Chapter 6
AMALIE
“You can’t be serious.”
I shrug. “Hey, it’s something to pass the time.”
The truth of the matter is I’m nervous of what might happen if the silence stretches too long. Truth or dare might be just enough to keep things light.
“You’re the one who loosened me up with this vodka. It’s your fault.”
He cocks his head to the side, looking at the glass. “You’ve barely touched it.”
“What can I say? I’m a lightweight.”
Another deep chuckle. “Fine. Truth or dare it is. In that case… truth.”
I don’t think. I just blurt it out. “Are the rumors true?”
“There are many rumors about me. You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“People say you’re in the Russian mob or at least connected. They say you’ve done bad things.”
A long moment passes. Long enough that I start to wonder if I really screwed up by asking him that question.
Finally he speaks one single word. “Bratva.”
“What?”
“Bratva. That’s what I’m a part of. It means brotherhood. It’s a world. A system. A code.”
I take a second to digest this. “And you’re telling me about it? Just like that?”
He nods. “You’re in my life now. You should know. And my membership in the organization is hardly a secret. You’ve heard the rumors, after all.”
“Why?”
“Because my father was. And his father was. But I hope my son will never be a part of it.”
The next question slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”
My blood goes cold in spite of the heat of the water. “Why?” This time, the word comes out in a whisper.
“Because I had to. Because they would’ve hurt my business, my people, my son.”
The room seems to tilt as the reality of what’s going on hits me. I’m naked, in a hot tub, with a man who’s speaking calmly about killing people.
I know I should leap out of the tub, throw on a towel, and run. But I don’t.
He leans in, green eyes narrowed. “Now, your turn. Truth or dare?”
I should say truth. I always say truth. “Dare.”
“I dare you to stay in the water with me after what I’ve told you. After you’ve learned about who I really am.”
I cock my head to the side. “That’s it? That’s the dare?”
“That’s it.”
It seems simple enough. But the more I consider it, the more complicated it becomes.
“I don’t know who you really are,” I say. “Though I can tell you’re dangerous.”
He says nothing, sensing I’m not done.
“But I can also tell that you love your son more than anything. And it’s my job to take care of him. So, you might be dangerous, but you’re not dangerous to me.”
His eyes flash, as if I’ve said something true. “And?”
“Even though you just told me that, I feel safe around you. And I know that’s insane, considering I’ve only been here for a day. But it’s true. I do.”
His gaze stays on me for another long moment. I want him to say something, anything, to break the tension. Instead, Roman pushes off the edge of the tub, drifting toward me. He comes close, so close I can feel his heat.
“Amalie.”
“Yes?”
He lifts his hand out of the water and brushes wet strands of hair from my face, tucking them behind my ear. I shiver at his touch.
“Come here.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push toward him, closing the last few inches between us. When I’m near enough, he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his solid body.
Then he kisses me. Hard.
It’s not a shy, polite kiss. It’s a kiss of heated entitlement, his mouth pressing against mine like he hungers for me. His lips are firm and warm. His tongue finds mine as his hand slides up my hip and moves to the back of my head, angling me against him. I gasp with pleasure and surprise.
Every nerve of my body lights up. The world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of us, the warmth of the water, and the hardness of his body. I can taste the vodka on his tongue. I melt into the kiss, placing my hands on his big, round shoulders.
Then, to my surprise, he pulls back.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls.
I should. I know I should. Everything about this screams bad idea, but the words won’t come out.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t stop.”
A low rumble sounds from his chest. “Good girl.”
The praise lands harder than it should, forcing another moan out of me as he squeezes my inner thigh just inches from my pussy. He parts my legs, moving closer and closer to where I want him. His palm cups the softness of my inner thigh, then he slowly drags his thumb along the crease of my leg.
“Roman.” There’s no resistance to my tone. I want him so goddamn badly.
His fingers trace higher, skimming the edge of my folds. I’m slick even with the water of the tub, and I know he feels it. Roman groans against my neck, teeth grazing my skin as his middle finger dips in, slow and sure.
“Fuck, you’re soaked for me,” he says, his breath hot on my skin. He circles my clit with the pad of his thumb. Lightly at first, a graze so gentle and teasing it drives me insane. My hips buck involuntarily.
His touch becomes firmer, more insistent, his finger curling inside just right. The feeling is exquisite, a burn that blooms into bliss. My walls clench around him, my fingernails digging into his shoulders.
He slips a second finger into me without warning, stretching me even further.
“Oh… Oh my god…”
He kisses me along the slope of my neck as he builds a rhythm with his fingers.
His thumb never quits the relentless swirl around my clit, causing sparks to appear in my vision.
I begin rocking against his hand, chasing the pressure, my breasts heaving.
He takes hold of one of my tits, squeezing my nipple and adding another layer of pleasure.
He owns me with his touch, drawing out gasps and whimpers.
His voice is low and lethal as he says, “Let go, Amalie. I’ve got you.”
The command, the tone of his voice, is all it takes to unravel me.
Pressure builds, white-hot and delicious.
It coils tighter with each thrust of his fingers, each drag of his thumb against my clit.
My thighs tremble and clamp around his wrist, but he doesn’t let go.
He drives deeper, hitting the perfect spot every time.
I come, crying out, the sound raw and broken, echoing off the walls.
The wave crashes, the orgasm ripping through me, fierce and shattering.
My walls flutter around him in greedy little pulses.
He doesn’t stop, milking me for every ounce of pleasure I have, his mouth capturing my moans in another deep kiss.
When it’s over, I sag against him like I’m boneless, my forehead resting against his shoulder. His fingers ease free, trailing up my spine in a touch that feels… tender?
“Beautiful.” He says the word less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact. I almost believe it.
But then the haze lifts, and the moment it does, the temperature in me decreases as surely as if the water had turned to ice.
What the hell did I just do?
I break free from him so fast I nearly slip on the edge of the tub. My body feels loose, oversensitive, every nerve singing, my legs like Jell-O. I grab the nearest towel and wrap it around my body like its armor. I scoop up my clothes and press them against my still-wet body.
“I have to go.” I blurt the words out, not waiting for a response as I hurry out of the room.
I don’t look back.
I bolt down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the cool marble. My breath comes in sharp, panicked bursts. The mansion feels endless, the hallways too long, the shadows too dark. Once I’m at my door, I fumble with the handle, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop my clothes and the towel.
I practically trip over the threshold, slam the door shut, and lock it. I slide down against the wood, pressing my forehead to my knees. I’m still shaking. And still turned on.
What. The. Hell. Just. Happened!
My body’s still humming, my skin still sensitive, my pulse racing like I just ran a marathon. Part of me wants to laugh like a madwoman. Another part of me wants to cry.
And a much more dangerous part of me wants to go right back.
I hug my legs tighter.
That can’t happen again. No way.
So why, even as I tell myself that, am I aching for more?