Blyad’. I was right. They are soft and supple. She tastes like brown sugar or something sweet—it must be a lip balm, and I like the way it lets my lips glide.
Her hands come to my chest, lightly resting there as she tentatively returns the kiss.
I deepen it, prying her lips open as my other hand slides down her back to land on her ass. I help myself, squeezing her soft flesh as I walk her backward.
She fists my shirt as I maneuver her against the wall, where I pin her smaller body with mine. My tongue invades her mouth at the same time I stroke up the cleft of her ass. The soft material of her yoga pants yields to my exploration enough that I feel when her muscles contract.
I fuck her mouth with my tongue as I pulse my finger against her anus. My cock is harder than marble, and I grab her ass with both hands to lift her, so I can grind it in the notch between her legs, reveling in her heat and the way she rides it with her feet hooked behind my back.
I don’t want to stop. I want to kiss this girl senseless. Leave her panting and breathless and unable to recall her own name. I want her begging again, pleading to be my zayka.
But the kiss was coerced. A mild coercion but possibly still unwanted.
She may be returning it, but she had no choice, really. Not if she wants her ring back.
So I break it.
She stares up at me, lips swollen, eyes glassy.
It’s all I can do not to claim that pout once more, except I know if I did, I wouldn’t stop with a kiss. I’d pick her up and carry her straight into my bedroom, breaking every rule I have about sex as currency and forcing women.
Reluctantly, I lower her hips, and she puts her feet down to stand. When I ease my body back, she falls against the wall like her legs don’t work. I want to steady her, but I don’t dare touch her again.
I step back and tip my head sideways toward the door. “Get out.”
A laugh tumbles from her lips. “Or you’ll spank me?” She seems happy. But then, she got her ring back and didn’t have to blow me, so of course she’s happy. It wasn’t that she needed my kiss. Or that she craves another one.
I smile back because I’m already far too fond of her to play mean. “That’s right.”
I know the idea excites her, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it again. Of course, I saw her body’s reaction to my words the first time.
She walks to the door and stops with her hand on the handle to look back. “Thank you, Nikolai.” She seems sincere.
“My pleasure,” I say, which is the truth.
She steps through the door and starts to close it.
“But I will break Zane’s nose for his fuckery.”
She freezes, her eyes flaring wide. “No, please, Nikolai—”
“You have no say in this,” I interrupt, and her mouth snaps shut.
There. The fear is back, as it should be. I’m the bratva bookie. I can’t let everyone who owes me something off with a kiss.
“And you still owe me,” I tell her.
She likes that better. She softens her hip against the doorframe. “What do I owe you?”
Huh. Is she still offering sex?
Nevermind. It doesn’t matter if she offers or I demand it, I still don’t accept it as currency. I’ve had enough meaningless sex to last me a lifetime.
I don’t need any more.
The next time I take a woman to my bed, I want it to be something real. Like what the others have. Or I at least want to find out if I’m capable of having something real.
“A favor. When I call it in, you’ll have to give it.”
She rubs her puffy lips together. “Give what?” her voice sounds husky.
“Whatever I demand, Freckles. That’s how it works.”
Probably realizing I might mean something more sinister than a kiss, she pales and draws herself up from the doorframe. “I rescind my thanks, then,” she says. She’s so fucking adorable when she gets tart. “Since this is just business.”
“Out,” I tell her, and she shoves the door closed with a click.
I stand there a moment still staring at the door, a smile playing around my lips. Then I pull out my phone and call Dima.
“What’s up, mudak?” Dima answers. It sounds like he’s in the car, probably with Natasha, since the two are inseparable.
“I need you to dig up everything you can on Chelle Goldberg.”
“Zane’s sister?”
“Da.”
“Now look who’s cyberstalking a woman.”
Before Dima finally let himself have Natasha, the guy played full-on cyberstalker with her, watching her go in and out of our building, tracking everything there was digitally available on her.
“Shut up, or I will tell your fiance the full extent of your creepiness. I know I’m on speaker. Hi, Natasha.”