koroleva. [Russian Mafia Romance]

Chapter 3.

Ivan. -

"Are you here to fuck me? I need a shower." Her voice has changed. Her eyes are smothered with something else.

"My hair, it needs washing. I can't leave. How much are you paying me?" She stands up from the hunched position and traces around the room. This isn't her. Her wet eyes now dried. Her hands in her hair. Is this PTSD? I pull out my phone and ring the family dr.

"Ring Max. He needs to see this. You need to see her." That's all I needed to say. He knows who she is. This has been planned for a long time. I put my phone in my pocket to find her sprawled on the bed, ass in the air. Fuck, she looks so fucking sexy. I could fucking pound her right now. But she's not in the right frame of mind. She needs help. And that's what I'm here for.

"Chloë, moya koroleva, it's me." I don't know why that nickname has stuck with me, but it has. 'My queen.' It's very fitting. As soon, we shall be married.

Her eyes reach mine but it's not her inside. This is definitely post traumatic stress disorder. What that fucker has put her through, it's caused her all this pain. I couldn't wait to get her here. Not just for my personal use but I know she'll make me a great wife. And I can't wait for that day.

"Where is she?" Maxim shouts. We always call him max.

"Up here," I shout back. My hand on her face that's still rambling the same old things. She's not the girl I brought home. I move away from her to let max do his thing. I can feel my temper rising. That fucking cunt. I'll kill him. That poor woman in there. My fucking queen, needing tablets to help her. She's wanting to die! I storm out the room and make my way downstairs to my vodka, brandy and wine. I need it. I can't loose my shit around her. Not with what happened last time.

I grab the glass bottle of scotch decorating my desk in the cellar. I take a swig of the strong stuff, and it blows the wind right out of my trumpet. I want Igore dead. Buried. By my hands. And my hands only. Fucking cunt. I throw my glass against the wall, and it shatters on impact. Franc stands at the doorway.

"She's asleep. She's had her tablets, she will need three a day for the next week. It's ptsd. You're correct. I know you're mad for what this guy has done to her, and i know she reminds you but you need to be there for her. She needs somebody. she's had countless rapes and god knows what else that poor woman. Just be a man and be there for her. After all you have brought her here. She's your responsibility." And with that she left, and I know she's right. She is my responsibility. I wipe the alcohol from my lips and make my way upstairs. Max is still with her, making sure the tablets have digested and she's relaxed. I'm glad we always have a doctor on call. I rub my 5 o clock shadow. It's getting bristled now. I might grow it.

"She's okay. She needs rest. And tablets." Max eats up from her side and covered her with the quilt.

"Thanks. I owe you." I stare at Chloë. She truly is beautiful. Peaceful. How could anyone ever lay their hands on her without her saying so, is just... a farce.

Max leaves us to it as I sit on the bed next to her. Her eyes closed, breathing steady. This is the most peaceful I've ever seen her. Why would she not want to live the life she's got? I mean with different people? I move the hair out her face, too see how her bruise is coming along. It looks sore. The cut has been cleaned and a plaster covers half her cheek. I will never lay my hand on her. Only in the bedroom. As she's a fucking star. My queen. I kiss her gently on the forehead, and begin to walk out when she rumbles.

"I-Ivan?" Her body laid flat on the bed rolls over.

"Lay with me." She suggests. I can feel my heart racing. She wants me? She doesn't even know me. I stand, itching my scalp. Is this a good idea? I could never love her, but I could be her husband. I could be here to support her but I can't fall in love. I can't.

I put my thoughts aside and let my body relax. After all, she is mine now. I need to support her. I remove my shirt, and trouser bottoms, shoes, socks. Before I know it I'm laid on my back, and her arm is around my neck, she's breathing me in. Fuck. Don't Ivan. Don't go there.

Her leg cradles mine. This is what she needs. This, is how it should be. My arm creeps around her back, stroking her long spine. Is this the right decision? My brain can't seem to understand. Should I send her back? No. No I won't. I'm here now, forever.

Chloë -

When my body rumbles in the night I find Ivan laid next to me. My body darts up with shock. Why is he in my bed? And what even happened last night? I can't remember anything apart from getting in the room. Ivan wakes as soon as he hears my body jolt. His tired blue eyes catching mine.

"Hey, Moya koroleva, it's okay. I'm here." He soothes. My body still frozen.

"Why-why are you here? In my bed? What happened? Was I drugged?" The words spotting out of my mouth in sheer panic. So many scenarios.

"No, not at all. You have PTSD, my dear. What that arsehole did to you, has given you something that's going to change your life until you feel better and start to forget him. You have to take these tablets three times a day. And then just see how it goes. How you feel, all that kind of shit." He smiles softly. PTSD ? Isn't that what soldiers have? I can't seem to say anything, so I just nod. My eyes dart down again. I suddenly feel exposed. I'm half naked, in a bed, with Ivan. Who is also naked?! What!

My eyes revert to his exceedingly surprised tattooed chest. Muscles bulging out of his body. His arms wide, thighs huge. He truly is a god, so to speak. I can feel him staring back at me. He sits up, grabbing my chin in between his fingers.

"Baby, don't be embarrassed. You have your whole life to look at my body. And to touch it." He smiles, his lips now wet from his tongue darting across them. Is he teasing me? Does he want to kiss me? And what is this feeling? His mouth tenders close to mine, the warmth of his skin radiating on my lips. This kiss, is something I've never experienced in my whole life. The rush in my veins, my nervousness. It all combines to make one powerful drug. Him. His tongue darts in my mouth, without asking. But I don't mind. My hands are now on his naked chest. I can feel his heart pumping behind my hand. His teeth gnaw at my lips, dragging them away from my body and letting go again. The warm pool inbetween my legs forming rapidly.

"Jesus, what are you doing to me?"