He goes rigid, looking like he’s about to answer when one of the members from the brotherhood passes the corner, going to the meeting that’s always held in the library. Biting my lip, I wave at him, calling,
“Hello.... Good morning to you too.”
Alec yanks me to him, laughing silently and presses his lips against my hair, “Stop doing that, little ballerina.”
I sulk but don’t push it and when the brother nods his greeting to Alec, he stops in front of him, saying something in Russian. Alec turns to me, murmuring,
“He says good morning to you, Mrs. Dolokhova.”
Whenever any of the other members want to say something to me such as remarks about the weather or whether I’ve had a good day they never turn to me directly. They always go through Alec.
“Are your “brothers” always going to make me feel like I’ve just traveled back in time?” I ask and Alec’s eyes flicker with amusement.
“It is a sign of respect, nothing else. Both to you and to me.” He presses his lips against mine. “I will see you later. Don’t get into any trouble.”
He flicks me on the nose, turning to leave but stops when I grasp his collar, murmuring, “Can I please join you for the meeting? Just for a little while. I’ve got some time left before I have to be at the studio...”
My husband’s eyes narrow and I gulp. I’ve only joined him once before but that was a rare exception. It was the day after our wedding and I only joined because Alec wanted to formally introduce his wife.
“And if I say no, will you be unhappy?”
I nod and a strained smile pulls at his mouth. “Then I must let you join us,” he says to my relief and I follow him into the library where the rest of the members are already seated. Truthfully I don’t really like doing this, being here with all of them because they’re a scary bunch.
Alec is the scariest one though but not to me, not anymore. The rest I don’t know as well but Alec has told me they venerate me highly and that they would all give their lives for me if Alec ordered them too.
Walking behind Alec, I feel a little bit like a kid or his tail and I’m tempted to squeeze his hand like always when I need comfort and I blush when he squeezes first. He always knows what I need like that. I don’t even have to ask.
Snapping something in Russian, Alec sits down in a high chair that’s at the end of the large, rectangular table. Snatching me around my waist, he pulls me down into his laps and I curl up against his chest.
The other members don’t even make eye contact with me, talking in serious voices to Alec. Obviously I don’t know what they’re saying but it doesn’t matter so much to me because all I’m trying to do is to see if they mention Trevor’s name.
Disappointment tugs at me when they don’t. They don’t mention him. Not even once.
Sometimes I’m struck by the thought that Alec might not be searching for him at all. I tilt my head back, watching my husband speak in his harsh, rapid tone to his peers and he is so authoritative that he could lock this whole city down if he wanted to.
Which is why I don’t understand why finding Trevor is proving to be so difficult. Unless they actually aren’t looking for him, only pretending.
My heart flips in my chest and I glance at Alec’s ink on his hands and on his throat. They cover up parts of his skin, hiding parts of him from me that I’ll never be able to see. Sometimes I think that my husband is hiding something from me.
Sometimes I think the house is hiding something too. This house where I at times hear strange sounds that I don’t know where they’re coming from. It makes me feel like the walls and floors are protecting some big secret. But then I brush it off and tell myself not to be so theatrical.
Alec would do anything for me. Anything. And if he’s promised me to find Trevor then he will.
Before I leave, I whisper in his ear that I love him.
“I love you too,” he says, his eyes burning with sincerity, letting me know that even if he might keep secrets, his love for me is no mystery, no enigma. It’s clear and defined and genuine. Our hearts are undisguised and in the end it is all that matters.
12
Alec
I curse under my breath, watching my wife’s head bob under the sheetsand my whole body strains. She loves doing this, waking me up by sucking my shaft and I rip the sheet off of her, my eyes crushing around her swollen lips, her red cheeks.
Her soft, kittenish tongue laps at me and I fist her hair, groaning when she lets out an uncontrolled moan.
“Alec...” she mewls, her voice throaty and choked and the way she looks at me makes me feel like a king, “come in my mouth.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I piston, burying myself in her throat and I spill in between her lips, the lips that know how to keep me on edge and remind me every day of what a privilege it is to call her mine. Not many men have a little ballerina of their own, but I do. And I am territorial with her, defensive like a rabid animal because even though I have always considered myself to be more brawns than brains, I know that a love like ours only happens once in a lifetime.