“Pakhan, Varya said to bring—” Valentina’s voice cuts in the middle of the sentence.
“Leave the tray in the kitchen and be gone.” My words are sharp, as if Valentina is interrupting something real. My body seems to think so.
The girl hurries to leave the food and then literally runs off, banging the door behind her.
As soon as Valentina is gone, Nina lets go of my neck, and hastily hops off my lap. Good. If she stayed there any longer she’d probably notice my hard dick straining against the material of my pants.
“So, that went well, I guess,” she says and passes her hands through her hair, only making it more tangled.
“A lovely performance indeed.”
“Well, I’d better go to bed now.” She starts toward the door of her room but stops midway. “Can I borrow a shirt or something?” She throws the question over her shoulder. “I don’t want to sleep in Oscar de la Renta.”
The idea of her in my clothes does something to my insides, and I imagine grabbing her and taking her to my bed. I don’t like that at all. This is a business deal and nothing else. “I’ll bring you something. We can send someone to get your stuff tomorrow, leave your keys in the kitchen.”
After a quick shower, I put on a gray T-shirt Roman left on the door handle for me, get in the large four-poster bed and snuggle under the duvet. I checked the time on my phone before getting into bed. It’s well after midnight, but I can’t sleep. Being in a strange house is just a part of the reason. A much larger part is sleeping a couple of dozen yards away. Just thinking about him is messing with my already fried brain.
Roman’s chest is fully covered with ink. I saw it when I unbuttoned his shirt, but there wasn’t enough time for me to pay much attention to the designs. I wish I did, because this need to reveal at least some of his secrets is eating me from the inside. The RussianPakhanis an enigma, and the complete opposite of the straightforward funny guys—ones who can make me laugh—I’m usually attracted to. I like a carefree spirit, someone who is easy to talk to and even easier to leave—a man who won’t demand me to open up. Getting tangled up with thePakhanany more than strictly necessary for this plan to work is not wise.
I close my eyes and the image of Roman gripping my thigh while his sinful lips trail a line of kisses down my neck fills my mind. As if on its own accord, my hand slides down my stomach and stops between my legs. I place a finger at my core, press lightly, and groan. No. I should not be pleasuring myself while thinking of a man who threatened to kill me. It’s so wrong. Quickly, I remove my hand, tuck both under the pillow, and try to ignore the ache between my legs. I am not doing this.
For hours I lay awake in bed, clutching the pillow with my fingers, waiting for my traitorous body to calm itself. It doesn’t. In fact, it only gets worse until I can’t take it anymore, so I finally succumb to my need and slide my hand back down between my legs. I come in a matter of seconds, with my face buried in the pillow and a name of a killer on my lips.