Chapter 7
Dima
Idon’t say a word as I lead her to my bedroom. The pain in her eyes is raw, I can see her heart ache in her big hazel eyes when she looks up at me, tears pooling once again. What I wouldn’t do to steal her pain away.
I leave her standing in the middle of my room as I move to my bathroom, cranking the shower on and leaving it to heat.
She looks so small and vulnerable standing there, gazing at the picture on the wall.
Moving to her, I stand behind her, close enough that she can feel my presence, but giving her space to process.
“My brother painted that, it’s the view of our backyard in Russia.”
She nods absently. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Alexandr, but family call him Sasha. He lives in Texas with his husband.”
At this she tilts her head, eyes still on the painting. “Is he like you? Does he have the vision?”
I huff out a laugh, “No. He’s the opposite of me. No vision, but he believes in what I do.”
“I had a brother once. He died in the same accident as my parents. It was quick. For all of them. Well, that’s what I’m told.
” I wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her into my body, trying to hold her pieces together.
“The first time I heard the whispers, I was terrified. It was like someone was in my head, telling me nightmarish stories. Now I expect them. The people I deal with are shitty. The worst of the worst, but Glenn, that was a whole other level.”
“He’s gone now.”
“But what about the men he worked with and the ones he worked for? He’s not some creepy mastermind.”
I turn her to face me. “What did Glenn’s secrets tell you?”
“Names.” She swallows. “I have the names of the men in his circle.” She taps her temple.
It’s not my calling to go after these men. But it is my calling to protect her, so I guess whatever she’s planning to do, I’ll be involved.
“You do understand that I’m going to go after them, right? It’s my job.”
“I thought your job was to get rid of people La Madrina pays you to get rid of.”
Her lips twitch. “Meh, that’s for business. This will be for pleasure.”
“Then it’ll be my pleasure to help you.”
She stares at me, full of uncertainty, and what looks to be fear. “I can’t let you do that, Dima. You’ve already spent too much time around me.”
I want to argue, to get her to listen to me, that I’m not going to die anytime soon.
I want to flip the bird at her curse and tell it to fuck off.
But our gifts don’t work like that. They don’t listen to reason.
If she believes, truly believes that she is cursed to be the demise of all her loved ones, then the best I can do is listen to her, and try and assuage her fears through my actions.
I nod once, then take her by the hand, pulling her into the steamy bathroom.
My hands drift to the bottom of her black long sleeved top, brows raised, asking for permission.
She nods, eyes on mine. Gripping the bottom of her shirt I slowly raise it.
She holds her arms up so I can peel it off her before throwing it in the hamper.
I glide my hands down her upheld arms, her torso, to rest at the button of her jeans.
She swallows when I pop the button and draw the zipper down, the noise of the zipper teeth loud in the room.
Moving to my knees I tap her to lift her foot, gently sliding her cute ladybug socks off each foot, until her little pink tipped toes are revealed.
I plant a soft kiss to the top of her foot before moving back to her jeans.
I tug them down her thick thighs, the juicy flesh pressed together, framing the plump vee between her legs, clad in pink lace.
The dark curls visible through the thin material, her arousal scenting the air with an aroma that has me licking my lips in anticipation.
I may be a virgin, but I’ve seen my fair share of porn.
Well, except for the two years I was blind.
I finish undressing her until she’s standing there, like a fucking goddess, delicious curves on display, nipples tight, thighs rubbing to try to ease the ache there.
Rising to my feet I grip my shirt behind my neck and pull it over my head, her audible gasp and curse making me chuckle.
I move to undo my pants button but she slaps my hand out of the way, hastily unzipping it with very little flair, before tugging my pants down in one swift movement, taking my boxer shorts with them.
“Dammit! Boots!” she mutters, before tearing at the laces of my footwear, then tapping my leg to toe them off, kicking my pants with them.
“Better?”
“Much,” she replies huskily, eyes on my cock.
Fuck, now is probably the time I should tell her I’ve never done this before.
Clearing my throat, I gaze down my body, her large hazel eyes glowing with lust in the low lighting.
“Ah, Kristie?” Before I can continue an unmanly yelp is sucked out of my body as her mouth descends on my cock.
“Yokarny babay, holy fuck I’m a virgin!”
Kristie
I freeze. “Wha?” I ask, his throbbing cock still deep in my mouth so all that comes out is garbled with a bunch of drool.
No way. There is absolutely no way this tall drink of vodka, of Russian hotness, is a virgin.
I mean, who is even a virgin these days?
He’s a fully grown adult man. Unless he’s like, younger than me by a lot.
My eyes track up his firm, pale torso, meeting his bright blue eyes, his pupils blown as he stares down at me with his mouth open.
Hm. Maybe he’s had a hard life? I swallow around him, not to turn him on, but because I need to swallow.
“K-kristie, fuck, that feels so good,” he groans, his head banging against the bathroom wall that I shoved him up against in my hurry to get him in my mouth.
I can play this one of two ways. Slowly withdraw my mouth, tidy myself up and get in the shower like nothing happened. Or we can get in the shower, get to know each other’s bodies, then take him to bed and ruin him for every other woman or man he may have a relationship with in the future.
Making up my mind I slide my mouth up and down his cock two more times, no, fuck it, three times, before withdrawing.
I lick the underside in a long stripe before giving the thick, bulbous head a gentle kiss.
Rising to my feet I keep my hand at the base of him, using his cock to lead him into the hot water.
It beats down on me, over my head, slicking my hair to my cheeks. I tip my head back, washing away the ick of Glenn, and the remnants of the whispers. Sometimes it feels like they’re on my skin, marking me, tainting me.
Large thumbs brush over my cheeks, tucking the wet hair over my ears, out of my face.
Keeping my eyes tightly closed I let Dima take control.
His lips gently brush mine, in the barest of touches, but one that makes my whole body come alive.
It must have the same effect on him because a low rumble reaches my ears before his lips land on mine, hungry, greedy.
He licks across my bottom lip, pulling a moan from me, gaining entrance.
His tongue slides over mine, in much the same way my hands slide over the hard planes of his body.
Over his abs, his pecs, before moving down and gripping his firm ass.
He tears his mouth from mine. “Kristie,” he whispers in awe.
Staring into his eyes I can see he’s battling with himself. Maybe he’s saving himself for someone better? Someone normal?
“Let’s get cleaned up. I need you so bad.”
Well. OK then. It seems the problem was how clean we both were. We rush through washing ourselves, soaping up, bumping into each other, moving this way and that so we can both be in the water stream without me being waterboarded.
Dima is covered in bubbles and we move to switch places, only because he’s so slippery his long legs shoot in different directions. His face is a slow motion montage of shock, horror and fear and his huge hands grasp onto the first thing that he thinks can break his fall. My tits.
We freeze, there in the shower, his legs spread wide, feet against the walls of the shower stall, his hands on my boobs and it’s so ridiculously not sexy that I can’t help but snort in his face before breaking down into wheezing laughter.
His face is beet red, his mouth agape and I actually think he’s too afraid to move in case he falls flat on his ass but that doesn’t stop my legs from collapsing.
I land on my ass in the bottom of the shower, limp dick and balls in my eyeline and I cackle until I can’t breathe and there are tears running down my face.
I try to stop but I just can’t, the events of such a weird fucking day wash over me, and in mere moments a gruff, low laugh rumbles out of Dima until he too is in fits of laughter but faring slightly better than me.
He hooks me under my arms, lifting me to my feet, making sure there are no suds on us before shutting off the water and wrapping me in a towel.
We continue to snicker and giggle all the way to his bed, where he pulls me down into his warm, strong arms, not caring that we are still wet from the shower.
“Thank you,” he says, through his chuckles.
“For what?” I ask, brows pinched.
“For making me laugh. My job, my life, it isn’t very funny ved’mochka.”
I turn to look at him, resting my chin on his chest. “Mine isn’t either.”
“Then we make quite the pair.”
I lean up, holding eye contact with him until I press my lips to his, my eyes fluttering closed. Kissing Dima shouldn’t feel as good as it does. It feels peaceful. Warm. Breaking the connection I search his handsome face.
“So.” My voice comes out huskier than usual so I clear my throat. “Virgin, huh? How does that happen when you look like this?” I wave a hand down his long, hard body.
The tips of his ears pinken, and it’s damned adorable. “I, just, ah, never got around to it.”
I frown. “Nope. There’s no way a guy that looks like you, a total gentleman like you, doesn’t have women throwing themselves at you, dropping their panties left, right and center.”
He rolls his eyes. “First I was a poor kid in Russia. Then I followed my big brother here and I was too busy trying to prove myself to the Bratva.”
I sit up at that. What? “Wait, back up, big man. What do you mean by Bratva?”
“The Bartashev Bratva. My brother married the Pakhan.” I stare at him, stunned. Worry mars his handsome face. “Kristie? Are you OK?”
I let out a huff, then a giggle. Of course, of all the good little Mancini Mafia girls it’ll be me that not only is a spinster, and a hitwoman, but also the one who somehow manages to find and give a quarter of a blow job to one of the Bartashev Bratva.
I put my head in my hands and groan. “You do know that it’s like, illegal for us to be together unless it’s been arranged, right? ”
He gently removes my hand from my face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m Italian Mafia. You’re Bratva. You know we’re not meant to mix unless the head of the families deem it so.”
His lips twitch. “La Strega, are you scared of some silly Mafia rules?”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t care for rules. But I also don’t care for any lectures from the family.”
“Would it help if I told you I’m no longer Bratva?”
I eye him suspiciously. “No one leaves the Bratva.”
He tips his head side to side. “True. I’m more Bratva adjacent these days.” He takes in the bored look on my face. “I don’t work for them anymore. But, if I come across information they may need, I pass it on. Besides, my brother loves me. He’d never let his husband kill me.”
The way Dima’s face softens when he talks about his big brother tugs at my heart.
I want to meet him, the man that Dima fan girls over and yet I know that isn’t in the cards for us.
One night, that’s all we’ll have before I have to leave.
I have to break ties with him. It’s the only way to keep him safe.
Cupping his cheek I run my thumb over his dark blonde stubble before leaning in and tasting him, nipping at his lips until he lets me in.
Gripping his face in both hands I angle him where I can devour him.
I want this man in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.
I want to taste him, feel him, his scent in my nostrils.
His large hands run down my back, my towel dropping to my waist. I lean closer while he leans back, my breasts are smashed against his chest, the feel of him beneath me is delicious agony as I want more. Need more.
“Dima,” I pant.
“I’ve got you, little witch.”
And I believe that he does.