Chapter 9
MELANI
I don’t understand the expression on his face, but my heart pounds a frantic rhythm anyway.
Why does he have to be so ridiculously attractive? It’s unfair that a man who kills people without blinking should look like he just stepped off a magazine cover.
It’s offensive, really. Downright criminal—which I suppose is fitting.
He stands there looking impossibly fresh in a crisp navy suit that molds to his body perfectly. His hair curls down to graze his forehead, softening a face that shouldn’t look soft, while his eyes hold a stormy mystery as they rake over me.
I’m suddenly painfully aware of myself and rub my bare thighs together under the sheet.
“My shoulders are killing me. Any chance you could undo these cuffs? I promise to behave.” I keep my tone light and sweet, even though I want to scream at him for leaving me like this all night and for having the nerve to look so well-rested.
He mutters a curse and drags a hand down his face. “Then get over here if you want them off. I have things to do.”
I bite my lip nervously. “About that—”
“What trick is this now?” Suspicion darkens his expression, those storm-cloud eyes turning dangerous.
“It’s not a trick, I swear.” I hesitate. How much do I tell him? “I had to use the bathroom last night. I managed to get my skirt and underwear off, but I couldn't…” The words stick in my throat, humiliation burning hot in my cheeks. “I couldn’t get them back on.”
His lashes lower, his eyes hooding as he takes one long step forward.
“Are you saying you’re naked under that sheet?” His voice turns to liquid silk that wraps around my throat before sliding lower, lower, until it’s pulsing directly against my clit.
I swallow hard. “Just—just from the waist down,” I whisper. Why am I whispering?
A string of unmistakably colorful Russian spills from him. “You like to test me, don’t you?” The words come out rough as he closes the distance between us, his eyes dark and knowing.
I press my thighs together, hyper-aware of the wetness coating my inner thighs. There’s no way he can tell. Right?
His hand clamps on my shoulder and spins me around.
Even though his grip is gentle—surprisingly so—I still gasp as pain lances through me.
It should be enough to shatter the lust clouding my senses, but if anything, it only fuels it.
I’ve never had a pain kink in my life, yet something about this man makes my body sing no matter what he does.
“Sorry,” he says so quietly I wonder if I imagined it. Why would he apologize to me? Killers don’t apologize.
There’s a soft metallic clink as the cuffs unlock, and then I’m free.
A groan of pure relief escapes before I can stop it, and I sway into his solid chest, too exhausted and overwhelmed to maintain my balance.
He freezes, inhaling sharply. When he exhales, his hot breath fans the shell of my ear and goosebumps erupt all over my skin.
Get a grip. I’m trying to seduce him.
But my body doesn’t get the memo. More wetness leaks out of my pussy as I rest my head heavily on his shoulder. It feels… good. Too good. My eyes flutter shut for a second before I force them open again.
Why does this feel so right when it’s so wrong?
He’s a bad man. A criminal.
His large palms settle onto my shoulders, and then he’s working the tender muscles there. Not too hard, not too soft. Just… perfect.
I moan and shuffle closer, shamelessly closing the space, my head pressing deep into the curve of his neck as I seek more of him.
“Are you trying to seduce your way to freedom, myshka?” he rumbles into my ear, and the vibration rolls straight through me, hardening my nipples into tight, aching peaks.
All he’d have to do is lean forward the slightest bit to see them standing at attention through my shirt.
And if he were to move his palm down just a little, he could touch them. It would feel so good.
“Is it working?” I ask breathily, leaning more of my weight into him. I’m so far gone, so desperate for his touch; there’s no way he’s not at least a little affected by me too. He dips his head, dragging his nose along the side of my neck. “Vanya.”
The moment his name leaves my mouth, he goes still. Fuck. What did I—
In one smooth motion, he turns me around, hands firm on my arms, and suddenly he’s looking down at me. His pupils are blown wide, his chest heaving with each breath.
He's just as affected as I am, and the knowledge surges through me like victory.
“What did you just call me?” His eyes lock onto my lips as he asks, as if he’s waiting—dying—to hear me say it again.
I’m only too willing to please. “I’m aching, Vanya. Please… Ease me,” I moan.
He groans deeply, the sound almost pained, and he lowers his head towards mine. He’s going to kiss me. My eyes flutter shut, and I tip my chin up, already anticipating the taste of him. It would feel so good. He would taste so good.
“You’re fucking wet for me, aren’t you, sladkaya moya?” he breathes against my parted lips, brushing just close enough to make it torture.
I nod eagerly, past the point of pretense. “I’ve never been this wet in my life.” The confession spills out unfiltered, and he groans again, pressing his lips to mine in a chaste kiss that’s nowhere near enough. Then he pulls away.
“No, no, no—nun te ne jiri, amuri miu.” Don’t leave, my love. The Sicilian endearment tumbles out in a rush as I chase his lips, but he’s already out of reach. When I open my eyes, he’s standing at the foot of the bed. So far away, it might as well be miles.
“Who exactly is seducing whom here, Milani?” He rolls his neck casually, adjusting the lapels of his jacket like he didn’t just have me unraveling in his arms seconds ago.
It takes a moment for my lust-fogged brain to catch up. To realize what just happened.
He turned my move around on me.
I stare at him in disbelief, my heart still thudding from the adrenaline. “You—you—”
He smirks. Actually fucking smirks. “Who sent you to spy on me? And why?”
Are we back to this again? After that?
“Nobody sent me.” Frustration bleeds into my voice. Mostly sexual, if I’m being honest.
“Too bad you’re not ready to talk yet. Enjoy your meal.” He waves at the food I’ve all but forgotten about and turns to leave. I refuse to let him walk away with the last word, so I yell after him.
“My name is Melani, not Milani.”
But he just slams the door shut.
Motherfucker.