The Cleaner (Chicago Bratva 7)

The clerk averts his eyes and types on his computer. “How many nights, sir?”

“Three nights,” Adrian says decisively, and I shoot a look at him that he doesn’t return.

“I have a junior suite.”

“I’ll take it. Is room service available now?”

The clerk looks at his watch. "It starts in an hour." He slides two key cards across the counter. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.” Adrian hands me the keycards. Like returning my purse to me, it feels symbolic. He’s giving me agency. Power.

I could open my mouth right now and tell this clerk I’m a prisoner, but Adrian risked it anyway. I could have told the Uber driver. I guess it means…I’m not his prisoner anymore.

Plans have changed.

I hope.

He picks up his bag and keeps his arm around me as we walk to the elevators.

“Are we staying three nights?” I ask.

“Probably not.” Adrian shrugs. “But I wanted it to seem like we had an itinerary.”

“What is your job in the bratva?” I ask as we step inside the elevator, thinking about how he took down five men, blew up a ship, and sent a boat adrift. Also that he has a fake passport and seems very good at this. It’s foolish for me to be impressed, but I can’t help it.

He’s so damn capable.

And he’s done all this to right the wrongs of my father. I knew he was a hero. An unconventional one, but still a hero.

“I’m the cleaner.” He leans his back against the elevator wall and pulls me against his front.

“That makes sense.”

“I don’t usually make the messes, but when I do, I guess I go big.” He shoots me a rueful look that makes my heart squeeze.

We get off at our floor, and I let us into the hotel room. It’s clean and luxurious, and I head straight for the bathroom.

“Look at this tub!” I exclaim over the huge, deep soaking tub.

Adrian follows me in and turns the water on full blast, opening the bottle of bubble bath and soaking salts and dumping them in.

“Are you getting in?” I asked.

He starts unbuttoning my blouse. “You are,” he says.

“Will you come in with me?” I ask as he slides my blouse off my arms.

Some emotion washes over his face. I can't quite identify it. Gratitude? Grief? Maybe a mixture of both. “You want me to?”

“Yes.”

He unhooks my bra in the back, and I shake it off onto the floor beside my blouse.

“Whatever you need Kit-Kat,” he murmurs, his warm palms sliding down my bare arms. “Whatever you want.”

“It looks big enough for two.” The bubbles are starting to form, piling higher and higher in the black marble tub.

I scoop a handful and bring them to my nose to breathe in the orange coriander scent.

Adrian unzips my skirt in the back and tugs it off along with my panties.

I rotate to face him and lift the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his chiseled abs, up the broad planes of his beautiful hairy chest, and over the top of his head.

He starts to unbutton his pants, but I take over, wanting to undress him as he undressed me. Wanting to take a more active role this time. My fantasies are fun, but this time, it feels real. It feels like the first time Adrian and I have been intimate with each other. The real Adrian and the real me. Not some kinky sexual fantasy. We’re not captor and prisoner. Not schoolgirl and teacher. Not master and slave.

“You are sexy with a gun,” I tell him.

He lets out a puff of shocked laughter. “You’re warped,” he says.

It wounds me, and he sees it immediately, cupping my face. “I didn't mean that,” he says. “I mean, I meant it in the most admiring way possible. I love your kink. I love that you're you. Wild and funny and free.” He pulls the elastic off one of my braids and starts to unwind it. “You’re beautiful– heartbreakingly beautiful. You're the most lovely girl I've ever seen in my life.”

I suck in my breath, trembling. Not wanting to speak in case there’s more.

“I wish–I wish things had been different. I wish I hadn't fucked this up.” He unwinds the other braid.

I stroke his face now, wanting to comfort him. “Kiss me,” I say.

He lowers his head infinitely slowly, his lips hovering just above mine, suspended in time. It’s this captured moment–the space between our two bodies, both the magnetic pull and the resistance there at the same time.

And because I'm not the passive recipient this time, not the girl waiting to be acted upon, but the girl who makes her own choices and takes what she wants, I close the distance. I grip his face, pull it to mine and devour his lips. I slant my lips one way then the other, pulling his lower lip into my mouth. I sweep my tongue into his mouth and tangle and twine it with his.