Vik (Shot Callers 2)

When he suddenly lifted his head and sleepily blinked down at me, I smiled softly, and my heart puffed up in response. He lowered his mouth to mine, and my lips parted beneath his. The kiss grew and deepened, and when he lifted my legs to wrap around him, I felt his thick, hard length prodding at me.

My brows rose, and I whispered, “Again?” against his mouth.

Vik pulled back a moment to look at me through hooded eyes and simply stated, “We’ve got all night, baby.”

Oh. I liked the sound of that.

When he made to kiss me again, I got a little excited and moved to meet him, but our teeth clashed. He winced, then chuckled, and I laughed softly in return. My nose began to tingle, and I wasn’t so sure it was from the hard knock it had just taken. My throat thick with emotion, a simple mantra circled my mind.

I love you.

I love you.

Oh God, I love you.

We made love desperately, clumsily, and yet it was matchless. I found every moment of it as sweet and endearing as the man rocking into me, bringing me closer to rapture with every touch.

Present

Look, I know the kiss we shared in the pantry was good, but it couldn’t happen again.

Oh yeah?

Yes.

The wispy blonde spared me a friendly smile. “Nastasia, come on through.” She opened the door to the small room and gestured the bed. “Go ahead and get undressed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

If the super-hot kiss didn’t affect you at all, then what are we doing here?

Ugh. Shut up, brain. I am so sick of your shit.

I undressed quickly, put on the disposable panties, and waited quietly, contemplating every little thing that led to this very moment.

The lady returned, wearing gloves. Her brows lifted as she asked, “And we’re getting a Brazilian today?”

My brain cackled at me. Tramp.

I forced out a super friendly, “Yeah,” hoping the woman waxing me couldn’t tell I was going through an existential crisis.

Fighting to remain quiet as she waxed away my dignity, I held it together until she patted my hip and asked a nonjudgmental, “Want your bottom done too, hon?”

My brain crossed its arms over its chest, lifted a thin brow, and tapped its foot in question.

I started to nod as my mouth pursed in shame. “Yep.” The word shook, and it was embarrassingly noticeable.

As I pulled my knees to my chest and spread my cheeks for the woman, the realization hit me with the force of a brick to the head.

Oh God.

I wanted sex, and I wanted it with a man who drove me insane.

Yeah. My cooch wanted Vik real bad.

I internally wept.

I am a tramp.

3

Nastasia

It was only 9:00 a.m., but as I got out of my car and walked up the wide steps, the front door opened, and the man who stood there looked so sleep-worn, so disgruntled, wearing nothing but a pair of navy boxers, that I couldn’t help but stop in my tracks. I reached up and made a show of sliding my sunglasses off, taking in his body like the spectacle it was. If it weren’t for the jagged scars on his face, he’d be a perfect ten.

Damn.

A lusty, teasing smile stretched at my lips. “Okay. All right. I kind of get what Cora sees in your ugly mug. I mean, if we put a bag over your head….” I let the rest of the sentence fade away.

Alessio rolled his eyes, leaving me at the door. I laughed out loud, shut the door behind me, and jogged to keep up, following him down the hall and into the dining room. The second they saw me, a round of greetings sounded.

“My girl,” said Uncle Laredo, putting down the newspaper he was reading to give me his full attention.

A strange feeling passed through me. It always did whenever I saw him. It was as though I was transported back into the body of my eight-year-old self, and a tiny sliver of awkwardness reared its ugly head.

Genuinely happy to see him, I approached with a smile and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Good morning, Uncle.”

We’d been estranged for too long, spent too much time apart. I missed him terribly during that time. Now, I came to visit once a week in an attempt to bridge the gap.

Laredo Scarfo was not the most handsome man in the world, but he had something about him. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, he was charismatic.

“You look beautiful,” he uttered in a paternal way, his eyes smiling. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, boys?”

Nicolas Van Eden nodded enthusiastically, speaking around his food. “Like an angel.”

I had a special kind of love for the South African. He was quite honestly the sweetest man I’d ever met, and while he let me know on many occasions that he would treat me like a princess should I ever wish to date him, it was precisely why we would not have made a good match.