The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

Except that’s stupid because Kayla’s not the kind to end things.

It’s going to have to be me.

Say it. Now, before we get any deeper with this. Before I learn how to make small talk and ask about her day. Before she learns to depend on me.

Because I’m not that guy.

But those guileless blue eyes train on me. She’s not accusing me of being less than what she wants—that’s not her style, but there’s a pleading in her gaze.

Am I really ready to give that up? Those pleading looks that make my dick hard? Her steady submission. The soft, breathy intones of please, Master? Am I willing to walk away from the perfect situation?

Fuck, no.

Not yet.

And that makes me an even bigger asshole.

I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug. “Lovers. Play partners. Dominant and submissive.” I can only hope it’s enough. That we can keep this arrangement going a little while longer. Another week. Maybe a month. I’m not ready to give her up, even though I should. Even though she’s taking all my focus from the job. Even though I’m using my savings to spend big when I come here—money I planned to use as start-up capital when I go back to Russia. Even though I’m losing face with the boss for being absent so much.

She looks away.

I catch her chin and turn her face to mine. “Not my whore. Definitely not that.”

I’m alarmed when a sheen of tears coats her babydoll eyes.

“What do you want me to say—that I’m your boyfriend? Kayla, I’m not that guy. I’m so far from that guy. I...wouldn’t know how to do the role justice.”

She nods, her throat moving as she tries to swallow. She reaches for her drink and puts the straw to her lips, sucking it down until it slurps.

Fuck. I haven’t felt this adrift since I went too far, bloodying my hands without orders, and got sent to America. I haven’t felt this much, period.

“Is that what you wanted me to say?”

She drops her gaze to her empty drink. I signal to the bartender and point at it to get her another, then lean my forehead down to hers and wrap my fingers in her hair. “Don’t lie,” I whisper.

She stops breathing.

I pull back a little to see her face. Her eyes glisten again with tears.

As much as I love seeing her cry when we play, the tears destroy me when we aren’t. They simultaneously make me want to run away very fast and kill someone. I never learned how to comfort a woman—I’ve had to learn it all on the fly with Kayla.

“Kayla, I’m not saying no.”

Christ, what am I saying? Did those words just come out of my mouth? I was going to break things off with her this weekend not step it up. I catch her face with my chin and turn it back to me. “I just think I’d suck at it.” I shrug. “But I’ll try. If that’s what you want.”

Gospodi, am I nuts?

She turns those blue headlights on me. They’re shining now, still bright with tears, but high beams are all for me. This girl destroys me with just her eyes. Every time.

I stroke her cheek softly with my thumb as I lower my lips to hers. I give her a soft, exploratory kiss. It’s a promise, like a handshake to seal the deal. I’m her boyfriend now.

Fuck. I really have no idea what I’m doing. And no business making such a promise.

But when I pull away, her expression steals my breath. “You’re happy now.”

She nods.

Despite a thousand misgivings, my lips turn up, fascinated by the change in her. I can practically feel her joy in my own being, even though it’s not an emotion I’m prone to experiencing.

Ever.

Jesus, how can I possibly make this work? Short answer—I can’t. But somehow, I still have to try.

“You’ll have to be very, very honest with me.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip. “I have no idea what I’m doing, blossom. I’ll probably fuck it up.”

Her smile is smug and satisfied. “No, you won’t.” She accepts the fresh cocktail from the bartender and sips from the straw.

I stroke my hand down her back. I don’t even know what’s different—I don’t know what this means to her, but I guess I’d better figure it the hell out.

“When you said you’d throat-punch anyone who talked to me here…”

I don’t fill in the blank. I don’t know where she’s going with this.

“Would you?” she asks point blank.

I lift my shoulders. “I might. I could, Kayla. Easily. I think you know what I’m capable of.”

“I never asked for nice.” She lifts her chin.

A smile flirts around the corners of my mouth. “Master?” I’m asking, not correcting. Is she still my slave? Or now that she pushed me into boyfriend territory, does she think that’s over?