“No!” I snarled. I sank back farther against the wall, swatting away her hand. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kisa reared back. I knew she was staring at me. I could feel her gaze burning through my skin. We sat in silence for what seemed like an age, my fists still taut, my blood still boiling with rage. Then, suddenly, Kisa stood, my muscles bracing for her to leave, my heart beating fast again at the thought of her leaving me alone.
But she didn’t walk away. She didn’t head for the door. She didn’t leave. She stayed silent, only a rustling of material to be heard.
I didn’t look up. Instead I focused on trying to calm the rage erupting from inside. But then a hand took mine and my palm met hot flesh.
Whipping up my head, I found Kisa kneeling beside me, the top of her sleeveless long black dress pulled down to her waist, her perfect tits on show. Her hand held mine over her bare breast and I tore my gaze away from the sight—the sight that was fucking destroying me—to meet her eyes. They were filled with a mixture of steely determination and love, fucking filled with nothing but love.
She bulldozed through all the barriers I had.
Taking control, Kisa squeezed my hand tighter around her tit, my cock hardening at the feel of my woman under my palm. Shifting her legs, Kisa released her hold on my hand, her eyes telling me not to move it from her tit, and lifted up her dress from the bottom.
My breathing quickened as her lace panties came into view, and then I fucking lost all anger when she untied the lace bows at the side, the panties falling to the floor.
I was struck mute as my wife—my fucking beautiful wife—straddled my thighs, her bare * dragging down my stomach.
My hand on her warm breast tightened as my solid dick pushed against my pants. Kisa’s breathing hitched as her clit ran down my torso and her mouth lowered to my ear. “I love you, baby. I have you. You’re okay. I’m here.…”
My eyelids shut at the relief her words brought, and just like that, I was calmed.
“Kisa…,” I whispered in response, my words clogging my throat.
Kisa pressed a finger over my lips. “Shh, lyubov moya, just … just … love me,” she said almost silently. “Let me love you with everything I have. Let me make you feel safe, with me. Be my Luka, the boy whose soul matches mine.”
And she did. I made love to her on the locker room floor, and she brought me back to myself. She chased away the demons and pain.
As we both fought for breath in the aftermath, I reached up, never moving my gaze from hers, and said, “I’m … I’m sorry.”
Kisa’s face softened. “Never be sorry. You’re my husband, my heart, my soul.”
The reality of what had just happened began to hit home and I shut my eyes in embarrassment. Kisa must have felt me tense as she tensed, too. Inhaling a shaky breath, she whispered, “I love you so much, Luka. Do you know that?”
The hurt and sadness in her voice was sharper than any weapon I’ve taken into the cage.
“Luka?” Kisa probed my silence and slowly drew back her head to look at me. Her eyes were filled with tears again. “I love you.”
Kisa placed her finger under my chin and forced my head up. “Talk to me. Let me in.” Her eyelids fluttered, chasing away tears. She sniffed back her cries and wiped at her eyes. “What happened tonight? What happened with Viktor? Why did you run from Papa and Ivan? You neglected your duty to the Bratva.”
Feeling drained, I exhaled a shuddering breath.
As more seconds passed by, I heard Kisa sigh in frustration and her hands cupped my cheeks. “Look at me, Luka.”