She chokes on a cry, lifting one foot in a pretty pose. “Oh! Nikolai!” she cries out.
I wiggle my thumb inside her ass as I continue to finger-fuck her tight channel.
“Oh my God, this is so crazy! I can’t...I need… oh!”
She comes, her anus and pussy squeezing around my digits in beautiful pulsing waves.
I wait until they finish, then give a few more slow pumps to milk out the aftershocks.
“Ohhhh,” she moans.
I ease my fingers out and lean down to kiss her pink buttcheek. “Did you like your spanking?”
“Oh my God,” she pants.
“Is that a yes?” I pull up her panties and unzip her skirt so it falls down when I help her to stand.
Her golden eyes are unfocused, and her chestnut waves are a messy halo around her flushed face. She nods but seems incapable of speech.
I’m absurdly pleased with myself for having done this to her.
“Let’s get you to bed.” It’s only nine, but she could probably crash now and sleep it off. I stand from the couch and give her cute ass another smack. “Go brush your teeth, and I’ll get you a glass of water. You definitely should rehydrate.”
“Mmm.”
I wash my hands in the kitchen, then get a glass of water and find ibuprofen in one of the cabinets. When I return, she’s already belly flopped on her bed. I help her under the covers and set the water and ibuprofen beside her.
“Goodnight, little bunny.” I drop a kiss on her forehead before I turn out the light and shut her bedroom door.
In the kitchen, I use a notepad and pen to scribble a message before I leave.
As I walk out, the image of her rumpled and satisfied stays in front of my eyes. I should banish it, but I don’t.
It’s an image I won’t soon forget.
Especially because I doubt I’ll be seeing it again. I may not have fucked Chelle, but I still went too far. I shouldn’t have taken any liberties with her. Not when I know with total certainty that she will regret everything we did in the morning.
I won’t get a redo of tonight. Not unless I get her drunk again, which I would never do.
I need to forget this woman because even though we share an attraction, she’s not ever going to get over her prejudice toward me.
I’m the guy who beat up her brother.
I’m in the bratva.
And a player, according to her.
A woman like Chelle would never lower her standards to date a thug like me.
6
Chelle
Oh God. My head.
My alarm goes off way too early, sending shock waves through my system that makes me sit up with a gasp.
I see a glass of water and ibuprofen on my bedside table, and it all comes rushing back.
The guy buying me too many drinks at the lounge.
Nikolai showing up to rescue me. Wait… how did that happen? It seems like far too much of a coincidence, doesn’t it?
“Oh God,” I mutter when I remember the glorious horrible remainder of the night. I reach back and grab my ass on the way to the shower.
It’s a little sore, but in a good way. What we did—well, what he did because I was more of a recipient than a participant—was off the charts hot. I’ve never done anything remotely kinky before in my life, and now that I’ve experienced it, I’m pretty sure it’s my thing.
But—oh my God—with Nikolai? What in the world was I thinking? He’s a thug and a player. I’m so embarrassed. My brain rewinds, trying to remember all the things I said last night. How much I revealed. I remember I called him a player. Did I really beg him to spank me?
Cringe, cringe, cringe!
He’s worse than a perfect stranger plucked from a bar. He’s Russian mafiya. A gangster my brother owes thirty grand to. What if last night was him showing me—and Zane—just how much he’s in charge?
But no, that didn’t fit. He was respectful. He refused to have sex with me, even though I was begging for it. And he left the glass of water and ibuprofen.
I try to ignore the warm flutters in my chest the memories produce. I’m not going to become enamored with this guy. A bigger mistake couldn’t be made.
I shower and quickly get dressed for work. In the kitchen, I tell my Echo to play a morning acoustical mix and pull a yogurt out of the refrigerator. I eat it at the same time I make myself a mug of hot tea, then sit and check emails from work on my phone as I sip it.
Singing along to the song playing, I get up to wash my spoon and mug. That’s when I see the note. My stomach flip flops.
Printed in crisp boxy letters, a message is centered in the middle of the paper.