Chapter 21
AMALIE
Iwake up from my nap, feeling refreshed and still a little sore. I lay there with my eyes closed, cataloging sensations. The faint ache between my thighs, the pleasant soreness in my hips. There’s a warmth lingering in my belly, like a fire that hasn’t quite gone out.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
I still smell like him, a scent that’s clean but musky all at the same time. It’s the smell of sex, the smell of trouble. I stretch out, hissing when places on my body that are still sensitive argue against it.
Roman did this to me. The thought of him last night, his hands all over my body, his thickness buried deep inside, stretching me perfectly… it’s enough to get heat building all over again.
I glance at my phone. It’s a little after two in the afternoon. Sasha’s with one of his private tutors, so I have the next hour to myself before I’m back on the clock.
And I know just how I want to spend it.
I lay on my back, my hand moving down my chest, along my stomach, then underneath the waistband of my panties. My fingers slip between my thighs, finding slick heat already waiting. I’m still tender from him, but not enough to stop.
I spread my lips, circling my clit slowly at first. Memories fill my mind as I squeeze my eyes shut.
He’s behind me again. I’m gripping the headrest of the seat in the sitting room, focusing on the power of his thrusts as he plunges into me again and again. I focus on the sensation of him reaching around, grabbing my swaying breasts, tweaking my nipples as he drives in.
“God, you feel so perfect wrapped around me,” I imagine him leaning forward and growling into my ear.
I loved the way he handled me, taking me by my hips, making me his. I remember how hard the orgasm had hit, my body shaking with the intensity.
I take the fantasy in a different direction. We’re in his bedroom, Roman on top of me. His broad shoulders are silvered with moonlight, his gorgeous eyes fixed on mine like he wants me to see how intensely he’s savoring the sight of me below him.
One big hand cups my breast, thumb brushing my nipple until it tightens.
His mouth follows on the other nipple, wet, hot sucking that pulls a gasp from my throat as I touch myself in the real world.
I arch into the imagined touch, glancing down in the fantasy and watching his stone-solid thickness plunge into my soaked pussy over and over.
“You take me so well,” he says, his voice low.
All I can do is moan, my fingers rubbing my clit, my hips starting to buck.
I imagine him pinning my wrists above my head as he fills me with long, deep strokes that drag over every sensitive place inside of me.
Then his voice, low and steady, at my ear again. “Look at me.”
He pulls back. I look into his eyes. “You do not come until I say. Understand?”
The command is firm, irresistible, delivered with the absolute certainty that I’ll obey. Heat floods my body, my fingers moving without thought.
He keeps thrusting, measured and deep, watching every twitch of pleasure cross my face. “Good girl. Hold it for me.”
“Please.”
“Please what? Tell me exactly.”
“Please let me come.”
I move my fingers faster, hips rocking into my hand.
“That’s it. Let go. Come for me now.”
The imaginary permission snaps everything. I shatter, my back arching off the mattress as the orgasm rips through me. I ride it out, hips grinding, drawing every last pulse. I imagine him erupting into me, flooding me with delicious, thick warmth.
The haze fades. I slip my fingers from between my thighs and let out a sigh. What is this man doing to me?
I stare at the ceiling. My heart thuds, the fantasy melting and quickly being replaced by reality creeping in along the edges.
Roman is my boss. He’s a Bratva kingpin. He has enemies. He’s got an amazing son who needs stability.
He’s a killer.
Yet, last night in the dark, he held me with a gentleness I would’ve never expected from a man who’s taken lives. I roll over, lost in thought.
Roman appears in my mind’s eye again, along with a question: Could this actually go somewhere?
The thought of it scares me, so I force myself out of bed.
The hot water from the shower helps, working the tension out of my muscles. I wash away the sweat from last night, though part of me wants Roman’s scent to linger on my skin for just a bit longer. I stay under the water for a beat, replaying last night in my head.
By the time I dress in jeans and a soft sweater, I’m feeling better.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from Roman.
Come to the office—now.
My gut tenses. I step into my shoes and shove my phone into my pocket. It’s almost three, which means I’m about to be back on duty with Sasha.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode the moment I approach his office door. It’s cracked just a bit, but something about his text makes me not want to just barge in. I knock gently.
“Come.”
I push open the door and enter. Roman’s back is to me as he stands at one of the room’s tall windows. The room is silent—no music, no ticking clock, nothing. On his desk, I notice something out of the ordinary. Right in the center is a manila folder.
My stomach drops.
“Shut the door.”
I do. I approach the desk, my eyes locked on the folder. There’s no doubt in my mind that whatever is inside the folder is why I’m here.
No sense in dancing around it.
“What is this?”
“You tell me,” he says, his tone flat.
I close the distance and open the folder with trembling fingers. One glance is enough. Kyle. His name. His badge photo. Chicago PD. Intelligence Unit.
Oh no. The room suddenly feels small.
“I can explain,” I say quickly.
“You should have told me.” His voice isn’t loud, which somehow makes it worse. “A cop connection could destroy everything I’m trying to build. If my investors sense that I may be under investigation—”
“I don’t know if you’re under investigation!” I shoot back. “Kyle doesn’t tell me what kinds of cases he’s working on.”
“He’s working intelligence, which means underground criminal operations.” He lets his words hang in the air, letting me fill in the blanks.
Another thought occurs to me. “You don’t think I’m helping him somehow, do you?”
He turns, his eyes meeting mine. “No. I had to make a decision one way or another on the matter, and no, I don’t.”
The worry boiling inside me tamps down just a bit, but it doesn’t disappear.
“Roman, I didn’t lie to hurt you. Kyle has no idea I work here or work for you. He’s deep undercover. I promised him I’d keep his job secret for safety. Mine and his. That’s why I gave you a fake name. That’s the only reason.”
Silence stretches.
I force myself to keep talking as my heart pounds. “I didn’t come here to spy on you. I came here because I needed a job. And I’ve stayed because your son needs someone. I care, Roman. I really do. A lot. About Sasha. About you.”
He studies me in silence like I’m a problem he needs to figure out. After what feels like hours, he exhales sharply. “You’ll stay. For now.”
Relief washes over me.
“But understand this,” he continues, his voice colder. “Whether you’re telling the truth or not, you’re more useful to me where I can see you.”
The word lands hard: Useful.
It makes something twist inside me and I suddenly feel trapped in a way I hadn’t before.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say quietly.
His eyes flash, but his expression remains unreadable. “We’ll see. You may go now.”
I turn and leave, not wanting to stick around for a second longer than necessary. Once I’m in the hall, the office doors close behind me and a sadness takes hold. Tears form in my eyes at how the man who held me like he did last night now views me as a threat.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.