Chapter Ten – Maria
Chapter Nine – Roman
Maria’s bedroom door was locked when I walked by, but the sound of her voice floated down the hallway. Light, melodious, and darn sexy as hell. It made me want to take her mouth, ravish it, and swallow every delicious sound that came out of it.
Four doors later, I saw her in Polly’s room, chatting happily with one hand over my daughter’s hair and the other reaching for a brush on the dresser. Polly sat facing the tall mirror while Maria stood behind her, and they were chatting animatedly about some kid called Riley when I entered.
The brush had barely gone through when Polina’s eyes met mine through the reflection from the mirror. Her lips curved to a wide grin, and she abandoned the conversation with her tutor midway, shooting up to her feet.
“Daddy!” She ran up to me, arms spread wide, eyes twinkling, ready to be hoisted from the floor. I crouched and picked her up.
She kissed my cheeks. “Good morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, baby.”
She looked at me like she knew something I didn’t, grinning as she glanced between Maria and me in between sentences. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye first, weren’t you?”
I cupped her hands as they cradled my cheeks, blowing bubbles in her palm, which tickled giggles out of her. She knew I was. It had been our routine every morning before Maria came to live with us: me standing a distance away while I watched Irina get her ready for school. Then, I’d leave and shower her with fruit tarts after school to keep her pacified.
This time, she’d caught me red-handed.
I shook my head. “No. I came to say hi.”
“Liar.” She giggled and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose. “You knew you were leaving.”
“Fruit tarts?” I bribed, and it was her turn to shake her head.
“Not today,” she murmured under her breath and made round check-ups from my forehead to my neck with the back of her hand. “Are you okay, Daddy?”
“Yes, baby. Why?”
She lifted her small eyebrow. “Had breakfast?”
“A cup of coffee, pumpkin.”
Disappointment replaced the brightness on her face. When she thought I wasn’t taking care of myself, she turned into my little nurse.
A smile fell from her lips, and she scanned my eyes like a doctor would. “That’s not breakfast, Daddy. If you don’t eat well, you could get sick. I don’t want you to get sick. Maria can make you some pancakes. She makes the most delicious pancakes. And brownies, too.”
A light cough from behind interrupted us, and I stopped myself from glancing at her over Polly’s shoulder.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on my daughter’s worried face. “I know, baby. But daddy’s not going to get sick. He is perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she fired back in Russian.
“Yes, I am.”
Typical. Persistent. Just like me, she wouldn’t give up until she was satisfied with my answers. Gently, her fingers brushed my nose, and I kissed the inside of her palm. But she didn’t giggle as I expected her to.
“You’ve got eye bags, Daddy. You didn’t sleep well?”
Now, I looked at her. And I wasn’t surprised to find her staring right back, like there was even the slightest possibility that she knew what went through my mind. Like she had the same answer I did to Polly’s question.
Which was a solid fucking no.
No, I didn’t sleep well.
No, I couldn’t get a fucking shuteye because she had kept me preoccupied all night, infiltrating every one of my senses. The silvery sound of her voice, vivid images of her hard nipples poking through that fucking silky camisole she had on. Or how her slender curves were so visible that I could see the dips connecting her belly to her hips.
Just thinking about her body, all stripped, naked, and spread-eagle for me, kept me so fucking hard all night that I thought I would burst from sexual frustration.
When I looked back up, she had a rosy blush on her cheeks. One that I found surprisingly so fucking cute, but knew I would never, in a million years, tell her that.
I faced Polly.
“Who is Riley, baby?” I asked instead to distract Polly. Or maybe to really distract myself from thinking about her any longer.
Thankfully, she took the bait, momentarily forgetting about the bags underneath my eyes. The spark in hers returned, and she began babbling about some animated character in a family-comedy kids’ film.
I placed her on her feet and watched her walk back to Maria while still wildly gesticulating as she got prepped for school. They talked more and laughed in between. But I caught her stealing peeks at me in between the conversations.
After a while, I checked my watch. Polly had thirty minutes left until she was officially late for school.
“Not done yet?”
“She is,” Maria answered. “I meant, we are.”
She wiped her palms on the front of her jean skirt, appearing skittish, and didn’t hold eye contact for more than five seconds. She crossed the room, picked up Polina’s school bag, and went outside. I tried to keep my eyes away from the gentle sway of her hips when she moved, but that attempt proved futile a second after. She must have felt my eyes on her because she suddenly stood as stiff as a stick and looked everywhere else but my face.
“Come on, Polly, let’s go.” She stretched her hand out. “Daddy doesn’t want you to be late to school.”
Polina rushed past me in a breeze and fixed her hand in Maria’s. Before they left, my daughter gave me one glance over. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Daddy?”
I couldn’t help it; I smiled. Strutting over, I crouched to my knees and pinched her cheeks lightly. “Daddy’s a big boy, baby. I’ll be fine. Lev’s going to get you strawberries on your way to school.”
The sudden smile on her face was all the motivation I needed to kick-start a plan I had underway.
“Yay!” She pumped a fist in the air and smacked a wet kiss on my cheek. “Love you, Daddy!”
“Love you, too, baby.”
Soon, they were off to Polina’s school, but I didn’t miss the warm smile Maria flashed my way before they disappeared down the hallway.
***
When I shut the door, tiny dust particles rose and flooded underneath the ray of sunlight pouring in from the high-up and close-to-the-ceiling glass window. I went past the tall bookshelves and loveseats and stopped by the door behind an old shelf with loads of archaic notes from B.C. philosophers arranged atop.
I opened the door and stepped in, and it didn’t smell like books anymore.
Lev was by the coffee-brown table, his blond head buried in heaps of paperwork and a stick hanging loosely from his lip, the butt glowing cherry-red. I walked past him, went round the table, my steps muffled by the plush brown carpet under my feet, and assumed my seat.
His head perked up briefly, acknowledging me with a curt nod, before going down again to scan through the files scattered across my table. I observed the mess, and then, I observed him.
He wore red today: a red double-breasted suit jacket, a black dress shirt, a black tie, and black pants.
Interesting.
I felt a smile settle on my lips.
Lev never wore red.
I kicked my feet up on the table’s edge, crossed them one over the other, and inclined on the leather-back swivel chair. Reaching for the stress ball, I tossed it in the air.
“I sent a memo.”
The rustle of paper filled the silence between us when he flipped a page. “Strawberries for Polina?”
“Uh-huh.” I squeezed the ball.
“Got it. I had Niko send it over.”
More rustling of papers, and then, his fingers went through his hair. He sorted through that one file, shifted it aside, and started another. The office stayed quiet, and I watched him work. I tossed the ball in the air again and caught it with a resounding smack .
“What’s the occasion?”
The corner of his lips went up. He took a drag on the stick, closed the current file, and pulled the laptop closer. When he talked, he didn’t look at me. But his head was up now, with green eyes fixated on the screen, and the red smeared across the breast pocket of the jacket was visible.
“My cousin’s wedding,” was all he offered, the reason for his reluctance as clear as daylight—respect. He thought he could be exempted from his personal life because he believed it held no importance.
Screw that.
If the case was dire, it was pertinent that I stayed informed. There was no way I was losing another man.
The ball went up again, and I eyed him. Bloodied inked knuckles, busted lip, and a helluva blow to his jaw. It was a lot more than a wedding—probably a funeral—and he knew it. Fifteen years of this man’s devout loyalty was enough to pull my concern. But first, he had to speak.
“Lev….”
The smirk faded, and his eyes went hard. When he spoke again, his tone was brittle, like it was fashioned to wound.
His fingers went through his hair again, more slowly this time, as a frustrated sigh came out. “She’s nineteen. Still a fucking kid, as far as I’m concerned. And the groom’s a shitty twenty-two-year-old that claims he’s in love. Love... pfft, like that’s a thing . I fucking doubt it when he’s barely able to hold his own working two jobs.”
“Decent jobs?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
The ball fell into my palm, and I squeezed hard. My lips curved to the side. The problem was simple: Lev was fiercely overprotective over family, just like the rest of us. In addition, he wanted a better life for his cousin. A life that wasn’t as gruesome as his. “Sounds romantic .”
“She’s pregnant.” He sounded anything but happy to be a big cousin-slash-uncle.
I barked a short laugh, adding, “So, not romantic?” and waved a hand toward his jacket. “Doesn’t explain that, though.”
Now, he looked even more than frustrated. Angry better suited the expression masking his features. More clicks on the keyboard, more file scanning, and then, he relaxed in his seat, meeting my eyes with a resigned sigh. “I got news, the same time Sasha confessed to being pregnant. So, I made up an excuse to lay a fist on the kid. Told him it was my wedding gift.”
I dropped the ball and knitted my fingers over my chest instead. Lev was looking at me, which meant whatever news he’d gotten alongside his cousin’s pregnancy announcement had a lot to do with me.
“What news?”
Lev rubbed between his eyes and turned the laptop around so I saw the screen. Displayed on it were the photographs of two men, one marked with an X and the other still clear. “You recognize the eliminated face? His name was Ferris Hayes. You offed his head four days ago and staged an accident with the van that blew up with his body in it. He was one of the men that kidnapped Polina.” He leaned forward, pointing his finger over the clear photograph.
Dark eyes, a jagged scar running down the side of his face, and an ugly snarl on his mouth.
“Now, that’s Mahone. Only goes by that name in all the records I could find of him. He was also in the van that day. He whisked her off the school grounds. We thought the tutor had this one taken care of, but as it turned out, the fucker fled before either of us recognized it.”
The rush of adrenaline started first with a buzzing hum before it formed into something wilder. Something hotter that made me go blind with rage. I remembered all of it: the minute the news hit me that my daughter had been kidnapped, the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks, and her trembling body, holding me at night and not wanting to let go before she slept. If I didn’t find out who had the audacity to cross me, to abduct my daughter, soon, I was going to lose my shit.
And New York wouldn’t love to see that.
It wasn’t normal—that courage. No one had ever dared to have the fucking balls to cross my territory like that.
Lev glanced over with dark eyes, mirroring the thoughts that rushed through my mind. “I have the spies looking into it. You have so many enemies that it’s hard knowing which one would go crazy like this. But we’ll find the bastard.” After a minute, he clenched his jaw and said, “I have my suspicions.”
I encouraged him to spit it out with a roll of my finger, and he pulled up a picture of an old frenemy. I just might have laughed if there was anything laughable about the situation. “Martin Claude,” Lev said.
I peered closely at the picture and pulled back. “No. I have doubts.”
“Just saying.” Lev shrugged. “Remember, we’re looking into everyone. He might not be as spineless as you peg him to be.”
The glimmer of the black steel by the heap of files suddenly seemed so inviting. I picked it up and aimed it at the wall. The gun was fully loaded. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
My phone buzzed beside the stress ball, and the screen lit up with a message notification from an unknown number. Suspicious, I dropped the gun, reached for the phone, and opened the text.
Hey, we need to talk. Maria.
I never saw that coming, and for some reason, knowing she wanted to talk to me was exciting.
My lips curved up on their own accord, and the smile lingered. Until Lev cleared his throat. When I looked up, he was...horrified.
“You’re smiling.”
I turned my screen off and put the phone down with an eye roll. “And the world has come to an end.”
“It might as well have. Last time I checked, which was this morning, Polina doesn’t have a phone yet,” he mumbled, suspicion laced in his tone because only my daughter possessed that much power.
“No, she doesn’t.”
I didn’t bother with the details, and Lev didn’t push. With words, anyway. His widened eyes and squeezed brows did all the talking.
I readily changed the topic. “How did your in-law take your wedding present?”
“Oh,” he murmured under his breath, his expression sour, and pointed to the purplish bruise on his jaw. “Didn’t expect him to throw a punch like a fucking pro boxer, but he did and went on to loudly profess his love for her, swearing to protect her and their unborn baby with his life.
The smile faded as I pushed my chair back, rising to my feet. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, it doesn’t. He might be as broke as a fucking church mouse, but he earned my respect. He wanted something and went for it with his full chest and head held high. Only a real man has guts like that.”
“Hmm,” was all I could say because Lev’s voice suddenly got stuck in my head.
And it made me realize something I should have seen from the very second I’d tasted those brownies.
I wanted her.
When he stepped into the living room, he caught me pacing, with one hand on my hip and the other in my hair.
I wasn’t sure why I cared what he thought, but I hadn’t wanted him to see me that way: worried, anxious, so fucking scared that I thought I would lose my mind—because I was this close to losing it.
The full length and breadth of him, dressed formally in his signature Tom Ford suit, appeared in my line of sight, and the world spinning around me came to a stop. And so did my feet.
This embodied darkness of a man was gorgeous—gorgeous enough to rob me of all my worrisome thoughts for sixty seconds. That was until I remembered why I’d pressed his number out of Polina before tucking her in and singing her to sleep two hours ago.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “I have a problem.”
I expected a reaction, anything but just having him stand there, close to one of the couches, with his folded arms across his chest: hard lines, dark eyes, and a clenched jaw. No concern. No empathy. No emotion. And it made me wonder: Living with a man like Roman Varkov should’ve put my fears to flight. I didn’t know the entire story or what went on behind closed doors, but I knew enough to understand how dangerous this man was.
Maybe I was overreacting. There was no way a man like Finn could have the guts to come to the Varkov mansion. I knew that for a fact.
I should have felt protected under his wings. I should have—
No.
My father might have been different shades of terrible—a drunk, a cheat, a gambler...name it. But seeing the worst sides of him motivated me to bring out only the best versions of myself.
We owed Finn Jameson, and, on my word, I’d sworn to pay back every last cent.
“Okay,” he said slowly, his thick Russian accent laced between every letter forming the word.
I was distressed and was already starting to think that sending him that SOS text was a bad idea, but it didn’t stop that dark thrill from sending shudders down my spine or erupting butterflies in its wake.
I slid a hand down my face.
Sometimes, I had to admit that I was ridiculous. And this very moment was one of those times. I dropped my hand and ambled closer, but not close enough to know what he smelled like. Maybe if I did, I would officially lose my mind.
“I’m in trouble.”
“Hmm.” His gaze swept down my face and stopped at the couch by his side. He lowered himself on it, his weight sinking into one of the throw pillows behind him. Then, he stared at me like he expected me to understand eye language.
When I stood unmoving, he glared. “Sit.”
I was too worried to care that he’d commanded me like he would a pet. Quietly, I slid into the vacant space beside him, kept my legs pressed together, and ducked my head to escape the intensity of his attention.
Beside me, he cleared his throat and spoke to me like I was nothing more than a nuisance—a piece of gum stuck underneath one of his bloody expensive loafers.
“You can speak now. It sounded urgent.”
On a very regular day, I would have never subjected myself to be the object of this man’s scrutiny. My pride wouldn’t let me. But today was not any regular day. Today, I needed this powerful mobster's help; if deflating my ego, which was twice the size of a hot air balloon, was necessary to get it, then I was willing to use a stack of pins.
I took out my phone from the back of my pocket and handed it to him, making sure the text on the screen was visible.
“ You don’t want to fucking play games with me, Maria. It’s the end of the month. I want my money now, or else. x Your nightmare. ”
Roman didn’t have to read the words aloud or request to hear the background story. He didn’t have to say anything; his concern was as obvious as the black modern-century globe lamp posts lined up on either side of the driveway outside.
The anger clouding his eyes, the strong clamp of his jaw, and his curled slender fingers over the pink glitter pouch of my phone were enough to tell me that he didn’t take well to the message.
Why, for the life of me, I could not understand.
But I didn’t wait for him to ask questions. I didn’t wait to know why he seemed to care all of a sudden. Swiftly, I spun on the couch, scooting close enough to see the storm raging in the deep, dark depths of blue. His anger scared me, chilled me right to the bones.
“Roman….”
The roll of his name on my lips startled us both. I hadn’t meant to call him that—out loud, that was. Boss, Mr. Varkov, or even sir might have been more appropriate.
But I had the permission to, or didn’t I? He’d given it to me himself.
Unafraid, I continued, “My sincerest apologies for sending you a message like that. So abrupt, unplanned, and maybe insensitive. You could have been in the middle of something important, for Christ’s sake. But this….” I swiped my tongue over my lips, feeling parched, and swallowed. “What’s happening is big. It’s important to me. You know about my father’s debt, so there’s no need to talk about that. I’m glad you know how genuine this is. You wouldn’t think I’m trying to scam you or play stupid games. However, you don’t know Finn. Finn’s the loan shark. He’s the one my father got a huge loan from and failed to pay back before he kicked the bucket. Now, the problem is, I promised to pay Finn back everything he owed him at the end of the month. Not my father, but me. He’s coming for me now. And I know I’m strong and everything; I can take down men twice my size. But Finn Jameson and his goons are, honestly, a lot more than I can handle alone.”
Roman was listening intently. He made no move, neither physically nor with words. Just sat still like a freaking statue, with a look that had danger signs blaring all over.
“Listen….” My words got stuck somewhere between my throat and my tongue. This was the hardest part: making the request. Begging. Appealing. Using the stack of pins to deflate my bruised ego. It took one deep inhale and exhale to flare up the courage. “I know I haven’t worked for a week. But I…I….”
It’s fucking harder than I thought.
“I need the money now.” The confession left me in one long breath. Relief flooded my chest, and I found it a lot easier to keep the humility going. “I’ll do anything. I’ll…I’ll keep working tirelessly, if you demand. Anything at all, you name it. I’ll scrub, clean, brush, fucking bake brownies from dawn to dusk if it makes Polly the happiest. Just…I just need to get Finn off my back.”
At that moment, I wanted to have an out-of-body experience. I wanted to know what I looked like, to be in Roman’s place and stare at me like he did. I wanted to know—no, scratch that— needed to know if I looked even half as desperate as I sounded.
Right now, I was willing to do everything to plead my case, to convince him of how badly I needed space to breathe.
After bringing Polly home from school, making her lunch, and bribing her with ten pints of strawberry ice cream to sit for homeschool music lessons, I’d tucked her into bed. I heard my phone chime three minutes later.
Like he waited in the shadows to catch me at my weakest, when I was most relaxed and unaware. That fucking bastard.
When I opened the text message, it felt like the world was spinning under me, like my life was slowly slipping from my grasp; the smallest thread of control I had on it was about to snap, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Only there was something I could do about it.
And his name was Roman Varkov.
He stared at me.
I stared at him right back, waiting patiently for him to make a move—to say something, do something. Then, he blinked, checked the silver watch on his wrist, and dialed a contact on his phone. On the second ring, the person at the other end of the line picked up, and, with his eyes never leaving mine, he spoke fluently—in that sexy voice of his—in thick Russian. And I wasn’t sure, but it felt like I understood every word.
Thirty seconds later, the phone clicked silently on the glass centerpiece as he set it down. “I’m going to take care of it. I’ll pay the bastard in full and toss in some extra change if he so requires,” he was saying, and then, he did the most unexpected thing.
In a blink, before I could process what was happening, his hands went up, and his fingers— those long, slender fingers —brushed my hair behind my ears so very lightly that I might as well have sworn that I’d imagined it.
Roman kept his face straight and gaze focused, like he hadn’t just initiated an action that sent my heart running and toppling over beats.
“I know men like him. He’s only trying to scare you to do his bidding.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and an ugly scowl formed on his face. Something brewed between us. Something mystic, cryptic, and immensely enthralling. He looked at me like a pirate looked at a map, searching, seeking, like he was trying to find something that had promise.
As he spoke, I found myself slipping away from the reality of Finn Jameson, the loan, and the threat and getting lost in the sound of his voice.
“If he so much as touches one strand on your head, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
His voice was strangely chill, like he’d done nothing but highlight trending news over breakfast, and I blinked.
This man wasn’t joking.
And this man wasn’t sitting far away anymore. My eyes dropped to the place where heat radiated on my jeans. Our knees were touching. One of his big, calloused hands rested on my thigh while the other cradled the back of my neck.
His rigid posture, the determination in his eyes…everything about the way he leaned in was intentional.
When he opened his beautiful, beautiful mouth to speak, it was nothing I’d have ever expected him to say.
“You’re strong, right? You said you can take down men twice your size.” His eyes glimmered wickedly. “Well, I’d like to see you try.”
The heat from my knees teleported. Stupid thing crept up my neck and warmed my cheeks until they felt rosy. I tried to duck my head, but he slipped a finger under my chin, stopping me. Keeping our gaze level.
At this rate, the thought of a mild heart attack no longer seemed far-fetched.
He couldn’t possibly mean what I thought he meant, right ? Surely, there was no way a man as large and equipped as Roman Varkov extended a rare opportunity to tackle him?
I croaked like I’d swallowed a frog. “What?”
“You said you’d do anything, am I right? Anything, if I helped you.”
His eyes dropped to my lips, and everything suddenly became a thousand times clearer than it already was. The true meaning behind his words. The frustration that rose to the surface, threatening to crack his mask of indifference. The desire in his eyes brimming like bright, fiery orange and yellow flames in a furnace. It burned me. Scorched me. Pulled me in like a helpless moth that wanted nothing else but to experience that sensational burn.
My lips parted. I wanted to say something, but the words became a jumbled, tangled mess in my head. My knees quivered, and a throbbing ache settled between my legs, my pulse rising at every second.
I couldn’t breathe.
“I want you to tackle me, Maria….” His fingers snaked up my neck and settled in my hair, and his eyes, as dark as the night, were full of unconcealed lust.
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“Show me what you’ve got.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
With a whimper, he heard my surrender, relished in the sight of my sheer misery, and finally did what I wanted the most.
He kissed me.
***
Roman groaned like a hungry dog that found a big fat chunk of food weeks after, gripped my short hair around the length of his fingers, and eliminated the slightest space keeping us apart on the couch.
When he came in again, hot and urgent, with hooded eyelids and wet, tempting lips, I pushed against his chest, gasping for breath.
He didn’t appreciate the shove.
His jaw ticked.
I startled, mumbling, trying to save my last shred of dignity. “You…we…I….”
“Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Again, he wasn’t joking.
I had come to learn that Roman Varkov was a man who had integrity in his word. He held on to it fiercely and honored it to the last letter.
If I told him to stop, he would.
“Don’t,” I rasped.
And he claimed my lips once again.
He tasted sweet and toxic, like the finest of wines or a mix of exotic fruits and cigars.
He wanted a tackle.
I tried to tackle.
But he just didn’t let me win.
He explored my mouth and ravished it with his tongue. Kissing me like our lives depended on it, he only broke apart for air. I shut my eyes because looking at him made my head swim and my heart squeeze. He was so beautiful. So dark. So delicious. Like a fucking fantasy.
His tongue flicked, licked mine, tasted me, and his teeth nipped, nibbled on my lower lip, and sucked like I was the last honey plum on planet Earth.
Exciting tremors ran through my blood, and I gripped him by the jacket to brace myself. Soon, his hand on my thigh changed direction. It went up to the button on my jean shorts, and he unclasped it.
He growled very darkly, “Take it off.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Under his watchful, sinful gaze, I shimmied out of the denim and let it drop to the carpet with a soft plop . I sat there, bare before him, covered in nothing but a ridiculous teenage boy-band t-shirt and, from my waist down, cotton panties. Goose flesh rose on my skin. Anticipation tingled like tiny electric zaps. But a warning rose at the back of my head.
This was wrong.
This was very wrong.
But his fingers traced the inside of my thighs, instantly shutting up my protest.
My chest heaved—up and down, up and down—like I was in a marathon, and my heart thrashed against my ribcage. When he got to the junction between my legs and stroked the thin piece of fabric shielding my throbbing sex, I clenched my fingers into the couch.
He made a low noise like a hum at the back of his throat, shifted the fabric aside, and, without any warning, slid a thick finger inside me.
I arched, and my head fell back, a raw cry leaving my lips.
He reached up and pinched my swollen clitoris, then started to stroke it, his fingers moving in and out with the proficiency of a businessman who had five minutes of free time before his next board meeting.
He leaned over me, near enough for me to feel the pressure of his weight looming above me but not close enough to crush me. Even if I would have liked that.
He worked me, pumping in and out with an unshifted focus. Stroked me, like that was what he wanted, what he craved. He watched me squirm under him. Watched me buck my hips to match the rhythm of his finger inside me, breathing raggedly from his mouth, with his nostrils flared.
No time to breathe or think or form coherent words.
The climax rose and drove me to the edge, not promising a cushion to guide my fall. Blood roared in my ears. My thighs clenched around his finger.
“ Oh, God—” I gasped, choked, moaned with no reservation.
Blinding spots clouded my vision; the ground underneath me, by the cliff, gave way, letting me sink. When I came, it was with a scream.
The contractions were aggressive and racked through me without remorse. I held onto him and didn’t let go until the throbbing slowed down.
I collapsed on the couch, opened my eyes, and felt my cheeks warm up at the sight of his dark jacket glinting under the light with my juices splashed all over him.
With Roman, there was no time to waste time. He pressed his thumb against my clit and slipped his free hand under my t-shirt. A gasp left my lips, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
“If you think I’m done with you, you’ve got another thing coming.” He slapped my pussy. Hard .
I screamed, writhing on the couch in pain and pleasure.
He growled in my ear, “I’m going to make you come all night long.”
And as much as I craved that, I remembered the sleeping six-year-old upstairs. “Polly’s going to wake up,” I said in a strangled sob, still shaking and breathing like a woman in labor.
He smirked—t he arrogant bastard.
Before I processed what was happening, the world spun upside down, with my hair dangling in the air from over his shoulder and his strong arm hooked around my knees.
We got to the bedroom. He shut the door with his foot and dropped me on the bed. I bounced ungracefully on the fluffy mattress and crawled backward toward the headboard with my elbows.
Briefly, I looked around the master bedroom. Dark drapes, royal blue painted walls, and starry lights on the ceiling. The style of ceiling lights struck me as odd for a man with his personality. But I wasn’t given much time to mention it before his body came into sight, distracting me.
And, damn , this view was a lot more intriguing.
He’d taken off his jacket and dress shirt and was standing in his pants—nothing but bare skin and ink, designed with the most intricate details across his chest.
I eyed his bare, broad shoulders, envied the solid rips of his torso, and waited patiently as he stripped down the slacks. Covered in nothing but thin briefs, I saw his erection, which was obviously eager to be buried inside me.
Suddenly, I was feeling a little naughty.
I wanted this man as much as I knew he wanted me. He didn’t try to pretend. Didn’t bother to hide it. When he got on the bed and nestled between my legs, I pulled my t-shirt off from over my head and took off my wet panties.
I didn’t have a bra on. My breasts stretched taut under his gaze, and my tight nipples ached. For him. For his touch.
The darkness in his eyes morphed into a killer storm when he looked, ready to crush anything on his path that would have posed to hinder him. His large hand cupped one of my breasts and squeezed. Murmuring something Russian under his breath, he cursed out loud, “ Fucking beautiful.”
His index flicked a nipple, and I arched into his hand.
Licking his lips, he took his aiming erection in his fist and stroked it, base to crown and back again. The sight was so exciting that I bit down on my lip with a whimper and spread my legs wider.
His eyes flared with heat, and he dropped down to hover over me. Balancing his weight on his elbows, he grabbed my head, wound his hand into my hair, and growled, “First time?”
I blushed and shook my head. “No.”
Secretly, I wondered if he was disappointed by my admission. But as soon as that thought came, it disappeared. I didn’t have to ask; he didn’t give a flying fuck about my shitty past experiences.
With one hand fixed firmly on the fluffy mattress beside my head, he positioned his rigid cock between my thighs and stroked the head up and down through my soaked folds, nudging forward. I suppressed a hum that sent me flying.
His gaze swept down to my lips, and he muttered, “Good.”
With one forceful thrust, he shoved his cock deep inside me.
The moan from my lips was raw, deep, and delirious. He pressed his lips to mine, kissing every exhale, swallowing every sigh, and making low animalistic grunts at the back of his throat as he burrowed his way deeper.
He was big, hot, and hard, filling me up, stretching me out, making me grasp and claw like a feral animal that subtly enjoyed the pleasurable torture.
Nothing and no one felt as good as he did buried deep, deep inside me.
He possessed me, pressed me down with his weight, and claimed me in every sense of the word.
My nails clawed his back, and his hands cupped my ass. He slapped my throbbing pussy again, pinched my swollen nub, and fucked me with every intention of shattering me, splitting me apart, driving me over the edge with sexual insanity—if that was even a thing.
He was rough, merciless, taking and giving in bountiful measures—rendering me needy, greedy . He smacked me, bit me, licked me. Shuddered above me and squeezed my breasts in his large hands as he fucked me.
I curved my ankles behind his back, wrapped my arms over his shoulder, and pulled him in, giving him the green light to take me as much as he wanted.
He groaned and bit down on my shoulder, definitely leaving a mark, but more importantly, he whispered sultry foreign words in his native tongue.
I didn’t know what they meant, but they pushed me further up to the peak.
His hips bucked more fiercely, and his rhythm faltered.
He was close, but I was already falling, bursting like a full water tank dropped from a twenty-story building.
With a small cry, I convulsed around him, bucking wildly, moving myself onto the hard length of his shaft. I kissed his lips, gasped in his mouth, and vibrated when my orgasm left me in long squirts.
When my convulsions slowed to a stop, and I relaxed under him, Roman went rigid and rasped, “On pills?”
Pills?
My mind blanked for a second before I understood. Birth control pills. I shook my head again, and he swore under his breath.
Gripping my hips and seemingly frustrated, like a man with the frantic urge to release, he pulled out of me with urgency, slid his cock onto my belly, and came all over me.
He stared at me.
I stared right back. Over a hundred unspoken words were exchanged in that heavy, awkward silence.
He collapsed on the bed, lying on his back, his chest heaving and his breath ragged. I was gasping, still too stunned by the feel of his thickness on me to speak.
I didn’t bother facing him. But from the periphery, I saw him stare at the starry ceiling lights. I stared at the lights, too, fascinated by how fast my world spun. One minute, we were talking about loans and debts, and the next….
He had me breathing his scent, sucking the skin on his shoulders, and biting my lips to hold myself from screaming his name.
The experience was one of a kind—new and exhilarating. But as they say, every rose has its thorn . What happened between us cracked something, leaving me feeling naked, like a turtle without its shell. Vulnerable to the most random attacks.
I knew he felt it, too; his contemplative silence spoke more volumes than his words ever did.
I chased the intrusive thought aside, not wanting to think about it.
This—whatever this was—was just sex and nothing more.
The side of the bed dipped under his weight when he kicked his legs off and sat upright. This time, I stared at the broadness of his back and the flex of his muscles when he stood up.
The ink running from his elbow to his wrist was a lot clearer now, and he just appeared a thousand times hotter.
When he looked at me, the agenda in his eyes was already pronounced before he said anything.
“We’re going to get you cleaned up. And then, we go again.”