arms. “Oh Pet, I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to do it this way, but seeing you standing there, looking like that. You bring out the animal in me.”
She turned her face up to his, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you know how hard it’s been? Months, I’ve waited, wanting you. I couldn’t touch you. I was afraid I would… well… do this.” He chuckled, waving his hand around the room.
“Why?” She couldn’t keep the tears out of her voice.
“Oh god.” He bent his head to her breasts, letting her stroke his hair. “I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Just say,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Tell me the story.”
And he did, a long tale about a pretty little blond girl from Russia whose parents weren’t killed in a factory fire after all, but defected, reluctantly leaving their child with a relative who would follow soon after.
“Sascha,” she gasped, interrupting his story, vaguely remembering her aunt only briefly in the time before the orphanage. She’d only been there a week, two, before her aunt had been taken away, her parents lost in the house fire, everything in her life crumbling around her. Blue nodded against her chest and she tightened her arms around him. “Go on.”
The little girl’s mother and father made it to America, but the little girl was left behind. They couldn’t go back—and they knew no one in Belarus to bring her to them. The tried to find her, but it was years before they tracked her down, and by then, her father had died of a heart attack.
“Papa.” Petra felt her eyes filling with tears. Was this story real? Could it be true?
“Your mother sent me for you.” He kissed her cheeks as the tears fell. “Your name is Tatiana. Tatiana Ribya.”
He paused, letting that sink in.
“My… mother?” The woman who had cooked and cleaned for her, had cared for her, laughed with her, since the day she moved in with Blue. She sobbed against his chest. Her heart filled to bursting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s a longer story.” Blue sighed. “And it’s all my fault.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. She wasn’t who she thought she was. Her mother was alive! And now he was telling her that their marriage hadn’t been exactly legal because… well, because he was married already.
“I forgot about it,” he confessed.
She gaped at him. “What?”
“It was the early nineties.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I was doing a lot of drugs.”
The woman had come after him when his marriage to Petra had been announced in the tabloids, he told her, not wanting money—but wanting him back. Wanting to be his wife.
“Over my dead body,” Petra hissed.
Blue’s arms tightened around her and he grinned. “That won’t be necessary. I took care of it.”
“How?”
He cleared his throat. “I sort of kept her captive.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s what she wanted,” he explained quickly. “We used to play these games together. She was my…” He waved his hand around the room again, indicating all the BDSM paraphernalia.
“Pet?” she offered quietly.
“No. You’re my Pet.” He frowned, the lines in his forehead deepening. “She was a groupie. She wanted to belong to me. In every way possible. She was very… unstable. She still is.”
“Did you have sex with her, here, while she was your captive in this room?”
“No.” He looked at her, horrified. “I told her I was testing her. In the end, I had her sign the divorce papers as the ultimate test.”
She tried to absorb his words, the facts of what he had done, the puzzle pieces all falling into place. It explained why he never touched her, why he was so secretive, why he refused to allow her into this room.
“Did you marry her in Chicago?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Smart girl.”
“So the divorce is
She turned her face up to his, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you know how hard it’s been? Months, I’ve waited, wanting you. I couldn’t touch you. I was afraid I would… well… do this.” He chuckled, waving his hand around the room.
“Why?” She couldn’t keep the tears out of her voice.
“Oh god.” He bent his head to her breasts, letting her stroke his hair. “I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Just say,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Tell me the story.”
And he did, a long tale about a pretty little blond girl from Russia whose parents weren’t killed in a factory fire after all, but defected, reluctantly leaving their child with a relative who would follow soon after.
“Sascha,” she gasped, interrupting his story, vaguely remembering her aunt only briefly in the time before the orphanage. She’d only been there a week, two, before her aunt had been taken away, her parents lost in the house fire, everything in her life crumbling around her. Blue nodded against her chest and she tightened her arms around him. “Go on.”
The little girl’s mother and father made it to America, but the little girl was left behind. They couldn’t go back—and they knew no one in Belarus to bring her to them. The tried to find her, but it was years before they tracked her down, and by then, her father had died of a heart attack.
“Papa.” Petra felt her eyes filling with tears. Was this story real? Could it be true?
“Your mother sent me for you.” He kissed her cheeks as the tears fell. “Your name is Tatiana. Tatiana Ribya.”
He paused, letting that sink in.
“My… mother?” The woman who had cooked and cleaned for her, had cared for her, laughed with her, since the day she moved in with Blue. She sobbed against his chest. Her heart filled to bursting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s a longer story.” Blue sighed. “And it’s all my fault.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. She wasn’t who she thought she was. Her mother was alive! And now he was telling her that their marriage hadn’t been exactly legal because… well, because he was married already.
“I forgot about it,” he confessed.
She gaped at him. “What?”
“It was the early nineties.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I was doing a lot of drugs.”
The woman had come after him when his marriage to Petra had been announced in the tabloids, he told her, not wanting money—but wanting him back. Wanting to be his wife.
“Over my dead body,” Petra hissed.
Blue’s arms tightened around her and he grinned. “That won’t be necessary. I took care of it.”
“How?”
He cleared his throat. “I sort of kept her captive.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s what she wanted,” he explained quickly. “We used to play these games together. She was my…” He waved his hand around the room again, indicating all the BDSM paraphernalia.
“Pet?” she offered quietly.
“No. You’re my Pet.” He frowned, the lines in his forehead deepening. “She was a groupie. She wanted to belong to me. In every way possible. She was very… unstable. She still is.”
“Did you have sex with her, here, while she was your captive in this room?”
“No.” He looked at her, horrified. “I told her I was testing her. In the end, I had her sign the divorce papers as the ultimate test.”
She tried to absorb his words, the facts of what he had done, the puzzle pieces all falling into place. It explained why he never touched her, why he was so secretive, why he refused to allow her into this room.
“Did you marry her in Chicago?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Smart girl.”
“So the divorce is
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