Chapter 15
Vanya
Unlocking the staff door at Banya Club in downtown Chicago, I march ahead, showing Paige the way.
This establishment has the best saunas, steam rooms, and masseuses in town, not to mention the only bathhouses featuring hot and cold soaks.
That special feature is how the Kozlov Bratva managed to get one of their clubs declared a neutral zone.
This is the perfect place to hold meetings during peacetime or to hide during strife.
After driving around all day to ensure we didn’t have any tails—and confirming Paige’s boss would excuse her from work for a few days—I’m more than ready to duck out here for a little while and chill.
Paige follows me down the hall, her eyes frequently darting around and over her shoulder. She’s always so careful.
Tonight, after riding in a car without a passenger window for hours on end, her hair wraps around her shoulders and clings to the collar of that ugly cardigan.
The messy, windblown result possesses its own allure. Wild, tangled, and nearly feral after everything she’s been through, though judging from her posture, you’d never guess she was ruffled at all.
As we walk, she pauses to stare at the blue tiled hallways and the glass-walled bathing rooms for frigid, ice-water plunges.
When I continue striding toward the stairs to the basement, she scampers to keep up.
Truthfully, I like making her chase after me. It’s a bit of an ego boost. I’m a man, after all.
Below the surface level, past the public bathing pools and the high-roller floors, there’s a spot built for people like me. Not for tourists, executives, or idiots who want to sweat out a hangover, but for the ones who know exactly what goes on behind closed doors.
With the security guards in this area long off-duty, I punch in the code to access the private suite.
Per protocol, I left my weapons with the guard at the building’s entrance. No guns or knives allowed during negotiations.
I move to the sealed cubbies. I pull out a basket, remove the clean towel, and start undressing. I don’t want to ruin my suit.
I strip out of my jacket and shirt.
Paige only reacts when I unclip my belt, her brows rising. She refuses to look away as I finish stripping and fold the rest of my clothes into the basket.
The mouth may lie, but the body never does.
Paige looks. Really looks, her gaze trailing over me with slow, careful precision like she’s putting that perfect memory to work.
Dirty girl.
I don’t allow myself to grin. Not yet.
I wrap a towel around my hips because this isn’t a peep show. It’s a sauna.
And maybe a demonstration.
Her eyes skim my chest, then my hands, before darting to her clasped ones.
She licks her lips, a tiny act she’s unable to conceal. She’s only human, and so am I. Every nerve in me attunes to her.
Picking one of the smaller steam rooms—this one only fits six—I venture inside.
Not traditional, but functional.
I shut the door after Paige enters. Turning her back, she strips down to her underwear and covers herself with a towel. After that, she shifts from foot to foot, her eyes wandering over everything but me.
I increase the steam.
This is the kind of heat that sweats out weakness down to the bone.
Within seconds, the temperature spikes. It’s oppressive, inescapable, and cleansing.
I sit on the bench in the corner, spread my arms to the sides, and let the humid air engulf me.
Paige remains upright, a statue of misery in the weighty humidity.
She dabs at her forehead and the side of her neck. Visibility plummets as vapor fills the room.
Trying to keep her distance, she posts herself by the door like she might bolt. Her hair, which started out bedraggled but charming, now plasters to her skin in long, wet strips. Beads of sweat crawl down her throat, pooling at the hollow above her collarbone.
She catches me staring.
I wink.
She scoffs and averts her gaze. Then her eyes dart back and linger, hungrily, for just a moment.
Every time she glances my way, I give her a smile. Go ahead and look. You know you want to.
A little part of me—maybe a big part—enjoys her suffering. She deserves it for daring to think I’d stoop so low as to destroy her property just to scare her.
I might leave a rose, but that’s a romantic gesture. I don’t need to threaten a woman like Paige.
She’s above such tactics.
But the bigger part of me, the one currently tenting the towel, is just horny.
She sighs, crossing her arms. “How long are you planning on staying in here? I could go sit in another room.”
Watching her pretend she isn’t falling apart arouses me like nothing else. While she attempts to act stern, she clearly wants to succumb to her desire. She can’t quite manage either.
I hum, feigning deep thought. “Until my guys get here. And they wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a random woman wandering around our banya. They’re the kind to shoot first and ask questions later. I’m sure you understand.”
She purses her lips and sneaks a peek at the door. “Except there are no weapons in here.”
Touché.
I lean back, fold my hands behind my head, and exert no effort to hide my pleasure. My towel is nearly soaked already. I flex my thighs, reveling in the stretch and ensuring she notices the way my dick displaces the material.
It’s only a matter of time before I break her.
She scowls at the floor before choosing a spot on the bench, perching on the very edge.
“Take off the towel, Paige.” I pitch it gently, with the voice I’d use to suggest a different wine pairing or to coax a child into eating broccoli. “You’ll feel better. Trust me. And sit down. Relax.”
She frowns. “You’re not going to stop until I do, are you?”
“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” I spread my arms innocently, rippling my pecs and upper abs. Then I place my hands in my lap, accentuating the bulge under my own towel.
She drags her teeth over her lower lip, a flash of the wild girl from the stacks peeking through. When she finally releases the towel, her white bra and panties are practically transparent.
The moment she frees her arms, relief shivers over her body despite the rising temperature.
I give her another moment to process before poking her again. “You’re still overdressed for a Russian bathhouse. We run it hot around here.”
For a second, her sweat-covered breasts steal my breath.
I wet my lips. “We’re just getting started. Get rid of the bra…unless you like the way it pinches.”
This time, she glares, her Baltic blue eyes molten with irritation as she unhooks the bra and slides it off. Her nipples are diamond-hard, pink, and straining. She breathes fast, more exposed than she’s ever allowed herself to be with me.
Typically, women do a little show of covering themselves by hunching their arms. As long as it is, she could even use her hair to cover herself up.
Paige does neither. She lets me see every inch, every drop of perspiration that tracks between her breasts. If anything, her spine straightens, her shoulders push back, and her chest puffs out.
Under my attention, her skin flushes, and her thighs press together.
Not modesty. Anticipation.
My dick stirs under the towel, lust swirling through me as I rake my eyes over her.
Her sweat-slickened legs gleam as she stands before me, exposed and powerful.
Beautiful.
I give a low, teasing wolf whistle. “As great as your legs look, they would look even better wound around my waist. And you’re still wearing too much.” I point to her plain white underwear. “If you stay in those, they’ll never dry.”
She hardly hesitates before she slips the panties off and faces me, her cheeks flushed, her skin shining.
She flicks a strand of wet hair off her arm. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” I drag my gaze back to her eyes. “You seem much more comfortable.” And fuckable.
Paige doesn’t cower or shuffle. She moves with the proud, careful posture of a woman refusing to beg.
I don’t look away. I want her to feel every ounce of my appreciation as I drink her in like she’s a glass of ice water in the middle of the Sahara.
She arranges her towel on the bench, her arms relaxed and her back as straight as a board. Sweat and condensed steam roll down her skin in dewlike rivulets.
She’s naked, hiding nothing.
Her confidence is a rush, a better high than any I’ve had in years.
“Is this what you’re like when you’re truly hot and bothered? You’re not even embarrassed.” I caress her with my gaze, allowing my eyes to linger on her breasts, then her thighs. “I like that.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. What’s there to be embarrassed about?”
“I’ve seen artwork before, but never a Rembrandt in the flesh.” I chuckle as she ducks her head. “You’re beautiful, Paige. Especially when you stop pretending to be less than you are.”
She blushes, but based on her smile, the red comes from pride rather than shame.
Or maybe lust.
Definitely lust.
I admire her perfection, tracking the way her hand strays to her thigh before pulling back. She’s dying to be touched.
“Go ahead, if you want.” I gesture to her wandering hand. “You’re clearly uncomfortable. Might as well take care of it.” I’m cautious with my wording. I don’t want her to claim it’s an order later.
She’ll choose what happens next.
She blinks, her eyes going wide as her mouth pops into a cute little “o” of surprise. “What, here? While you watch?” Her hand twitches, showing how much she’s fighting to behave.
“Especially while I watch.” I lean forward, propping my elbows on my splayed knees. “Show me what you look like when you’re not burying yourself beneath all that fabric and attitude.”
Her tongue flicks over her lip. “You want me…to get myself off? For you?”
Oh, yes. If she’s able to say such things to me, some of that stuffiness has already faded. Perhaps turning her down last night did what I hoped.
Made her desperate.
I flash her a slow, wolfish grin. “Why not? You’ve got nothing left to hide, Paige. Let’s see who you really are.”
She shifts, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, but apparently, her need outweighs her nerves. She reclines back, and after a moment, puts a foot up on the bench. Her thighs fall open, showing me everything.
Fuck me.
My heart stops as I take in her gorgeously slick pussy. Beneath my towel, my cock twitches.
She starts out slowly. As her hands cup her breasts, her eyes never leave mine. She plays with them a bit, her fingers rolling and pinching her nipples until her back arches and a little moan escapes her lips.
It’s part challenge, part plea.
As hard as it is—pun intended—I don’t flinch or move to help her. I want her to melt in front of me. To own her pleasure.
Her hand trails down her stomach, her short nails grazing the sweat-shined skin before finding her clit. She gasps, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to stay put.
My attention clings to those fingers while heat curls low in my gut.
I lick my lips, remembering the tiny taste I’ve had. What I’d give for more…
But no. Not tonight.
Paige tracks my tongue as her fingers circle her clit, leisurely at first. She’s not shy or virginal. This is a woman who’s dreamed about and practiced for this, perfecting the right touch, the exact pressure. She’s wet and swollen, her fingers gliding effortlessly and getting faster every second.
As a reward for her—and me—I push my towel aside. Just enough for her to see me grip my cock and start working it lazily. My release doesn’t matter.
She’s the show.
The flush on her chest bleeds up her neck, and her nipples stand in sharp relief. Her breath stutters, and she braces an arm on the bench behind her. Lifting her hips off the seat, she puts herself on full display. Every muscle in her body strains for fulfillment.
I groan. “Oh, I just knew you were the kind of bad girl who likes doing it in public. Showing off just how naughty you can be.”
She gasps as her middle two fingers slide inside her and quicken their pace.
I match the rhythm with my strokes.
Her focus never leaves my cock, the attention intoxicating and so damn hot. Once she reaches her first orgasm…
I’m already planning what I’m going to do. And it won’t involve finishing in my hand. “Keep going. Let it out. Everything you ever wanted to do or wanted done to you.”
Show me what you desire, Beautiful, so I can use it against you over and over again.
The air thickens with the scent of sex, sweat, and power.
Paige is a vision, trembling on the bench, naked and frustrated. Her body is the most honest thing in the room. She moans, louder this time, her hand circling frantically. I can tell she’s close, and I’m—
A loud series of thuds ruins our fun.
“Vanya? You in there?” Two silhouettes hover on the other side of the steamy window.
Maxim Belov and Alexei Kozlov. My backup and cockblockers, apparently.
With a curse, I yank the towel tight again, covering my dick. They just couldn’t wait another minute…
I smile at Paige. “Don’t stop on my account. I remember how you reacted when Julian almost interrupted us. You don’t mind having unwitting bystanders to your fun, do you?”
She gapes at me like a fish out of water.
As I walk past her, I drag my thumb over her pouting lips. “But you’d better not finish without me.”