Chapter 6
Katrina
Iwatched him undress with my heart still racing, and my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
The shirt came off first, revealing a torso that had no right to be that perfect.
Broad shoulders, defined pectorals, abs that proved that he stayed in the gym.
But it wasn't the muscle that made my breath catch—it was the scars.
A puckered circle on his left shoulder. Gunshot, probably. A long, jagged line across his ribs. Knife wound. Smaller marks scattered across his skin like a roadmap of violence.
"Second thoughts?" he asked, watching me stare.
"No." I pushed myself up on my elbows. "Just wondering how you're still alive."
"Stubbornness. And very good doctors." His hands went to his belt. "Does it bother you?"
"The scars?" I shook my head. "I've got my own."
Something flickered in his expression. "Show me."
"That wasn't part of the contract."
"Neither was you coming early nor wearing that dress." He stripped off his belt in one smooth motion. "Show me, Katrina."
I hesitated. The scars Marcus had left were faded now—three years of healing had turned angry red marks into pale lines. But they were still there. Still visible reminders of everything I'd survived.
Slowly, I turned onto my side and lifted my arm. The scar ran from my shoulder blade down to my lower back—eight inches of raised tissue where Marcus had taken a broken bottle to me.
Then Olek was on the bed, his fingers tracing the line with devastating gentleness. "He did this."
It wasn't a question.
"Among other things."
"I'm going to kill him."
The words were said so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that it took a moment for them to register.
"You can't—"
"I can. I will." He pressed a kiss to the top of the scar. "After our ninety days, when you disappear, he won't be a problem anymore."
"You can’t—"
"This isn't up for discussion." Another kiss, lower. "No one hurts what's mine and lives to talk about it."
"I'm not yours."
"You are for ninety days." His mouth moved down the scar, kiss after kiss, like he was trying to erase it with his lips. "And that's long enough for me to make sure you're safe."
I should argue. Should tell him I didn't need his protection, didn't need him playing vigilante on my behalf.
But God, when was the last time someone had tried to protect me instead of hurt me?
"Turn over," he said softly.
I did, and he was there above me, still in his pants but close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
"Any other scars I should know about?"
"A few." I touched my ribs where Marcus had cracked two of them. "Nothing as dramatic as yours."
"Every single one is dramatic." He kissed my ribs, then my sternum, then the curve of my breast. "Every single one is a reason I'm going to enjoy watching him bleed."
"You're kind of bloodthirsty."
"I'm Bratva." He pulled down my bra cup and closed his mouth around my nipple. "It comes with the territory."
I arched into him, my hands sliding into his hair. He was so warm, so solid, and the way his tongue worked my nipple made coherent thought impossible.
"Olek—"
"Hmm?" He switched to the other breast, teeth scraping gently.
"Are you—are we going to—"
"Fuck?" He looked up at me, eyes dark with want. "Yes. But not tonight."
My brain stuttered. "What?"
"Tonight is about you." He kissed between my breasts, down my stomach. "About making you feel good. About showing you what it's like when a man actually gives a shit about your pleasure."
"But the contract—"
"Says you're mine to do with as I please." He hooked his fingers in my underwear and pulled them down. "And what pleases me tonight is making you come until you can't remember your own name."
Oh. Oh.
He settled between my thighs again. Already aching for more despite the orgasm that had nearly split me in two.
"Greedy," he murmured, sliding two fingers inside me. "Your body knows what it needs."
"Stop talking and—oh God—"
He'd found that spot inside me, the one that made everything go crazy. His fingers curled and thrust, slowly and deeply, while his thumb circled my clit.
"You're so responsive," he said, almost to himself. "So fucking perfect. I could do this all night."
"Please don't." The words came out strangled. "I can't. I need…"
"What do you need?"
"More. Harder. I need…" I whined.
He gave it to me. His fingers pumped faster, harder, hitting that spot over and over while his thumb worked my clit. I was going to die. I was going to come so hard I stopped breathing. I was going to…
"Look at me," Olek commanded. "I want to see your face when you come."
I forced my eyes open, met his gaze.
"That's my girl." His voice was rough. "Come for me, Katrina. Come all over my fingers."
I shattered.
This orgasm was different from the first one, deeper, more intense, rolling through me in waves that left me gasping and shaking. I clenched around his fingers, my whole body tensing and releasing, and he watched every second of it with something like awe on his face.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "Fucking beautiful."
He worked me through it again, gentler this time, until I was boneless and trembling and completely wrung out.
"That's two," he said, withdrawing his fingers.
I watched through heavy lids as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean.
"Best thing I've ever tasted."
Heat flooded my face. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true." He moved up the bed until we were face to face. "You taste like heaven, and I'm going to be addicted."
"You—"
He kissed me slowly and deeply, and I could taste myself on his tongue. It should have been weird. It should have bothered me. It just made me hotter. Wetter.
"What about you?" I asked when he pulled back. I could feel him, hard and insistent, against my thigh. "Don't you want—"
"I want a lot of things." He rolled onto his back and pulled me with him until I was draped across his chest. "But tonight was about you getting comfortable. Getting used to my touch."
"I'm comfortable."
"Are you?" His hand stroked down my spine. "Because an hour ago you were terrified."
"I wasn't terrified."
"Liar." But he said it fondly. "You were scared. Maybe still are, a little. And that's fine. I can work with that."
I propped myself up on his chest, looking down at him. "You're being very patient for a man who supposedly can't control himself around me."
"Oh, I can't." His hand cupped my ass, squeezed. "But I also want this to last. Want you to crave it. Crave me."
"Confident."
"Determined." He pulled me down for another kiss. "By the end of ninety days, you're going to be addicted to this. To me. To the way I make you feel. To us."
I should tell him he was wrong. Should remind him this was just a transaction, just business. Instead, I kissed him back and let myself pretend, just for tonight, that this was something more.
We stayed like that for a while—kissing, touching, exploring. He mapped every inch of my body with his hands, finding sensitive spots I didn't know I had. Behind my knee. The curve of my hip. The small of my back. He then kissed, caressed, and even licked me all over.
"Stay tonight," he said eventually.
"That's not—"
"It's in the contract. You sleep in my bed." His arms tightened around me. "Stay."
I should go back to my room. Should maintain some kind of boundary, some separation between this arrangement and real intimacy. But I was tired and satisfied. His bed was comfortable and warm.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm stealing the good pillows."
He laughed—actually laughed, deep and genuine. "Deal."
I settled against his side, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was steady, strong, and reassuring.
"Katrina?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
I lifted my head. "For what?"
"For trusting me." His hand stroked through my hair. "I know that wasn't easy."
It hadn't been. Still wasn't. But somehow, lying here in his arms, I felt safer than I had with any other man.
"Don't make me regret it," I said quietly.
"I won't." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I promise."
I wanted to believe him. For tonight, I allowed myself the comfort to drift off with his hand in my hair and his warmth surrounding me.
During the night, I didn’t have a single nightmare.
No demons that reminded me that I was on borrowed time.
Instead, I slept so well that I forgot that the man who held me was not only my boss, but the man who had purchased the use of my body for fifteen thousand dollars.
I woke up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the realization that I was alone. I sat up, disoriented, my body pleasantly sore in places I'd forgotten could feel good. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool. A note sat on the pillow.
Had an early meeting. Stay as long as you want. Coffee's in the kitchen.
O
P.S. You snore. It's adorable.
I do not snore. I grabbed the note and was about to crumple it when I noticed something else—a small black box on the nightstand. I picked it up, heart racing. Inside was a phone. Sleek, expensive, definitely not the prepaid burner I'd been using. Another note was tucked under it.
Encrypted. Untraceable. Only I have the number. Keep it on you.
I stared at the phone, something warm and unsettling spreading through my chest. This wasn't just about sex. This wasn't just a transaction. Olek Sidorov was actually trying to keep me safe. And that was enlightening. A man who kept his word.