9. Emory
EMORY
This is insane.
I am insane.
The car might be warm but my body is frigid, wrapped in fear and self-condemnation.
I should not be in Rashid Krasnov's car for any reason whatsoever, and yet I allowed him to usher me right to the door and plop me right into his backseat like he owns me.
"Thank you," he says, nodding at his driver to pull out.
"It's just another four blocks up on the right." I'm not telling him where Irina lives, and I'm not telling him that I have to take a cab from her house across town. If he doesn't know about Lex yet, there's no point in giving him any help finding out.
The driver's eyes flick up to meet mine, but Rashid says nothing.
He turns his attention to the necklace which he pushes into my hands. "Truly... if it's too expensive, pawn it. I won't be offended. I want you to know that whatever you want or need I can give it to you."
I look into his eyes and don't know what to believe.
I know who he is and what sort of man he is.
Men like Rashid aren't romantics.
They're manipulators.
Batya taught me enough to know that, and yet I wound up in his car anyway.
I frown, letting my shoulders drop, and sigh hard.
"I appreciate your gift more than you know, but why now after three years?" I open the small box and look at the sparkling emerald. I do have a few green flecks in my eyes, but how could he remember that after three years? I don't think either of us was sober enough to remember details like that.
He smiles and rests a hand on my knee. I'm warming slowly with the swirl of hot air wrapping around me, but his fingers chill me again, even through the denim.
But when I look him in the eye and see the way he's staring at me so longingly, like a lost puppy begging to be taken home, I lose myself for a second.
No man in my life has ever made me feel wanted. Not even my father.
If Batya hadn't chased off some of them, maybe there would be a few, but I don't think the desire and longing I saw in Rashid's eyes that night at the club will ever come my way again.
Except for now—when he's looking at me again.
"I'll admit I was foolish and I knew where you went to college years ago.
I just got busy with my empire and life.
" His head drops and I watch his fingers strum over my kneecap lightly.
He looks sad, as if he lost time he can't get back and regrets it.
"But my life is hollow and empty. I want someone to share it with, and I want a family before I'm too old to enjoy it.
" Rashid's gaze sweeps up over my body to meet my eyes and locks there. "I want you."
My face burns, so hot I think I might pass out.
So I undo the coat and pull the scarf free from my neck.
The car stops, parking one block past Irina's apartment building, and I glance up at the building we're parked in front of as if it's the one.
"Thank you for the ride," I say plainly, though my palms are feeling sweaty now. The window between driver and passenger cabins rises, sealing us into privacy as I reach for the door.
I don’t need any more reasons to think about this man.
It was hard enough to dig his memory out of my mind the first time.
Everything in me screams for a love like this—someone to chase me down and lavish me with a fairytale romance.
But not only is Rashid twenty years older than me, he's also a dangerous criminal.
I can't bring him home to Batya, and I can't let Batya's employers know this man has anything to do with me.
It'd only make things worse.
"Emory," Rashid whispers, reaching up to cradle my cheek. I turn to look him full in the eyes. "Please, don't break my heart. Let me take you to dinner."
My hands tremble around the velvet box as I chew my lower lip.
Either he's very sincere or he's very good at plucking my heart strings.
I don't want to hurt him; I just want safety.
And I want love and intimacy as much as any woman, but I'm not sure I’m willing to sell my soul to the devil to get a shred of it.
The dream isn't worth the risk, and what if this is some sort of trap?
"I just..." I don't know how to protest this when part of me feels so whole and hopeful just looking into his eyes.
How do you turn away from something you've always wanted but you've never had?
Of course it's not the package I hoped for.
I dream of a man my age sweeping me off my feet, but let's be honest—men my age are tools.
"Shh," he whispers, leaning in close.
The door handle is right there. I could open it and slip out, but morbid curiosity makes me linger, waiting for the instant his lips brush mine.
I want to see if the spark is still there when I’m sober, and older, and wiser.
When I'm not hiding from responsibility and wearing a skimpy dress to draw attention.
His lips seal over mine and the electricity sizzles between us.
I kiss him back just as gently, as he kisses me and I remember every touch of his hands, every sensation of pleasure in my body and the way he made me feel.
I can almost taste the whiskey on his breath and see the vibrant colors of that Sokolov painting hanging across the room.
But I can't do this. Lex is waiting.
I press a hand to his chest, attempting to pause this for the moment, but Rashid takes it, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to my palm, then my wrist. "I've dreamed of this moment a thousand times, milaya .
" He kisses me more, my palm, my fingertips.
Then says, "Stay with me. Let me have you. "
He tugs at the coat sleeve until it's coming loose and I'm shrugging out of it, a prisoner to my own lust, now swelling in my chest impatiently.
What could it hurt?
I've slept with him before, and I'm just a block from Lex now. And my body is on fire, suddenly desperate to feel something.
"I shouldn't," I protest, but Rashid swallows it as he claims my lips in another searing kiss.
His mouth devours mine with a hunger that steals my breath, tongue sliding deep to taste every hesitant moan I try to hold back.
The velvet box slips from my fingers onto the seat as his hands roam, pushing the heavy coat down my arms until it puddles behind me.
The air chills my moist skin, but his palms are fire, sliding over my shoulders, down my sides, claiming every inch like territory long denied.
I arch into him, fingers tangling in his crisp shirt.
Rashid growls against my lips, but breaks contact only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down the column of my throat where my pulse hammers wildly. "Just as beautiful as I remember," he murmurs, teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver.
His fingers find the button of my jeans, and he pops it open and pulls the zipper down with a rasp.
I suck in a sharp breath as his hand slips inside, palm pressing against my lower belly before dipping lower, cupping me through the thin fabric of my panties.
Heat floods my core, a rush of need that makes my thighs part instinctively.
His mouth claims mine again hungrily as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. “Lift for me, milaya ,” he murmurs against my lips. I obey without thinking, hips rising as he drags the denim down my thighs and over my knees, tossing them aside with my coat.
Cold air makes goosebumps rise on my bare legs, but his hand is already back between them, sliding beneath the lace.
Two thick fingers glide through my slick folds, teasing my entrance before pushing inside me roughly, and I gasp, breaking the kiss.
“Rashid—fuck,” I breathe, clutching his shoulders. He curls his fingers, stroking that perfect spot that has me shuddering and clenching.
“Can I make you scream my name right here?” he growls, pumping slowly, thumb circling my clit. “Have you thought about my hands on you?”
I moan, head falling back against the seat as pleasure sparks up my spine. “I have… God, I have. Don’t stop.”
His dark eyes lock on mine while he works me open, adding a third finger, stretching me. The wet sounds are obscene but intoxicating. “Good girl. I’ve waited years to feel this tight pussy again.”
My hips rock shamelessly against his hand, chasing every thrust.
He kisses me hard, swallowing my whimpers, then pulls back just enough to watch my face as he quickens his pace.
I reach for him, desperately palming the hard bulge straining against his slacks. “Rashid… please.”
With a low chuckle he shifts, unzipping his pants with his free hand and pulling his dick out. “You want it, don’t you?” he whispers hotly against my ear. “Say it.”
“Yes,” I gasp, voice breaking. “I want it—I want you.”
Rashid’s eyes darken with triumph as his fingers thrust deeper, curling relentlessly against that sensitive spot inside me while his thumb rubs firm circles over my swollen clit.
Pleasure coils viciously in my belly, and I wrap my trembling hand around his thick cock, stroking from base to tip.
But my rhythm is sloppy, broken by every sharp jolt of ecstasy.
“Fuck—Rashid,” I whimper, trying to focus on the hot, velvety length pulsing in my palm. Pre-cum slicks my fingers, but another curl of his fingers rips a cry from my throat.
My grip tightens instinctively, stroking him in short, uneven pumps as my hips buck wildly against his hand.
“That’s it, milaya . Come on my fingers like a good girl,” he growls in my ear, pumping harder. “God I've missed your touch."
I try to hold out—God, I try—but the orgasm crashes over me without warning.
My thighs clamp around his wrist as I shatter, back arching off the seat.
A strangled moan tears from my lips, as my inner walls spasm around his thrusting fingers, soaking his hand as wave after wave rips through me.
My strokes falter completely, turning into desperate, shaky squeezes around his throbbing shaft while I tremble and gasp through the climax.
It steals my breath and makes me feel drugged and hazy as Rashid watches me hungrily, never slowing his fingers until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, and boneless against the leather.
Only then does he ease them out, bringing them to his mouth to taste me with a deep, satisfied groan.