Dirty Grovel: Chapter 17

Steam is rising from the table in curling tendrils when Oleg stalks in, his face wiped clean of emotion.

“Sutton, I need to see you in my office immediately.”

I glance at Jesse, whose frown matches mine. “We just put dinner on the⁠—”

“Immediately,” he barks before twisting around and sauntering away.

Jesse sighs. “Go on; it sounds important.”

“Yeah, when he has something to say, it’s always important,” I mutter under my breath as I follow Oleg to his office.

He’s already in boss mode when I enter, perched behind his mahogany desk, fingers steepled together.

“Sit.”

I plop down in a chair, my annoyance tempered by everything I’ve seen today. The man sitting in front of me now is galaxies away from the mischievous, smiling pirate he had once been. I can see new dimensions in the thick walls of steel he’s built around himself.

The scars on his face are a constant reminder of just how much those walls cost him.

“We have a lot to discuss,” he starts.

“About what exactly?”

“Our baby.” I raise my eyebrows but he charges ahead. “I think you should give birth in Florida. I’ll have a team of doctors ready and they can move to whatever hospital you choose to have the baby in. Of course, I have a shortlist of hospitals I prefer, but I’ll leave that choice up to you.”

I gawk at him but he doesn’t seem to register my shock. “We will need to come to a custody agreement. I’ll put you in touch with my attorneys so that you can communicate your needs to them.”

He pulls out his iPad and starts tapping on the screen. “I’ll also have to change my will and arrange a family meeting. This will mean a change of succession… which might have unforeseen consequences, but I can handle that.”

It doesn’t even feel like he’s talking to me.

It’s more like he’s talking and I just happen to be sitting in front of him.

“I also believe it might be in the child’s best interests for us to live together after the birth.” He doesn’t even pause for my gasp. “But of course, I understand you might have other ideas. I’m willing to hear them out.”

He taps on his tablet one more time. Then his eyes settle on me, flaring.

“I thought this was supposed to be a discussion,” I say. “Not a monologue.”

“There’s a lot to get through.”

“Except you forgot the most important point.”

He looks back down at his tablet and keeps fussing at the screen. “No, I believe I’ve covered everything.”

Rising to my feet, I shake my head. Then I snatch his tablet away. “Let me show you what you’ve missed.”

He gets to his feet, too, but he makes no attempt to take the tablet back. He stands silently and watches as I type in capital letters onto his screen in the biggest font I can find.

“There,” I say curtly, passing his tablet back to him. “That’s what you’ve forgotten. Read it out loud.”

Oleg looks down at his screen and I can see the words I’ve typed reflected back in his eyes.

I AM SORRY.

His nostrils flare, a tired sigh escaping his lips, but I cut him off at the pass. “Before you can lecture me about being childish, save it. I don’t care if it’s gonna sound fake as hell—I still want an apology from you. I want to hear you say it.”

He inclines his head. “Very well. I apologize. I am sorry for doubting that this baby was mine.”

“Good—”

“But—”

I grimace. “You were so close.”

“—it’s not like I didn’t have precedent,” he finishes. “It’s not as if I didn’t have probable cause to believe that I might not have been the only candidate to be this child’s father.”

“Probable cause, my ass!” I cry out. “It’s called trust, Oleg. If you knew me at all, you would have known that I’m not capable of sleeping with one man while I’m with another. Especially not if I have⁠—”

I stop short, my cheeks flushing as I stop myself from finishing that sentence.

As it stands, I’m worried I’ve said too much, given too much away.

Because there’s no way my admission would be seen as a good thing. Oleg made me sign a contract to make sure I knew exactly what this was.

A job.

An unusual job, yes, but a job all the same.

“You know what?” I fume. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? The only thing that matters now is our baby. On that much, I assume we can agree?”

Oleg’s eyes churn, but all he says is, “Yes.”

“Great. And how do you feel about it?”

He actually has the audacity to look confused, his eyebrows pinching in the middle. “About what?”

“About the baby!” I cry. “About the fact that you’re going to be a father!”

He clears his throat, his eyes darting away from me. “There’s a lot to organize now that we know for sure this baby is coming. Firstly, I need to file away the paternity test results and⁠—”

I want to be the calm, assured, put-together type. The kind of woman that Oksana Pavlov seems to be.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I have my mother’s fiery temperament.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He has the balls to look taken aback. “What do you want from me, Sutton?”

“How about a little bit of emotion, for starters? Would it really be so awful, so unthinkable of you to show just the tiniest bit of emotion about this future you seem so intent on controlling?”

I have no idea what he’s thinking. It’s all hiding behind stormy eyes, thick scars, behind a wardrobe and a posture and an aura that all scream in unison, Stay the fuck away from me.

“Sutton—”

I whirl around, hating myself for expecting more, guilty for demanding more, and frustrated that I can’t simply accept who he is.

“Never mind. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

I storm out of his office and stomp all the way up to my room. I’m texting immediately, my fingers shaking so badly that it takes me half a dozen attempts to get the words out right.

SUTTON: Men are IDIOTS!

SYDNEY: Preach.

SUTTON: How are you doing? Still trapped inside your room?

SYDNEY: Yes but I’m working on an escape plan.

SUTTON: For God’s sake, Syd. You need help. Maybe there’s some way I can do something?

SYDNEY: You’ve got enough to deal with. I’ll manage this on my own. If I really need help, I’ll let you know.

SUTTON: How much longer are you going to waste away in there before you accept that you can’t get out on your own?

That message gets the silent treatment.

I spend the rest of the evening stewing in my room about the Palmer women and the men we choose.

I used to think I was one of the smarter ones.

Now, I see that I may be the stupidest.

My mother never claimed to love any of the men she was with. But me? I’ve gone and made the epic mistake of developing feelings for Mr. Wrong. A man who told me from the start, in no uncertain terms, that a real relationship between us was off-limits.

As it turns out, the joke’s on me.

Always has been.

Exhaustion is the only thing that drives me to my bed. But sleep is far from relaxing.

Restless and uneasy, my dreams reflect my waking mind. There are fiery accidents. High-speed chases through long, winding tunnels.

And eventually, a large, lonely boat in the middle of a dark and stormy sea.

I can barely stand upright or see straight. Wind, thunder, and lightning swirl around us like locusts. My baby clings to my chest, his high-pitched cry echoing over the storm.

Then there’s Oleg, calling to me from the other side of the boat, urging me to his side.

I can’t hear him, though.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t hear him.

Then I blink once and my baby is no longer at my chest. He’s clear across the boat with his father.

I try to run to them, but my body feels so damn heavy. I can barely make it move.

Oleg is still shouting things. The storm drowns it all out.

A huge wave crests over my head. I brace myself as it pushes me further and further away from Oleg.

When I finally come to, I can see them in the distance, separated from me by a towering wall of black, angry water.

“No!” I scream.

But my voice has no sound, just like my feet have no power.

Oleg and my baby keep getting smaller and smaller. I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean, with no sense of where I am or how I’m going to survive this.

Alone again.

And again, and again, and again⁠—

“NO!”

Another wave crashes over me. But this time, it doesn’t let go. It snakes its watery hands around my wrists and tries to pull me overboard.

A small part of me is tempted to just admit defeat, give up the fight, surrender to the current that’s pulling me into the deepest depths of the ocean.

It’ll be dark down there. Quiet. Maybe even peaceful.

I could use that in my life.

And if I can’t have it in life, maybe I can enjoy it in death.

But just as I start considering the alternative, I hear my name. Soft as a whisper but strong at the same time.

I know that voice.

I love that voice.

“Sutton… You’re dreaming… Wake up…”

With a gasp, I come to, my eyes flying open just as the saltwater cuffs around my wrists dissolve into flesh and bone.

“O-Oleg?” I mumble, panting hard.

“It’s me,” he says calmly, his golden eyes pooled in shadow. “It’s only me. You’re safe now.”

“I-I don’t know.” I glance in panic around the room, wondering where all the water went and when it might come surging back. “I don’t know anymore…”

“As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe, princess.” For the first time in a long time, there is sincerity in his voice.

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever be safe. I’m doomed, just like my mother was.”

He pulls me onto his lap, my sweat-drenched camisole sticking against his naked chest. His body is cool in comparison to mine. Cool and hard and unyielding.

As much as I want to push away, deal with my downward spiral on my own, he feels too good. He smells too good—like smoke and salt and whiskey.

And it feels so nice to be able to lean on someone. To take my troubles and lay them at his feet—even if it is all just in my head.

A sob escapes my throat and before I can stop myself, I’m crying all over him.

“I don’t mean to be crying,” I repeat stupidly. “I don’t even know what I’m crying about…”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs to me. “Cry if you must.”

“No. I don’t want you to see me cry. I don’t want anyone to see me cry.”

His hands stroke my hip. “Do you want to be alone?”

The idea of him walking away from me now feels a little bit like facing that giant wall of water: terrifying.

“No,” I exclaim, digging my fingers into the hard flesh of his back. “No, please, please don’t leave me.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers to me, cradling me in his arms as he rocks me back and forth. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, I imagine the young boy from the pictures I saw this morning. Still unmarred, still carefree, still trusting.

A part of me mourns his death.

But a bigger part of me aches for the man I’m clinging to now.

How is it possible to be so close to a person and still feel so far away from them?

“I-I can’t breathe,” I heave, pulling at the neckline of my camisole. “I can’t breathe…”

As soon as I say it, I feel the fabric give way under Oleg’s hands. It rips apart and I’m free of the thin material.

“Better?” he asks, running his hands up and down my back.

I shiver under his touch. His fingertips are cool and comforting. I place my cheek against his shoulder and revel in his caresses.

“Better,” I agree.

“You’re okay.”

“You don’t know that. I don’t even know that.”

“Trust me. I recognize strength when I see it,” Oleg says.

I pull back, startled. “I’m not strong. I never was.”

“Who told you that?”

“My mother.” It’s never been easy for me to talk about this. Not even with Sydney. But for some reason, right now, the admission comes easily. “She used to tell me to stick with Sydney because I would always need to be looked after. She called me her ‘delicate flower.’”

“I could see it,” he admits, head tilted to the side. Then he shakes his head. “But you’ve got thorns. The kind that can and will draw blood if you pick it.”

“You honestly believe that?”

We’re practically nose to nose. The gold in his eyes is mesmerizing. I can’t look away, even if I wanted to.

“Yes,” he says, “I do.”

Before I can second-guess the instinct, I arch up, catching his lips with mine.

He freezes.

I do, too.

But our lips stay together, fused together, melting together.

His palm snakes up my back. Mine curls around his arm. And I lean into the kiss, asking for it, deepening it, inviting him in.

He pushes me back onto my bed, his tongue slipping between my lips as he parts my legs with his knees.

I’m vaguely aware of my panties coming off, vaguely aware of his fingers slipping between my legs.

And then my body comes alive.

I buck against his fingers, my hands pulling at his biceps, drawing him closer. I’m desperate for his heat.

Within minutes, he has me screaming out loud, my screams echoing against the walls of my room, doing battle with the cavernous silence.

As I tremble from the first orgasm, Oleg’s lips circle my nipple.

“Oleg,” I murmur, breathless, barely coherent. “Oleg, please…”

I have no idea what I’m pleading for. I have no sense of who I am or where I am.

It’s just him and me, locked together, exchanging scents and touches and muted whimpers.

Oleg brushes gentle kisses against my body as he makes his way down between my legs. The pressure on my clit reduces until it disappears altogether.

Then it’s replaced by the slick wetness of his tongue.

“Oh!” I cry out, as my insides clench.

I come even faster than the first time. It’s like my body knows what it’s in for and races to that final climax.

But even as I’m wracked by the orgasm, consumed by it, I wish I were coming with him inside me instead of like this.

I want to feel him there.

I want to see his face as we climax together.

I want the weight of his chest against mine as we finish in unison.

I don’t ask for that, though, and he doesn’t offer. He just holds me from behind as the tears dry on my face.

I keep wanting to turn to him. If nothing else, give me confirmation that what we just shared was real, that it meant something.

But I’m so tired, and my eyelids keep getting heavier and heavier.

It’s hard to fight now that he’s at my back, his arms engulfing me in warmth and safety.

In the end, I lose the fight. I fall into the deepest sleep I’ve had since coming to Nassau.

I don’t dream about a damn thing. My body sinks into the mattress, my arms curl around the pillow, and all the while, he holds me.

But the next morning, when I wake up, rested and relieved and calm…

Oleg is gone.