My EX's Mafia Twin

5. Accepting reality [Part 2]

He turns away from me and starts filling the Jacuzzi. I watch him silently add salts and oils, measure the jets and regulate the temperature. My body gets wet and the wounds on my battered body burn, but at the same time they are a relief to my skin.

"I never thought to see you as a pawn" I provoke him, "you are the lapdog of a mafioso."

"You don't know anything."

"Oh, but I do know" I smile, "all your life you were under Reid's shadow, now you're under Demyan Ivanov's shadow. How does it feel to never be the main attraction?"

He stops what he's doing and slowly turns his face towards me, his eyes dilated with so much hatred they could match mine.

"If my brother's name ever comes out of your mouth again..."

"Reid" I interrupt his threat.

Killian lunges towards me and grabs my jaw with a hard hand, turning my face in his direction. His eyes are clouded with such bad feelings that he looks like a being pulled from the underworld itself.

"You don't see Reid here, ice princess" he speaks against my ear, "you don't see anyone giving a single penny for you."

"You shut up."

"Do you know where my brother is?" He asks, searching my eyes with cold cruelty. "He's living his idyllic life with Willa, free and happy while you fall into the hands of a mobster. I can swear they don't even remember your name... that's how forgettable you are, Katarina Volkov."

"Go to hell."

"In hell are you and me, I've been living in it for three f*****g years" he turns my face, speaking against my mouth as I take a shallow breath. "There's only me here, Katarina, there's no one else to hold on to. And the sooner that cold head of yours understands that, the better."

He releases me as I stare at him with hatred, his words stinging in my soul and if what he wanted was to hurt me... he did.

I stay silent, seething inside and ignoring him as he continues to fix my shower. When I feel his clothes fall, I turn to look at him just to see him step into the hot tub with me, only his jeans covering his body, sagging at his hips, almost showing the happy little way to his groin.

"Don't you dare."

But he dares, he moves towards me and leaves his knees on either side of my hips. His naked torso is imposing, marked and tanned, much more muscular than it was before. With rough, agile hands, he rips the dress to shreds, tearing it from my skin as if it were flimsy paper.

I stare at his chest, there are more scars than I can count, one particularly large one on his side.

I'm sure none of it was three years ago.

I raise my eyes to his face, he's concentrating on finishing removing the dress, so I allow myself a closer look at the shocking scar on his skin.

What the hell has he been through?

What the hell do I care?

"Is Demyan okay with his lapdog doing this to me?" I ask, wielding my hands as he bends down and rips the thin strap of my bra with his teeth, his breath bathing my skin.

I close my eyes and turn my face, but the movement only causes my nose to brush against his hair and his scent to drift deep into my lungs.

"He trusts me" is what he answers, without further explanation.

I wonder what that trust implies and what he had to do to deserve it.

Any thoughts of him and my father vanish when I feel his hands move down to my hips. With one nimble movement, Killian pulls my panties down my legs, leaving me completely naked.

The water is clear, there is no soap or suds, so my nakedness is completely exposed before his eyes.

Nudity has never been an inconvenience for me, my profession sometimes requires modesty to be thrown out the window. But, for some reason, with Killian I care even less about being naked. I even feel comfortable, as if it's not the first time.

I look at him, but other than a sharp twitch in his jaw, Killian doesn't externalize anything else.

I hiss as a soft sponge wipes across my shoulders and I swallow the wince I want to wince. Killian pauses for a second, looks at me and back down to my shoulders, continuing his cleaning.

I bring my head back and rest it on the ceramic, my eyes closed as he continues to gently cleanse my body. Where his hands pass, it hurts, my body still as battered as it could be, but his touch somehow also brings comfort.

My hands clench into fists again, my arms motionless as the soft sponge washes my breasts, careful not to touch my n*****s.

I open my eyes just in time to see his expression, his jaw once again having that masculine twitch that so appeals to me.

Ignoring my n*****s, Killian runs his hands down my belly, washing with the sponge.

I smile.

"Do I make you nervous?" I ask, tilting my face slightly to look at him better, remembering the first words we shared when we first met.

I was eighteen, he was twenty. And I was deeply captivated by the indifference on his face. His expression was so neutral, it looked so real. And I envied that indifference because it was what I all my life pretended to feel. And while for me it was acting, for him it was an intrinsic trait of his personality.

And the instant attraction I felt for him made me act a little bold. But in my defense, I was a girl used to men falling at my feet. He didn't, in fact, from that instant on he behaved as if I was an inconvenience in his life.

Killian lifts his face and his eyes flash with danger.

My question has pissed him off.

That lock of his hair falling across his forehead bothers me, I want so desperately to pull it back that my hands itch with need.

"Are you intimidated by a pair of breasts, Killian Colleman?" I repeat, provoking him.

He releases the sponge and suddenly, taking me by surprise, squeezes each n****e with nimble fingers, making me swallow a gasp as my back arches toward him.

"Shut the f**k up" he growls at me before releasing me and continuing his task.

Son of a b***h.

My n*****s are left buzzing, tingling with his touch.

I close my eyes and return to my old position, yet when calloused but gentle fingers begin to wash my face with utmost care, I tense, unaccustomed to this treatment, to being cared for.

His thumb traces my lower lip from corner to corner, his other fingers firmly grasp my head until his pinky caresses the hollow behind my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut, oppressing the shiver that runs through my body.

His thumb traces my lips again, this time the top one, before moving to the delicate skin under my eyes, wiping away the mascara I know stains my face. He takes his time at that task, making sure my skin is clean. His breath tickles me and the gentle movement of his caress almost makes me forget what situation we're in. When he finishes, the back of his thumb washes my eyelashes, stroking in gentle motions then making the same motion on my eyebrows.

I don't know if he notices, but the fingers holding my head begin to trace soft caresses on my skin, behind my ear, brushing against my hairline.

I f*****g hate him.

There's no clumsiness in his touch, no hesitation either, even though I'm sure it's the first time he's cared for someone other than himself, Killian acts confidently, without a hint of uncertainty.

I open my eyes to find him just inches from me, focused on his task.

"I'll wash your hair."

And that's another level of torture.

I want to groan as his fingers almost expertly massage my long hair, using the showers to make the job easier, taking care of me as he untangles strand after strand with thick, calloused fingers straining to show delicacy. Again, he takes his time, and I stare at his concentrated expression. With the help of the conditioner that softens my hair, Killian takes strand after strand, removing knot after knot, making sure the least amount of hair is mistreated.

It's so strange to watch him do this, I never thought Killian's hands were capable of this level of care.

He finishes and moves down. He lifts my leg and as he did outside in the room, he pulls my foot up over his thigh, washes one and then the other, and finally up my legs, my eyes don't leave his at any point.

"You can let go now," I growl at him, moving my cuffed wrists to emphasize my point.

Killian raises his eyes to me and with a deadly serious expression, says, "But I'm not done."

"No..."

My words die and my mouth falls open, expelling all the air I had left as his hand slowly moves up between my legs. His fingers caress up my v****a, his middle finger slightly parting my labia.

I watch him silently as he moves closer to me, making me spread my legs wider. He is staring at what he is doing to me, so intent on his task. His thumb pokes between my labia, up and down, up and down until he slowly pulls me apart, finding my swollen clit.

I throw my head back, swallowing a moan.

"Did Demyan Ivanov ask you to do this?" I manage to ask, struggling not to lean into his touch.

"Demyan Ivanov can f**k off, I'm just washing your pussy."

He catches the little flesh button between thumb and forefinger, twists it a little, once, twice, three times, and pulls his hand out, leaving me breathing rapidly.

A shudder runs through my body as I struggle against the withheld orgasm and it is that with that simple touch he had me there, on the brink.

I fall back against the jacuzzi wall, not knowing at what point my back arched out of the solid support, and I watch him sleepily as he unties me. First one wrist, then the other, stroking the skin before releasing me. Just as he brought me in, Killian pulls me out in his arms to lay me on the bed.

And that escape from reality that our s****l tension causes disappears when I see an elegant dress on the bed, waiting for me.

"I'm not getting dressed like this."

"Those are orders, we leave in two hours."

"No."

"There's makeup there" he points to one of the dressers, then, taking a remote control, he presses it to the TV and the screen lights up, showing my mother sleeping alone at home. "And this is the last warning to you. If you continue to oppose his orders, next time you'll see her shot between her eyebrows."

And Killian walks away, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

I throw the dress against the wall and scream, sending them all to hell.