The ibuprofen Yulia shoved at me every four hours kept the pain in my wrist down, but it did nothing to stop the throb between my legs. The heat inside rivaled the time I was pressed against a hotel door with Ronan’s thigh working me higher and higher.
My mind hit rewind, taking me back to that night in Moscow and my stay thereafter. Something clicked into place. The realization hit me in the chest, and my fingers slipped down the spines.
I turned to face him. “Why did you play with me for so long when you knew who my papa was from the beginning?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
I knew why he’d waited so long to follow through with his plan of revenge.
He liked me.
Every yellow, rebellious, heart-on-my-sleeve inch of me.
An hour had passed since I walked out of the library and fell into bed. Sleep was now impossible to find. If it wasn’t my heart jumping to ridiculous conclusions, it was my body growing hotter with every brush of the covers.
I kicked off the sheets, but I was still spun in a web of heat. With a groan of frustration, I rolled to my other side. My sleep shorts rode up, pulling tight between my thighs. I tried to ignore the way my clit tingled for friction, but all I could think about was how it felt when he went down on me and the roughness of his hands on my skin. My heart ran off course, my breaths becoming too tight to release.
The longer I lay there, the more the fire and resentment burned. Ronan had taken my virginity, stepped on it like garbage, and I was just supposed to say thank you. Frustration seared the back of my neck. It felt like I was in some kind of limbo that wouldn’t end until he’d finished what he started. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to feel like this for the rest of my life.
I shot to my feet and strode down the hall, determination urging me on. When I stepped into Ronan’s room, I stopped short. My mouth went dry at the sight: smooth, inked muscle beneath black sheets. He slept like a human man—lying on his stomach with one arm under the pillow.
For a moment, I second-guessed myself. He looked larger than life with so much skin visible. The sheets were down by his calves as if he’d gotten too hot and kicked them off, leaving the length of his toned back and black boxer briefs on display. All hesitation stalled at the desire to see the ink he hid behind Versace.
I moved closer until I stood beside the king-size bed. His face was turned from me, his breaths steady. The entirety of his back was covered with tattoos, from Russian letters spread across his shoulder blades, to a tiger, and a devil with wings and horns.
It was strange to see this man at his most vulnerable. Did he dream? And if he did, was it filled with blood and murder? We might not see each other ever again shortly, but a part of me hoped I’d leave him to dream of yellow.
Subconsciously, I reached out to touch the ink—though before I could, I was thrown onto my back on the bed, the coldness of a gun pressed against my temple. My chest heaved, my gaze on Ronan straddling my hips. He took me in for a second, almost as if he was confused.
I found another weakness.
He was weak right when he woke.
“Fuck, Mila,” he growled and then threw his gun across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor. “I could have fucking killed you.”
As the shock died, I became aware of all the heat pressed against me; of his legs straddling my hips; of his shirtless torso decorated with more ink. My eyes slid down his body. I had no idea why he hadn’t taken his clothes off sooner if he was trying to sleep with me. I’d like to say I was strong enough to resist temptation in all its forms, but . . . just seeing him in a pair of boxer briefs made me want to rock my hips against him and slide my hands from his pecs to his abs.
I pulled my lip between my teeth and dragged my eyes back up to his.
The confusion melted from his gaze when he saw my expression, morphing into a heat that smoldered. One hand braced beside my head, he ran the other across his face before dropping it and saying harshly, “I get enough easy pussy. I’m not in the mood for more.”
His words should dissuade any woman and send her running to find literally anyone else. But I didn’t want another. Not to mention, he was incredibly hard against me. Who was the liar now?
“You did this to me.” My eyes narrowed. “Now, fix it.”
ROMAN
“When someone calls you a whore, you get the fuck out of their bed,” I growled. “It’s called having a little self-respect.”
Did I have to teach this girl the basics before she went home to Miami and let men degrade her? Simply the thought sent a violent fire up my back, searing me with the claim only I was allowed to degrade her.
“I don’t need your respect.” Her soft American accent crept beneath my skin, slid downward, and grabbed ahold of my cock just as I imagined her hand would.
My gaze hardened. “You don’t know what you need.”
“Maybe not, but I do know what I want.”
It was clear what that was, but I found myself asking anyway. “And what do you want?”
“Right now . . . you.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what I expected her to say. I anticipated a silent blush or for her to ask for an orgasm. Not me, her goddamn kidnapper. And right after I insulted her no less—which was a reflex to get her out of my bed before I took what she was offering. She had no reservations about putting herself out there. Her soft heart was going to get her killed. How she’d survived so long and still maintained her innocence was a mystery.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m not the one with a hard-on,” she returned.
A sliver of humor rose up my throat, but I held in the laugh. I was trying to make a point here—that you shouldn’t put your heart out for the world to see if you wanted to live—and I wasn’t going to let her ruin it with her mouth.
“This is why I don’t fuck virgins. They get clingy as hell.”
She laughed lightly. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
First off, “afraid” was the last thing I felt when it came to fucking her. Second off, what the hell? This girl could fall in love with a goddamn rock. Then my thoughts went to Ivan, and poison blistered through my veins.
“Why not, kotyonok?” I slid my thumb across her lips, my voice lowering to a warning. “Is your heart already taken?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what she had to say, so, when her lips parted with a shallow breath, I pushed my thumb between them. Her eyes were half-lidded as she closed her mouth around my finger. The hot glide of her tongue slid down to solidify in my groin. I pulled my thumb free and wiped the wetness across her lips, taking in everything about her.
Moonlight played across her body as if it loved her. Venomous snakes had stripes; Mila glowed. The only shadows that touched her were mine.
Her skin was flawless, her waves of hair spread out like she was posed for a centerfold. A thin tank top concealed the rise and fall of her breasts. She was hard to look at and hard to look away from. So soft, so perfect, so goddamn fuckable.
It was a nightmare.
She sawed her lip between her teeth, her breath growing slower the longer I looked at her. I could close the distance so easily and feel her tongue against mine. I wasn’t against kissing, but I’d never been so compelled by the idea like I was with her either.
Unwillingly, my gaze drifted to her nipples, visible beneath her tank top. The bright, sexless sunflowers all over it did nothing to help control the urge to yank down the thin fabric and suck a nipple into my mouth. As if her tits weren’t tempting enough, the heat of her pussy seared my cock through her shorts. My muscles tightened as I resisted the urge to grind against the warmth; to tug her flimsy shorts to the side and push deep inside of her. I knew I’d find her wet and tight—so fucking tight. My blood roared in my ears and cast a cloudy sheen over my vision.
With a growl of frustration, I sat back on my haunches in an effort to put some distance between us so I could think. Karma would bite me in the ass if I fucked this girl. I knew what she needed and that I couldn’t give it to her. My conscience was a goddamn cockblock. I wanted Mila so bad, the desire grabbed ahold of me, twisted beneath my skin, and demanded I take her. At this point, I didn’t think I could allow her to go even if she changed her mind. And the loss of control suddenly made me hate her a little bit.
All thoughts stalled when Mila pushed up from the bed with a hand and ran the other down my chest. The simple touch burned like a line of fire, sending all the blood in my body south. We both watched her hand trail down my abs before it stopped at my briefs, where she traced the waistband with a finger. Each back and forth motion throbbed in my groin.
When her hazy gaze lifted to mine, a ripple of darkness slithered through me. The lust in her stare was all mine. Until Saturday at least. The idea she would give those eyes to someone else afterward made me fist a hand in her hair to keep her stare on mine. Fuck karma. I needed to get this shit out of my system right now.
“I want . . .” She flushed and, unable to finish the sentence, her fingers tugged my waistband down an inch, showing me what she wanted but couldn’t say. Her hand grazed the head of my cock. The smallest brush turned my blood to liquid fire, drumming hot and heavy inside of me. But I needed to hear her say the words.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“English,” she said softly.
Jesus Christ.For the fifth time with this girl, I didn’t realize I’d spoken in Russian. Frustration lit up my back.
“Be more specific.”
My annoyance faded when her hand slipped beneath my briefs and over the length of my dick. I hissed through my teeth. Heat curled at the base of my spine, sending a shudder outward. Nothing was practiced about her touch—in fact, it felt a little unsure. I didn’t know if it was because I’d waited so long to get to this point with her or because her inexperience was a novelty, but, disturbingly enough, her hand down my briefs made me harder than I’d ever been in my life.
“I want this,” she breathed, wrapping her fingers around my cock before slowly stroking it from the base to the head. A low groan rose up my throat. I needed to tighten her grip, but knowing I couldn’t let her push me too far yet, I covered her hand with mine to still the movement.
“There aren’t going to be any rose petals or lit candles,” I told her.
She pursed her lips. “Not even one—”
“No.”
The smallest smile appeared, and I experienced the weird urge to kiss it off her mouth. I found the compulsion so annoying my grasp on her hair tightened, roughly tugging her head back farther.
She exhaled. “Fine.”
Feeling like I needed to make myself crystal clear, I said, “I’m not going to fuck you slow and sweet.”