Dance, Sugarplum

27. Mikhail

CHAPTER 27

MIKHAIL

FINALE

The bullet sinks into Carter’s skull, and I wish I could pretend the graphic spray of violence disgusts or displeases me, but it just feels good to kill who would dare hurt Lyla. She is mine, and no one will ever harm her again.

Carter abducted her, kept her in this house, and she had to crawl through the window to get away. I know we won’t have any problem proving this was self-defense since the man ran toward us with a gun. My lawyers will make sure I’m clean of this mess.

Though while I’m deciding what legally happens next, Lyla remains in the same place. I place the gun on the floor and go to her, my soul shredding into pieces as she holds me and tremors run through her body. I hold her against my chest, my hand over her head, feeling her soft hair between my fingers.

“Dead. He’s, he’s dead.”

“Good riddance.” I want to spit on the ground beside him, but I don’t want her to think less of me. A low sob starts to build in her throat, and she falls apart in my arms.

I look at the body that used to be Carter Livingston and try to make sense of my own feelings. I just killed a man. I took a life, and that's nothing I’ve ever thought I would do, but the pill is surprisingly easy to swallow when I remember everything he’s done.

This mess needs to be cleaned, and we’ll need to speak to the police. I have a list in mind of all the names I need to call, but Lyla’s safety comes first. She can’t stay here for another second. I scoop her into my arms because it’s clear she’s beyond reason or walking, and I press her tearstained cheek against my chest as I carry her back to the waiting car.

I place her in the passenger seat and buckle the seat belt for her. She cries so hard that she seems almost unaware of what’s happening. I walk around the car, take the driver’s seat, and start the car. My tension ticks higher as I drive. This is the second time I’ve done it in years. The first was on the way to her.

My hands tighten on the wheel, and I consider how much more I should have made that bastard suffer. His death was too quick. Lyla mumbles the whole way, barely making sense, until we enter the city and something clicks.

“You’re driving.”

I nod.

I would do anything for this woman. I knew what I was going to do when I went to her childhood home. Carter was too far gone, and if I wanted Lyla back, things were going to get ugly. I couldn’t involve my driver in something illegal. While I was born and raised in privilege, I know it’s not everyone’s story. So I took the car and went to find her, hoping a cop wouldn’t stop me and ask for my expired driver’s license.

I don’t know if Lyla knows how hard it was for me to get here, but when I glance at her, her eyes shine as if she does.

“Thank you for coming for me, Mikhail.”

“Always.”

We pull up outside the building, and even though I think she can probably walk, I carry her inside. She stares up at the lights and decorations with a childlike wonder that makes me worried she’s slipping into shock. I wouldn’t blame her. Watching a man die isn’t an easy thing. Let alone one you spent most of your life loving and viewing as a father.

We climb on the elevator, and I rub circles over her back, waiting impatiently to reach the top floors. The doors open into the foyer, and she shakes in my arms.

“Cold?”

She shakes her head.

Fuck, definitely in shock.

I carry her through the house, up the stairs, and all the way to my own bedroom. Heading straight to the bathroom, I set her on the little bench and start stripping off my clothes. She doesn’t even check what I’m doing until I start on hers. Finally, she aims curious brown eyes at me but doesn’t say anything. I peel her T-shirt off and brush her hair away from her face.

“You’re not going to ask me about it?” she whispers.

I shake my head. “When you’re ready.”

She holds my hand and stands. I help her out of her pants and underwear. Once we’re both naked, I lift her into my arms, and we go in the shower.

Warm water sprays over us at the perfect pressure. I take a sponge and wash her. The dried blood on her body breaks me little by little. She’s my pretty doll, meant to be pushed, pampered, and fucked. Never this.

As I lather her stomach, a sob breaks free from her throat, and she shakes as she cries. I abandon everything and hold her.

“He touched me,” she says.

The world stops turning, and I’m not sure how to kill a man twice, but I’ll find a way.

Lyla shakes her head. “He rubbed his dick on me. He touched my knee with his hand, and then when I was trying to get away, his face was in my ass. I hated it, and, and?—”

“It’s okay. It’s over.”

“I feel so dirty.”

“You’re not. Look at me. You’re not.”

“He wanted me to kiss him.”

“You’re only ever kissing me.”

She reaches for me like the words are a great relief. Her hands lace around my neck, and I tip my head low, letting her take her time. Lyla goes on her tiptoes and kisses me.

“My body only belongs to you.” She almost says it like a threat, as if I would disagree. I’ll take pleasure in killing every man who tries to take her from me. She’s mine and has always been.

Her kisses turn hungry. She bites my neck and whispers into my ear, “Show me I’m yours.”

“If you don’t know that you’re mine yet, you’re a worse student than I thought.”

Lyla giggles, and my obsession with her grows. She seems like she might be nearly as crazy about me as I am about her. That’s a red flag.

I grip her wet hair, narrowing my eyes.

“Turn around, and I’ll show you who you belong to.”

Her lips part, hungry for me, and she turns around. Her hands hold the tiles and give me the perfect view of her ass and pussy lips. Carving my fingers into her ass, I want to thoroughly mark her as mine.

I push two fingers into her pussy, a hiss slipping between my teeth when I realize how fucking wet she is. Her pussy grips my fingers like a vise, and my eyes roll back. I don’t bother working her up because she doesn’t need it. I trade my fingers for my cock, and the hot wet slide of her cunt nearly takes me out. I was so fucking worried about her.

Lyla cries my name, and I tip her head back with my fist, gripping her hair at the base of her neck. She’s forced to look into my eyes as I pull her hair. I’m the one fucking this tight cunt. I’m the one she belongs to. The water falls between us, washing the past away.

That’s enough of everyone else. Carter, this town, and the gossip. There’s only Lyla and me now. My ballerina whore and I. My palm falls against her ass in a smack that echoes around the bathroom. She whimpers, her pussy getting even tighter. Encouraged by her response, I do it again, much harder, enjoying the sting in my palm as she whines and jumps at the contact. One more smack and her pussy comes around my cock, milking me so good.

She looks over her shoulder with a wicked smile I will never forget. “Mark me and make me come again.”

Fuck.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lyla. You greedy little whore.”

This fucking woman. I slap her once again, the marks from my fingers painting her skin. I could come inside her, but I decide I’d rather make a splash. I pull out, and with a couple of strokes, I come all over her back and ass.

She’s mine, now and forever.