23. Katerina
CHAPTER 23
Katerina
“Have you ever played Bura? * before, kitty cat?” Roman asks.
“Is it the Russian version of euchre or something?”
He glowers at me, the card deck small in his massive hands. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me as I plop down on the floor. I’m on one side of the coffee table and he’s on the other, his knees wide apart as he sits on the couch and leans forward to shuffle the cards.
It’s a rainy Saturday night and most of his staff is off for the evening. We virtually have the penthouse to ourselves, and instead of watching another movie, I asked him to teach me a Russian game.
“It is the Russian version of itself,” he answers. “There is no equivalent. But we will be playing a special kind where some of the rules are altered.”
I smirk at him. “Something tells me these rules will work to my disadvantage.”
“That would depend on how you define disadvantage, devochka. I prefer to think of it as entertainment for my viewing pleasure.”
Roman goes on to explain that we’ll be playing a more… X-rated version of the Russian card game. He explains that each round is known as a trick. Players use the hand they’re dealt to play the higher card than their opponent. The first player to reach thirty-one points wins.
As for the special rules?
“Every hand I win, you take off a piece of clothing.”
“And every hand I win?”
“I’ll take something off.”
“And what happens when there’s no more clothes left?” I ask, raising a brow.
He merely grins. “Then you must fulfill the request of the other player.”
“What kind of request would that be?”
“You can use your imagination for that.”
I roll my eyes and then motion at the cards he’s shuffling. “Then let’s get started. I can’t wait to end up butt-naked on your carpet.”
“Don’t worry, kitty cat. That’ll be soon enough.”
Roman deals the first hand like we’re at a casino in Vegas. His hands move quickly, the cards practically a blur. I scoop up my hand and then carefully fan them out for my eyes only.
The first trick plays out exactly how I anticipated—Roman scores the higher combination of cards, earning points while I’m forced to make a decision about which article of clothing I want to remove.
I stand up and hook my fingers at the waistband of the leggings I’m wearing, then wiggle out of them. Roman watches with rapt attention on me and nothing else. His eyes darken tracking the leggings as they slide down my bare thighs and pool at my ankles.
He looks wolfish, like he could take a bite out of me any second.
His lustful gaze is welcomed.
It’s a distraction at a time where I’ve been stuck in my head more than ever. I decided I was going to mind my business and keep my nose out of trouble. I wasn’t going to hack into any more phones and I wasn’t going to meddle trying to save JC and the others. But within minutes of making up my mind, I was presented with the next dilemma.
Do I tell Roman what I overheard Polina say?
It could be anything. She could’ve been talking about a surprise birthday party for all you know.
A surprise birthday party? For Roman? Seriously?
…and what if you tell him and it blows up in your face? Mind. Your. Business.
But Roman said he’ll always watch out for me.
People say one thing. They usually do another.
The back-and-forth argument has been going on in my head for hours. Every time I even somewhat broached the subject during dinner, Roman happened to steer the conversation in a different direction.
If I were to guess by his behavior, he has no clue about any sekrets being kept from him. It might be a crucial piece of information he needs to know…
“Devochka,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. He raises both thick eyebrows. “It’s your turn to play a card.”
“Oh… sorry. Um, what about this one?”
He grins, then slaps down his next card. “King trumps Jack. I win.”
“Of course you do. I’m about to be naked in no time.”
I carefully peel off my sweater next, leaving me in only a t-shirt and underwear.
Luck finally comes my way with the third trick, where I best Roman and score some points. He tugs off his crewneck shirt like it’s nothing and tosses it aside.
The next few tricks play out the same. Roman wins a hand and then I win a hand. I strip off only one sock per loss as he shakes his head and tells me I’m cheating.
“You never said the socks are a package deal,” I point out, twirling the sock I’ve taken off on my finger.
Roman laughs. “Leave it to my kitty cat to find a loophole. Your turn to deal.”
The next hand I lose, we’re in the same predicament. Except Roman intends on making one of the special requests he’d mentioned earlier. He calls me over using his index finger.
“Roman,” I whine. I’m in my panties while he’s in his boxers. Somehow, I feel even more half naked than he is. I slide into his lap like he’s requesting, my skin heating up immediately.
He palms my ass and hips and peers into my face. “Do you know I was thinking about you all day, devochka?”
“Are you trying to distract me from the game?”
“Fuck the game. It can wait. My kitty cat smells so good.”
His arms tighten around my hips and he leans close to press a kiss on my throat. I shudder at the feel of his lips against me. My eyes close and I slide my hands over his rock-like shoulders. It’s the first teasing kiss of several as Roman clutches me in his lap and drops kisses across my throat and bare chest.
Roman unleashes the desire I’ve usually kept under wraps.
He turns me on with a simple kiss. His hands smoothing over my brown skin.
In a matter of seconds, as Roman sucks a breast into his mouth and I cry out, I’m forgetting about the game we’re playing.
I’m even forgetting about the sekret that’s been on my mind the last few hours.
“Does my kitty cat want to be fucked?” he growls, sliding his hand into the back of my panties to grope my ass. His thumb circles the puckered hole he finds and makes me jerk in his lap like I’ve been shocked by electricity.
Lips returning to my throat, Roman squeezes the soft flesh of my backside. His crotch area tents, growing ’til it’s a large, hard bulge under me.
I’m lost to the feel of his kisses and touches, practically begging.
Then I remember what’s been on my mind for hours and I jump backward, almost falling out of Roman’s lap altogether. His hands manage to catch me before I do, holding me in place.
“Devochka, what the fuck’s the matter?”
“We can’t… I can’t… not ’til I… I have to tell you,” I ramble breathlessly. “Even if it’s nothing… I feel like I should tell you… and I thought I could wait… but maybe I can’t…”
“Shhh,” he hushes, his eyes narrowing. “Calm down. Breathe and then tell me slowly.”
I follow his advice. Inhaling a deep breath, I stare at a point past his head. “I know I’m not supposed to get involved in bratva matters… but I overheard something. I don’t know Russian, but I’m pretty sure I heard what I did. It didn’t sound good.”
“Heard what? Explain, devochka.”
“Are we alone? Like truly alone?” I glance over my shoulder out of paranoia, scanning the open space of the penthouse’s living room.
“All staff have been relieved of duty tonight except essential workers like security. But no one else is inside the penthouse right now. It’s just us,” he says, cupping my chin. He turns my head back toward him. “Now tell me. What is it?”
“Earlier today I heard Polina on the phone. She was speaking in Russian to someone.”
“You don’t know Russian.”
My brows knit. “I know… but… but I heard your name—Zver—that I do know.”
“And?”
“The word sekret was said. I’ve learned that word. It means secret, doesn’t it? She was saying something about you and a secret. Then she said ‘da’ and hurried up off the phone. It seemed like she was rushing through the conversation.”
Roman’s face hardens, his jaw holding his tension. “That is interesting to hear. Polina wasn’t speaking to me or any of the men with me today. I know that much.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, because I didn’t want to seem like…”
…I was meddling.
Like I was targeting the only other woman on the premises.
Like I was trying to get you into even more deep shit than I already have…
Roman draws my mouth to his, his fingers still curled around my chin. He kisses me softly and then says, “It’s good you told me. I will address it.”
“But… you won’t tell her it was me…?”
“You have no reason to be paranoid, kitty cat. My staff is to respect you. They know what happens if they don’t,” he says. “Polina included.”
Our next kiss is our most passionate yet. The game of Bura is completely forgotten about as Roman slips me under him on the sofa and then pushes his tongue into my mouth. He strips off my panties as I spread my legs and wrap my fingers around his dick. I guide him to my entrance, a wave of tingles passing over me at the feel of him sliding inside.
He brings me a fullness I’ve never known.
Hot, pulsing pleasure spreads through me with every drag of his hips.
Every deep thrust of his dick as he sinks into me. I wrap my arms and legs around his broad, muscled form and hold onto him as his mouth covers mine and he rocks his hips just right.
His breathing goes ragged. The beastly sound rumbles out of him and turns me on even more.
I’m aware he’s about to come before he does by how he groans and pumps harder.
My pussy tingles as my orgasm crashes down on me in the same moment his does. We come together in a mix of throaty cries and pants for air.
Roman nuzzles my neck and then buries his face into the crook he finds there. I run my fingers through his hair and listen to his heart thumping against mine.
I told him what I heard and he understood.
He encouraged me to do so.
The relief that pours over me is so intense, I can only smile. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so… heard.
So believed.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so close to another human being as I’ve felt with Roman…
Polina is absent from the penthouse over the next few days. She’s nowhere to be found, and when I ask another staff member like Edik, I’m given a blank stare before he changes the subject.
I’m left to wonder what happened to the testy brunette.
Maybe it’s like in the movies—once you piss off or betray the mob, you’re done for.
You’re whacked.
…or whatever the Russian equivalent would be.
Roman takes my mind off the mystery of Polina a few evenings later with a surprise outing. My first official outing since I arrived at his penthouse.
“A date?” I smirk.
“You deserve a night in the city. I’ve been meaning to take you for a while now. But work…”
I’m dressed to the nines with my curls popping when Roman offers me his arm and leads me downstairs in the elevator.
A town car awaits, the driver opening the rear door for us.
We go to the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to in my life. The kind of place where they give you three different forks and serve you several courses before the main course.
It’s a French restaurant with a title I can barely pronounce.
Bouchon.
Roman laughs as I pick up what I later learn is a salad fork and eye it like it’s a foreign object. It basically is for a stray like me.
More often than not, even having one fork to eat with was considered a luxury.
Let alone an entire selection.
“You look so beautiful, kitty cat… yet so clueless,” he says.
I glance across the table at him in his simple black dress shirt and slacks. He makes the chair and table seem unreasonably small, and even the tailored shirt he wears can’t hide the muscles bulging underneath.
I’m not the only one out of my element.
Fancy restaurants aren’t exactly Roman’s scene either.
“You’re telling me you know what this is?” I ask, picking up a pair of tongs.
Humor dances in his sapphire gaze. “Those, kitty cat, are tongs for the escargot.”
“Escar— what ?”
“Those.” He juts his chin as our server returns with two plates of snails.
Snails!
My mouth drops open in disgust as the plate’s put down in front of me.
Roman sets right to work, picking up his snail with his pair of tongs and using another kind of fork to fish out the insides. I watch wide-eyed as he dines on the buttery garlic snail he extracts from its shell. He goes for another before he notices I haven’t touched mine at all.
“Try it,” he urges. “You might like it.”
“I’ve eaten some unconventional things in my life—including a half-eaten loaf of bread out of the trash once at a local bakery when I was starving—but snails? I think I draw the line.”
“It is a delicacy, devochka. When in Rome.”
“Says the Russian man to the American woman in a French restaurant.”
He laughs throatily dining on the second snail he extracts.
I decide to give it a shot. One hand reaches for the pair of tongs while the other grips the fork. It takes some clumsy work, but I’m able to dig out the inside of the shell.
Escargot tastes like it smells. Butter and garlic hit my taste buds. The chewy texture slides down my throat.
“That’s… that’s not so bad…” I say slowly, my face brightening.
Roman almost grins before he eats yet another snail. “Look at that, kitty cat. You survived the snail.”
The rest of our dinner is just as lighthearted and playful. We’re served several more dishes until my stomach is aching and they’re carrying out dessert.
Crème br?lée.
“You’ve got to stop feeding me so much,” I groan on our way out. My hand rests on my stomach as we walk toward our car. “One of these days I’m going to pop.”
“You say that, and then you clear your plate every time.”
Roman steps back for me to crawl into the back of the town car first.
After dinner we head to the city center to watch the infamous light show that runs nightly this time of year. I can’t look away as I’m inundated with so many bright and colorful lights. The displays are true works of art, from giant flowers to animals and even abstract pieces.
Roman curls his arm around my shoulders and holds me close at his side the entire time.
The mood between us feels romantic. It feels tender.
A real man and woman on a date. Not some bratva crime boss and his captive.
I rest my head on his shoulder on the car ride home. It vaguely occurs to me once again how deeply I’m falling for him.
I’m developing real feelings for this man.
I couldn’t stop the feelings from forming even if I tried.
Roman seems to feel the same. He links our fingers together, his breathing steady and his vibe calm and peaceful.
Rare for a man like him. But it’s as if he recognizes these moments between us are to be enjoyed. They’re to be savored .
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy…
A feeling that’s cut short minutes later as we turn down one of the last streets near Roman’s penthouse. We can’t make it any closer because it’s cordoned off by a wall of police cars and fire trucks.
I gasp and snap upright. Roman does the same, letting go of my hand.
The building, standing dozens of stories tall, has been set ablaze.
* ? Bura - Russian card game