Chapter 13
Nadia
"You're dripping wet, you little slut." A man's low rasp filled my ear as he laughed softly and lifted my leg, his massive head pressing against my entrance. "You're starving for me, wanting me. Admit it, good girl. You can't stop imagining me in that pretty head of yours, just like this."
He thrust inside.
I jolted awake, shooting up in bed, gasping for air.
In the heavily air-conditioned room, a fine sheen of sweat beaded on the tip of my nose. That strange, shameful tingling deep in my body, that burning heat—it hadn't faded. It was like fire, making my entire body go weak.
God, just kill me now.
I'd had a wet dream.
Because of what that bastard Roman Sokolov said last night, I'd dreamed about him again. In the dream, Roman had me pinned on the living room couch, tearing my dress open, roughly spreading my legs... His hoarse breathing and aggressive possession felt so real that even my toes were still curling.
"Fuck."
I groaned in agony, covering my burning face with both hands. I was some kind of sex-starved maniac, having these filthy fantasies about that dangerous bastard!
I practically rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the cold water and splashing it on my face, trying to douse the heat that shouldn't be there.
It didn't work.
When I looked up and saw the woman in the mirror—flushed cheeks, dazed eyes—I wanted to crawl into a hole.
Even worse, when I changed out of my pajamas, I discovered that the silk pants I'd worn last night... were soaked through.
"Nadia Cross, you're absolutely depraved!" I hissed at my reflection. "You had a wet dream because of a few words from that bastard? Where's your dignity? Your rationality? Your principles?"
But the more I berated myself, the more uncontrollably the dream replayed in my mind—
Roman's solid chest, the tight muscle lines on his arms, those large hands gripping my waist, and when he moved inside me, those dark brown eyes burning with raw, naked possession...
I shook my head violently, took a quick cold shower, then practically fled into a cream-colored cotton dress.
I had to get out of this room.
No, I had to get out of this suite!
I couldn't stay here, couldn't risk running into him in the hallway or living room. God knows if I saw Roman Sokolov right now, I'd die of guilt on the spot.
I hastily tied my hair into a low ponytail, grabbed my phone and room key, and tiptoed to the door.
The suite was quiet, the west bedroom door shut tight.
Good. He must still be sleeping.
I crept through the living room—when I passed that massive floor-to-ceiling window, a flash of the dream hit me, him pressing me against it, our tangled bodies reflected in the transparent glass...
My face flushed instantly, and I nearly stumbled.
No! Don't think about it! Absolutely don't think about it!
I picked up my pace, rushed to the entryway, grabbed a sticky note, and scribbled a line in my panic.
"I'm hungry, going down for breakfast. If you wake up, don't come find me. I need to enjoy a beautiful morning without mafia intimidation. —N."
I didn't even look at it before slapping it on the entryway mirror and fleeing the suite like I was escaping disaster.
The moment the elevator doors closed behind me, I finally exhaled, leaning against the cool metal wall, feeling completely drained.
Nadia, you need to calm down.
It was just a dream. A ridiculous wet dream triggered by alcohol and exhaustion.
Roman Sokolov might be dangerous, might be sexy, and yes, what he said last night definitely got to you, but you can't forget—you're just a transaction to each other.
A one-year contract marriage.
That's all.
The hotel's oceanfront restaurant was on the third floor, designed as a massive glass conservatory with three sides facing the sea, the view breathtaking.
The morning ocean glittered with golden light, a few seagulls perched on distant rocks, occasionally crying out.
I chose a window seat, took several deep breaths of sea air, and finally felt my brain returning to some semblance of normal function.
I ordered a simple breakfast—fresh fruit salad, whole wheat toast, scrambled eggs, and an Americano with a double shot of espresso. I needed caffeine. Lots of it, to suppress these inappropriate thoughts.
The cold caffeine slid down my throat into my stomach, finally calming my restless heart somewhat.
I pulled out my phone and video-called Riley.
"Surprise! Look who it is! Our esteemed Mrs. Sokolova has finally deigned to crawl out of her honeymoon bed covered in rose petals and cash to call her ghetto bestie?"
On screen, Riley was wearing a green mud mask, holding a cup of disturbingly colored health juice, launching into her mockery the second she answered.
I rolled my eyes. "Good morning, Riley. That green thing you're drinking looks like it came from a sewer."
"It's called a kale chia seed detox smoothie, twelve dollars a cup. A symbol of refined living." She rolled her eyes back at me through the screen, the mud mask cracking. "So, how's it going? Is Roman Sokolov giving you trouble? Has he... you know... forced you to do anything?"
I looked down guiltily, poking at a strawberry with my fork.
God. Riley could never know I had a sex dream about Roman last night, or she'd curse me out and fly to the Bahamas to knock some sense into me.
"I'm fine." I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Really, Riley. I'm at the hotel restaurant having breakfast. The ocean view is gorgeous. You should see it."
"Wait." Riley narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me. "You seem... in a pretty good mood? Nadia, were you drugged? Or brainwashed? Blink if you're being controlled—blink three times!"
"Riley!" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Can you not be so dramatic? I'm just eating breakfast, not trapped in some horror movie scenario."
"Your life is more dramatic than any horror movie." Riley rolled her eyes. "Forced to marry a mafia boss, a shootout at your wedding, now kidnapped to the Bahamas for a honeymoon. If you ever need money, write your story into a script and sell it. I guarantee it'll be a hit."
"Then I'd have to get Robert Downey Jr. to play the male lead." I winked at her.
"You'd have to steal him from Avengers 5 first." Riley laughed, but quickly her expression turned serious. "Seriously, Nadia. Are you really okay? Has he touched you? Have you two..."
"We have separate bedrooms." I cut her off before she could ask the sensitive question. "Really, Riley. He's actually been more of a gentleman than most. We sleep in our own rooms. No interference."
"Separate bedrooms?" Riley raised an eyebrow, more cracks appearing in her mask. "During the honeymoon? Nadia, that's not normal. From what I know about alpha males, they don't have patience for this kind of thing."
"Maybe he just needs a wife's identity to deal with family stuff. You know, like in gangster movies." I tried to keep my tone light. "Anyway, it works for me. At least I don't have to... you know."
But as I said this, my face started heating up again.
Because the dream flashed through my mind again.
In the dream, I definitely "had to"—and I was incredibly cooperative...
"Nadia?" Riley's voice pulled me back to reality. "Why is your face red again? And your expression... God, you're not thinking inappropriate thoughts, are you?"
"No!" I practically shrieked. "It's just... just the sun here is bright!"
"There's air conditioning in the restaurant. Where's the sun?" Riley mercilessly called me out, then sighed. "Fine, I won't push you. But Nadia, listen to me—"
She leaned closer to the screen, her expression becoming unprecedentedly serious.
"I know Roman Sokolov is charismatic. I also know that in that kind of isolated, helpless situation, if a dangerous man shows you even a little tenderness, it's easy to develop illusions. But you have to remember—he's a mafia boss. A real criminal. God knows how much blood is on his hands."
"I know," I said quietly.
"Do you really know?" Riley looked at me seriously. "Nadia, you're my best friend. I don't want to see you lose not just your freedom, but your heart too. So no matter what happens, stay clear-headed. Remember, this is just a transaction. Don't fall in love with him."
My heart clenched.
"I... I won't." I said, though I didn't know how believable I sounded.
"Good." Riley nodded. "I won't keep you from breakfast then. But if anything comes up, call me anytime. I mean, anything. Even if it's three in the morning, I'll answer. Understand?"
"Understood." My nose tingled. "Thank you, Riley."
"Save the sentimentality." Riley rolled her eyes, but her eyes were getting red too. "Take care of yourself. I'll be waiting for you to come home safe."
The video call ended.
I stared at the black screen and exhaled deeply.
Riley's words were like an alarm bell, reminding me not to lose myself in whatever occasional tenderness Roman Sokolov displayed.
Right. I couldn't forget.
He was a dangerous man. A mafia Pakhan.
We were just a transaction.
That's all.
I took a deep breath, picked up my coffee cup, trying to regain my composure.
"Good morning, beautiful lady." A voice sounded above me.
I looked up. A slicked-back man in a floral shirt had somehow appeared beside my table.
He removed his sunglasses, revealing dark brown eyes, blatantly looking me up and down. "Eating breakfast alone? Mind if I join you?"
I frowned, polite but cold. "Sorry, I prefer to eat breakfast alone and quietly."
"Don't be so cold." He showed no intention of leaving, instead pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down. "I'm Brad, from Miami. I booked a week in an ocean-view suite at this hotel. What about you? What's your name? Are you here on vacation alone too?"
I took a deep breath, trying to maintain surface politeness. "I'm not alone. I'm here with my husband."
"Husband?" Brad looked around exaggeratedly. "I don't see your husband anywhere. Maybe he's just an excuse to reject guys who hit on you?"
As he spoke, his gaze dropped to my left hand.
My eyes followed, and I froze.
Where was my ring?