Dangerous Husbands, Broken Wives [18+]

SIXTY TWO: MOMENTARY ESCAPE

[ANASTASIA]

Just like Ivan said—and despite my resistance—Ivan's guys packed up all my stuff and moved it to his room across the hall.

I could've refused to budge even after they finished. It's not like they would lay a finger on me. Ivan would break every bone in their bodies if they dared. And while these men would risk their lives for Ivan any time, they definitely wouldn't want to end up at Ivan Volkov's mercy.

My husband is a total monster when it comes to torture. There's no limit he won't cross, no method he won't use to make someone suffer.

But even if I could, I didn't. Because apparently, some idiot broke the door of my room. And even though I can still close the bedroom door and keep a safe distance from Ivan and his relentless push for us to be a family again, I don't feel secure enough without the damn main door.

I let out a loud exhale and flop down on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress while I'm at it. A few minutes ago, I called Lena and talked to the kids for about twenty minutes or so. But after that, I pretty much had nothing to do. Video games were never something I fancied, and social media was too much for me to keep up with. I just could never get around it. Besides, with me trying to keep my kids and myself safe and out of Ivan's reach, it was better to not leave any electronic trails.

But sadly, nothing I did kept us away from him for very long. Yes, I managed to do the impossible for five whole years, but that was it. By the time I realized and found a way to leave Russia and start anew in some foreign country, Ivan caught up to us, and the rest is history.

I yawn and slide my feet out of the bedroom slippers. Reaching for the comforter, I pull it over myself. I have no idea when Ivan will be back. Not that I've been waiting for him. That's probably not happening anytime soon—me waiting for him, that is. Well, unless there's something important that needs to be discussed. Then, of course, I'll set aside my hatred and ego and do what needs to be done. But right now, I can't think of anything more important than just sleeping off the night.

I can't— and I mean it, at any cost—give that man any reason to think that I'm up for anything nefarious he has in mind. The way he told me to wait in his room before he left sounded exactly like the way he would speak to me when we were still happily married. That was his way of letting me know that once he was back, there would be a lot of intimacy, and I should make myself available in every way possible.

However, just as I lie down on the bed and take in a deep breath, preparing to try and get some sleep, I hear the sound of the main door opening and closing, and my whole body turns into an ice-cold sheet of goosebumps.

Footsteps echo outside the bedroom, and as absurd as it sounds, I quickly flip onto my side and pretend to be fast asleep.

I resist the urge to peek, keeping my eyes shut tightly, hoping against hope that Ivan wouldn't see through my act. I could never get away with any sort of act in the past. He always caught me in the act, always.

The footsteps stop right outside the bedroom door, and for a moment, the room is filled with silence so thick I can practically taste it. Then, the door creaks open slowly, and I feel a rush of cold air brush against my skin.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the door opens wide, admitting a sliver of dim light into the room. I hold my breath, willing myself to remain perfectly still and undetected.

I strain my ears for the familiar tap of footsteps that quickly follow towards the bed. I feel Ivan's gaze boring into me, dissecting my every movement, searching for any sign of deception. I just know it. But then he retreats, or at least, it seems like he did when the footsteps move around the bed and towards the other side. I hear Ivan shutting the door, before he moves towards the bed again.

There's some more shuffling around the room, and I swear to God, the suspense of not knowing what this man is up to is killing me. But I keep up the farce and try to regulate my breathing normally. If Ivan got even the hint of the fact that I'm pretending, I will never hear the end of it. There's something too embarrassing about getting caught in the middle of a lie.

Then, the other side of the mattress sinks and I close my eyes more tightly, almost to the point the my lashes could leave their imprint under my eyes. My nails stab through the delicate skin of my palm, when I feel him roll closer.

Before I can protest—which I can't because now that I'm pretending to sleep, I have to pretend not to know whatever he's doing—I feel his arm wrap around my waist and his body press against mine.

I fight the urge to recoil. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, his breath deliciously warm on the back of my neck. Every instinct in me screams to push him away, to escape his grasp, but I force myself to remain still, to maintain the facade of sleep.

I hear him exhale softly, his grip on me tightening slightly. It takes all my willpower not to flinch away from his touch. Instead, I focus on keeping my breathing steady, my heart hammering in my chest.

But then he does the unexpected and plants his hot mouth on my nape. Before I can help it, I hiss, followed by instant regret that makes me silently shake my head in shame.

Shit. This is not how it was supposed to be.

I want to curse myself loudly, even scream at myself if that helps, but I don't get time for any of that. Of course, I don't. Before I can even think of my next course of action, his grip on me tightens. I feel his mouth move, his hands slowly exploring every dip and rise of my body.

"Ivan..." I whisper, my voice barely audible, but my warning falls on deaf ears. Not surprising at all.

Ivan takes hold of my arm and gently turns me to face him. It's dark, the shadows concealing his features, but I can feel his presence, his essence enveloping me.

"If you're not sleepy, we can find something to tire you out," he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"No? I'm very sleepy. I'm so sleepy, I'm already asleep," I say, snapping my eyes shut and turning onto my side again. "See? Asleep."

Ivan chuckles, a sound that echoes in the darkness.

Of course, he finds my predicament amusing. I forgot how he often takes pleasure in my misery.

"Fine," he says, his voice low and husky. "Sleep then."

He leans in, placing one more kiss on my cheek before retreating to his side of the bed, leaving me alone.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the momentary escape.

But even as I lay there, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a feeling I know too well, one that screams disappointment.