10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Alyssa
T he supply room was a little blurry, and I wasn’t sure how I convinced Pasha to take me here. Once I’d noticed he was gone, I’d switched to water, much to the bartender’s annoyance.
Of course he’d thought I was a sure thing with all the alcohol he’d been feeding me.
But I was an experienced drinker. I could hold my own with the best of them.
Sleeping with him had crossed my mind early on, but after I cornered Pasha, I realized I wasn’t craving just any man—I was craving him .
My inability to stir up jealousy or possessiveness or any of the emotions I depended on with previous guys was confusing.
How did I get him if none of the usual tricks worked?
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I can’t figure you out, and it’s driving me insane. Like, I think literally insane.” I set my purse on the empty desk and pressed my fingers into my forehead. My water was still at the bar. I’d kill for some.
He stared at me and then leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall.
None of the bodyguards wore suits unless it was a more formal event.
I loved a man in a suit, but there was something to be said for a pair of faded, well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt, even if it did have Security emblazoned across it in bold letters .
He pushed off the wall and went to the tiny kitchenette in the far corner, where he took out a glass and filled it with tap water. After passing it to me, he took his spot by the wall again, far away.
“Thanks.” I took a sip. Had I said the thing about the water out loud? Or was he becoming telepathic? He couldn’t be telepathic or else he’d know I’d prefer him pants-less right now. I eyed him, waiting to see if he’d comply.
With a sigh, I took another drink. Telepathy was too much to hope for. This conversation would be easier if I didn’t have to speak any of the words out loud.
“Why do you feel insane?” He crossed his arms and stared at his feet.
I laughed. “If I told you, you’d agree.” Another gulp of my water. I put more distance between us in case I was tempted to break my vow of not touching him.
“Try me.”
Tall, muscular, well-groomed, amazing-smelling—all things I’d had in other men at other times.
None of them treated me well, made me feel deserving of good treatment.
When Pasha told the bartender he didn’t deserve me, I had to swallow down a lump in my throat.
I was tired of picking bad men, of making choices that led to huge credit card bills and empty houses.
Maybe I could have a good man, even if it was just for a little while. How did someone catch and keep a good man? Where did I even start?
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I admitted.
He righted himself, uncrossed his arms, and shoved them into his pockets, but he still wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“I’m just going to word vomit for a minute, okay?
Total verbal diarrhea and then hopefully, I can move past whatever this is.
’ Cause once you know what I’ve been thinking, you’re going to understand I’m batshit crazy.
The kind of crazy movies are written about.
” I shouldn’t be saying anything to him—avoid him, remain professional.
I’d signed a contract with a clause forbidding what I was about to tell him, what I was maybe hoping might come from being honest.
Getting fired for a man would up my level of stupidity astronomically. The alcohol sloshing around in my stomach had loosened my lips too much.
He glanced up at me but still didn’t speak, a frown creasing his forehead. He definitely had the strong, silent thing down to a T. Since I wasn’t going to get anything from him in return, I might as well spill it all.
Tomorrow, I’d be mortally embarrassed, and our first dancing session would be awful, but at least all this tension inside would be gone. Maybe we’d even laugh about it? My little crush.
“I think about you all the time.” I held up a finger.
“More specifically, I think about having sex with you all the time. All. The. Time. Constantly. I’m like a guy.
Maybe you think about having sex with some woman who isn’t me all the time.
The feelings I have for you aren’t mutual.
I get it. And I’m sorry. But I can’t seem to keep them down—like, I don’t know what—” I hadn’t been paying attention.
I’d been trying hard not to look at him, pacing the room, so when I glanced up and saw him in front of me, I stopped mid-sentence.
“Too much? When I’m sober, this is going—”
The intensity on his face stopped me cold.
His hands eased along my cheeks, tender, kind, and he gazed down at me. “If you’re crazy, I’m crazy too.” Then he kissed me, a tangle of lips, tongue, teeth, and desperation, as though every encounter, every repressed moment was being poured into this one.
I clutched his shoulders in surprise and then slid my arms around his neck, curving into him. One of his hands dug into my hair while the other skimmed down my body to cup my ass, pressing so close I could feel his erection through our clothes.
If he turned me down again after initiating this kiss, I would cry. Or scream. Or scream and cry. Did I dare to break the kiss? Ask him? Take another chance?
Instead, I pressed one of my hands against the front of his jeans and ran my fingers along the hard length of him. Both of his hands cupped my butt, lifted me up, and carried me across the room. On the edge of the desk, he deposited me, but I locked my legs around him, keeping him near.
Space would give him time to think, and I didn’t want thinking. I wanted action. My core throbbed and ached with unfulfilled desire. Weeks of foreplay had built to this—the two of us, an empty desk in a storage room, enough fire to heat the room.
His hand moved along my inner thigh under my skirt while we kissed, and I trembled with anticipation.
Yes. Yes. Touch me.
Any words might make him reconsider, might put this to a stop.
I kept my lips busy with his to avoid speaking.
I tugged on the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it over his head in one swift movement.
My top and bra came off next, my nipples puckering in the cool air.
Then his hot mouth covered one of my breasts, warming, teasing and taunting the nipple while his fingers peeled back my underwear and stroked inside me.
I clung to him and gasped when his teeth grazed my nipple, desire shooting down to my core.
His thumb began circling my clit, the pressure exquisite.
My memory hadn’t done him justice. Rough hands. Soft lips. Oh, yes.
He murmured something in Russian and raised his head. A question, but I didn’t know what. Asking what he’d said would ruin everything. This felt good. So, so good.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Just don’t stop.
” I dug my hands into his hair and dragged him back up to my mouth.
The pressure was building inside, delicious, addictive.
I tugged on the button of his jeans, and with his free hand, he helped me to shed his pants.
Once he was released, I gripped his length and stroked him, loving the silky feel of his skin.
More Russian words I didn’t understand spilled out of his mouth. But the tone was clear—turned on, tortured, so fucking sexy. His thumb and fingers were working magic, and I was in danger of losing my last thread of sanity. “I’m so close. I want you inside me.”
His hand circling my clit slowed, and I wanted to claw at him in frustration. Seriously, if he stopped now, I’d never forgive him.
His forehead connected with mine, but his eyes were closed. He looked like a man trying to rein it in.
Oh, hell no. No, no, no.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Don’t stop. I want this. Don’t stop.”
He kissed me, wrapped his arms around me, and cradled me on the desk. “Protection,” he murmured.
“Oh.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief and fumbled blindly for the purse I’d put on the desk when we’d come in. “My purse.” I wanted to say we were good without it, but I didn’t figure he’d let himself get swept away twice .
He passed my clutch, and I opened it and produced a condom. “Ta-da!” I grinned, but instead of a happy or relieved expression in return, he scanned my face, emotions I couldn’t process warring on his face.
Whatever he was thinking, I didn’t like it. I tapped the side of his head. “Stop thinking. Start fucking.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips, and he palmed the condom and kissed me, his shaft sliding along my folds, brushing against my clit as he moved against me.
“Yes,” I gasped, arching my back, wiggling against him. “Yes.”
He buried his head in my neck, Russian words murmured in my ear. I clung to him, letting the sensations cascade through my body with each rock of his hips. His dancing hips might be rusty, but these ones were well oiled. Every movement was delicious perfection.
When he eased back, ripped open the condom, and rolled it on, I breathed another sigh of relief.
He slid me along the smooth surface of the desk until I was poised at the edge.
He scanned my face, and, worried he might change his mind, I kissed him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and scooted forward a bit more.
Any thoughts of stopping vanished the minute he eased into me, brushing against my clit with each thrust.
“I want to do this every day,” I murmured between kisses.
He chuckled and deepened the kiss, his hand on my ass securing us tight together. His breathing was labored when he kissed my neck and scraped my earlobe with his teeth.
More Russian words, but I was too far gone to question what he was saying, to care or wonder. He wanted me badly. That was enough.
“Alyssa,” he rasped in my ear .
“I’m with you,” I said. “I’m—oh, God—just—a—little—more.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and the added friction sent me spiraling over the edge, my nails digging into his shoulders as I cried out. A few moments later, he followed.
Once I came back to reality, the only sound in the room was our heavy breathing. I collapsed back on the desk and stared at the ceiling. “Wow.”
He stepped away and turned his back while he cleaned up, and then he came back to place one hand on either side of my head, hovering above. A hint of amusement lit the depths of his eyes. “You okay?”
I met his gaze, affection stirring in my chest. “Just taking in the view.”
“Like what you see?”
“I do,” I said. “Might even be willing to see this view again.”
“Oh, you mean you won’t freeze me out this time?” His tone was pointed, but his expression was teasing.
A flush rose to my cheeks, and I wanted to press my palms there to calm the heat. “It happened, eventually.”
“Tomorrow, we should talk. When you’re more sober.” He kissed me again and stood up, at which point he gathered my clothes and passed them to me.
“Talk about doing this again? ’Cause if we’re talking about not doing this again, I think I’ll take a hard pass on that conversation.”
“Tomorrow,” Pasha said, straightening his shirt.
“I’m serious. If you have regrets, you keep them to yourself. I don’t want to hear them tomorrow.” I smoothed my tank top and hopped off the desk.
“Noted.” He gave me a half smile before pressing his lips to my temple. “Wait a few minutes and follow me. The door locks automatically. ”
Once the door clicked closed from his departure, I stood in the middle of the room and tried to keep my mind blank. Overstimulated thoughts in any direction were a bad idea. Neutral. No thoughts. Good sex—actually, great sex. Replaying that was fine. Anything else was trouble.
Contracts and debts and jobs could come into the equation another day. Maybe Mia wouldn’t even care. I checked the clock above the desk and realized it was broken. Probably long enough to wait.
After checking my appearance in the bathroom, I waltzed back into the conference room. It was getting late. My buzz had worn off, and I was tired. As I headed to the exit, my bed calling me, Mia grabbed my arm.
“Oh, I was looking for you.” Her drink sloshed out of her glass, and she weaved like liquid as though her body might slosh over the edge too.
“Jazz was complaining to me about the nonfraternization clause in your contracts. Did you read that part? I didn’t even remember it was in there.
Of course, I never made the contracts. I just use them. That’s HR’s job.”
I froze, and the little buzz I’d still had vanished. “Complaining?” I cleared my throat. “About me?”
“Are you helping Pasha with the dance?” Mia’s hand landed on my arm again.
“Yeah, he needed help, so I offered.” The complicated truth wasn’t necessary.
“Aha.” She raised a finger. “That’s what I told Jazz.
I said you were helping me and Pasha with a thing for my wedding.
No details for her ’cause I think she’s a gossip.
She thinks you’re sleeping with him, or he’s sleeping with you—you’re sleeping together.
” She shook her head as though she was trying to clear it.
Tomorrow would not be a good day for her.
“I told her you weren’t. She wanted one of you fired.
” She rolled her eyes. “What did she think I was going to do? Fire Pasha? That’s never going to happen. ”
Someone called her name in the crowd, and she turned, almost toppling over. I steadied her, and Mia patted my hand. She waved to the person with drunken enthusiasm and then focused on me again.
“If you like him, that’s cool. I figure you must ’cause you wouldn’t take my money to help him, but now you’re helping him.
And I know you need the money. Just—like—don’t do anything with him till the tour’s done.
Okay? I don’t wanna have to fire anyone, and Jazz is acting like a bloodhound.
I can’t remember what the contract says.
But it probably says I have to fire someone.
My mom loved clauses that let her fire people, and I haven’t changed any of the contracts.
I probably will later—like, not this tour—but another tour. So, just, be cool. Okay?”
Waves of shock and disbelief washed over me. Of course I knew about the clause, but I’d hoped Mia wouldn’t enforce it, especially since Pasha was involved. I’d never thought of anyone ratting us out because nothing was going on.
Or nothing had been going on.
I tucked my hair behind my ears and nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m just helping him with the dance.” The lie tasted bitter.
“Cool. Cool. Good talk.” She weaved a few steps away and then turned back. “I hope you’ve had a good night. You deserve it!”
A good night? I didn’t know what I’d call the night I’d had, but the status of tomorrow was crystal clear. Miserable. I’d be miserable. Instead of plotting sexual exploits, I’d be figuring out how to let Pasha down easy. But more than anything, I needed this job. Nothing could jeopardize that.
I closed my eyes. He wasn’t the only one being let down.