of panic returns too. Despite my reassurances, I’m far from ready for this—emotionally, at least.

Sex with my captor is never casual and easy.

But it’s too late to express my hesitations. Lucas’s lips and tongue devour me, taking away my breath, and one of his hands moves down my body, kneading my breasts before traveling lower to touch my sex. His fingers find my clit, playing with it until I’m slick and throbbing, and then he grips his cock and guides it to my entrance, lifting his head to look at me at the same time.

His eyes glitter as he holds my gaze, and we both inhale sharply as the smooth, broad head of his cock breaches me, stretching my tight flesh. I’d forgotten how thick he is, how large all around. Despite my arousal, my inner muscles need to adjust to the feel of him inside me, and my breathing turns shallow as he presses deeper, his penetration slow and controlled but inexorable. When he’s all the way in, he pauses, holding himself still above me, and I see sweat droplets forming on his forehead. He’s still trying to rein himself in, to be as gentle as someone like him can be.

“I love you,” I whisper, unable to hold back the words. At this moment, it doesn’t matter that he might not return my feelings, that the odds are stacked against us in every way. “I love you, Lucas, so much.”

His gaze fills with volcanic heat, his powerful muscles bunching even tighter, and I see the last of his self-control disintegrate. “Yulia,” he groans, and then he withdraws and surges into me, thrusting so hard that air whooshes out of my lungs. It should’ve been too much, too overwhelming, but somehow it’s just right, and I wrap my legs and arms around him, holding on tight as he starts hammering into me, claiming me with feral intensity.

“Lucas…” His name comes out on a ragged moan as the heat inside me coils and grows, transforming into an unbearable tension. “Oh God, Lucas…” Every muscle in my body vibrates from the agonizing pleasure, my heartbeat pounding audibly in my ears. The moment seems to stretch on forever, and then I climax with startling violence, my muscles clamping down on his shaft as every nerve ending in my body explodes with sensations.

Lucas lowers his head, swallowing my cry with his mouth, and continues thrusting into me, riding me through the orgasm. He fucks me like a man possessed, his hand sliding into my hair to hold me in place for his voracious kiss, and I feel another orgasm building, each merciless stroke of his cock bringing me closer to the edge. But before I can go over, he stops and raises his head to look at me.

“Say it again,” he rasps out, his eyes boring into mine. His skin glistens with sweat, his chest heaving with harsh breathing as his cock throbs deep inside me. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” I gasp, lifting my hips in a desperate attempt to reach the peak. “Please, Lucas, I love you!”

He sucks in an audible breath, and I feel him swell inside me, growing even thicker and harder as he thrusts in one last time before throwing back his head with a savage groan. His cock jerks inside me, his seed spurting out in several warm bursts, and then he rolls his hips in a circular motion, grinding his pelvis against my sex. To my shock, his movements push me over the edge, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back as a shattering wave of pleasure sweeps through me again, leaving me limp and shaking in its wake.

“Fuck, baby,” Lucas groans, and I feel his cock spasm one last time before he withdraws and rolls off me. Like me, he’s covered in sweat and breathing hard, but somehow he finds the strength to pull me toward him, embracing me from behind.

As my heartbeat slows and the post-orgasmic bliss begins to fade, I close my eyes, trying not to think about what I’ve done.

Trying to ignore the terrifying power Lucas holds over me now.