by Kresley Cole
“I do believe you. You were shocked afterward. I should have taken things more slowly.” He rubbed his palm along his pant leg. “I am learning my way. With you. I see now I should not have pushed when you’d been drinking.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. I wasn’t just shocked, I was also nervous. A woman could get hurt doing things like that.”
He tensed even more. “I would never let anyone hurt you. You think I couldn’t have defended you against a mere two men?”
“How do I know that, Dmitri? I don’t even know you. This is our first real date.”
He exhaled. “Point taken. Thank you for explaining these things to me. Please continue to do so in the future.”
“I feel better with that off my chest.”
“After speaking to your sister, did you investigate your newfound fetish?”
“I did a little digging online.” I’d discovered a porn subgenre called CMNF—clothed male, nude female—and watched a video of a naked girl on her knees sucking off a fully dressed guy.
My greedy gaze roamed over Dmitri’s impeccable suit. “It was . . . enlightening.”
Two nights ago, Dmitri had stripped me while remaining dressed, had even remarked I might like that. Already sensing my leanings?
Thinking of that first night reminded me—had he really jerked off on this very seat?
I would run a con just to see that.
“I suggest we establish a safe word,” Dmitri said.
“Isn’t that for whips and chains?” Though I might like to recreate what I’d watched today, I wasn’t down with bondage.
“If we’d had a safe word, you could have alerted me I was pushing you too far.”
Would I have forfeited that explosive orgasm at the time? For now, I’d humor him. Searching for a word, I scanned the luxe limo interior. My attention settled on the fancy bar. “I’ll say cognac.”
“Very good. I will stop immediately.”
I was accustomed to code words. Blue skies for cops. As in, “Nothing but blue skies around here.” Juke for change location. Cougar for currently on a grift. Rep for lookout.
Teotwawki—the end of the world as we know it—was my family’s code for an emergency meeting. Three months ago, my dad had texted that to our group line. Karin, Benji, and I had been at a photography exhibit, our phones chiming all at once. Without a word, Benji had sprinted ahead to get the car as Karin and I ditched our heels to run. We’d hauled ass to Mom and Dad’s.
The cartel had just lowered the boom on us.
“What are you thinking about?” Dmitri asked.
What I am. What’s at stake. I met his gaze. Time to flirt. “Last night. I haven’t been able to think of much else.”
“Nor I.”
“Those things you did with your fingers were mind blowing. How’d you learn stuff like that?”
“Videos and books,” he said. “I studied the subject of sex as if it were my field. I made it my job.”
“Why?” I asked, imagining him watching porn and masturbating. Five minutes into this date and my thong was damp.
“So I could impress a woman such as yourself.” His words could’ve been teasing, but he was serious. “And make her addicted to me.”
“Consider me impressed.” Understatement of the year. “When did you figure out you like to show off your dates that way?”
“You think I . . .” His eyes narrowed. “I do not like to show you off.” In an accusing tone, he snapped, “I want to take you back to my room right now! I want no one else to see you like this. I both love and hate that dress.” He didn’t seem to realize he’d gripped the hem, was letting the scarlet silk flow through his fingers.
My lips curled. Crazy man. “Is that your way of telling me I look nice?”
“Nice?? You took my breath away. I haven’t regained it yet.” He muttered something in Russian, but I recognized the tone: Fuck me. He blinked down at his hand and released the dress. “Last night, your appearance strained the bounds of my control. But this . . .”
My breaths shallowed, my boobs rising and falling under his brows-drawn gaze.
“I told you I am a jealous man. I’d prefer no one to see you but me.”
“Then why’d you show me off at the club?”
He met my eyes. “My fetish is making you wanton and mindless.”
Then last night had been for me. “How did you know about my fetish before I did?”
Voice gone husky, he said, “Your reactions the first night.”
I blushed to recall grinding his hand.
He clenched his fists. Recalling that as well?
I noticed jagged cuts across his right knuckles. Before I could ask what happened, he said, “All I can think about is seeing you come again, and you wear this? You must enjoy tormenting me. I asked you for mercy, but you’ve given me none.”
“I wore the dress because I like the way it makes me feel.”
He rasped, “Irresistible?”
God, this man got me hot. Maybe I liked playing with fire. “And yet . . . you’re resisting.”
He lowered his face while gazing up, his spine-tingling expression giving me goosebumps. He looked as if he was barely stopping himself from snatching me close. “You told me on the phone you didn’t want to have sex with me.”
But . . . but that was before I saw you in a suit. Inner shake. “You’re right. If I do, you’re going to get the wrong impression of me. I’ll feel pressure, and I hate pressure.” This was true.
“Then I will make you a promise right now. I vow I will never seduce you to have sex until we have both agreed to take that step.”
I shook my head. “Not enough. I’ll get too caught up with you, begging in the heat of the moment. When you showed up at my door tonight, my very first thought was that I wanted you to fuck me.”
“Victoria . . .” His roughened voice made heat cascade through me. Seeming to steel himself, he said, “I vow I will never sleep with you until we’ve both agreed to take that step—agreed outside of a sexual situation.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means we will sit down and discuss taking this”—he motioned between us—“further. It means you can enjoy time with me without feeling pressure.”
He’d just given me all the tools I needed to milk-cow him.
I nibbled my lip, as if I were undecided. Of course I was going to play his games. Because I was working. What I wanted didn’t necessarily factor.
Keep telling yourself that, Vice. “Okay. We’ve got a deal.”
“One that will likely be the death of me.” With a pained groan, he adjusted his cock in his pants.
I inhaled sharply, wishing he would keep touching himself . . . like he had two nights ago in this limo. I imagined him rubbing his big pierced dick, filling his palm with cum—
The limo glided to a stop in front of the restaurant.
Dmitri said, “Are you ready, moy ángel?”
As if waking from a spell, I nodded dumbly.
Starsky hurried around to open the door. When Dmitri helped me from the car, my nipples were straining against the thin silk.
The valet stared at my tits; the doorman stared. Each time someone noticed my swollen breasts and the lewdly jutting peaks, a forbidden thrill shivered through me.
Dmitri kept his warm hand on my lower back, his stance proprietary. I glanced up at him. His gaze was locked on me, as if he was making an effort to block out the others’ attention.
He’d been telling the truth. Dmitri Sevastyan was a jealous man—who was unfortunately fascinated by his date’s reaction to exhibitionism.
Later, I would let him know he was the one making me wet. His cock adjustment—and my brief fantasy about him—had primed me just as much as showing off my breasts.
He leaned down to murmur at my ear, “I’m going to feed your body, Vika, then later you’re going to be my dessert.”
A breath shuddered out of my lungs.
Trouble, Vice. Deep.
>
CHAPTER 15
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I could get used to this.
A warm breeze blew into our cabana, flickering the table’s candle. The flame reflected in Dmitri’s eyes, his irises looking like backlit amber.
I dragged my gaze from his heart-stopping face to survey the picturesque scene. The outdoor seating surrounded an elegant pool, and each table had a private cabana.
I’d always wanted to eat here, but the prices were exorbitant. Murano’s sourced seafood from all over Italy and flew it in daily.
When the tuxedoed waiter, a ginger-haired fortysomething, had taken our orders a few minutes ago, I’d marveled at the menu, choosing the Mediterranean blue rock lobster. Dmitri had selected Venetian crab ravioli with artichokes.
I turned back to him. “You’re staring.”
“You’re stunning.”
Each time I caught him checking me out, my cheeks heated. To relax, I’d been drinking again, sip after sip of the delectable wine he’d picked out. Plus I was nervous about his promise to make me his dessert. Did he plan to go down on me?
When he lifted his own wineglass for a sparing taste, my gaze fell on his banged-up knuckles. “What happened there?”
He put his glass back. “It’s nothing.”
I reached across the table, taking his hand in both of mine. When I stroked the skin beside a cut, his muscles tensed and he exhaled a long breath.
Did even an innocent touch of mine affect him so much? How . . . heady.
I wondered what he’d do if I blew him. Visions of taking him between my lips filled my mind. Sucking and teasing his dick. Tonguing his silver piercing as his powerful body quaked. Making him desperate to come . . . until he was helplessly fucking my mouth. . . .
“There,” he suddenly said. “Your cheeks grew flushed. What were you just thinking?”
I released his hand. “This and that.” My panties were going to be soaked.
“I would kill to know what you’re musing about when you blush. Will you not tell me?”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll show you later.”
“Tease.”
Only always. I lifted my glass again. “You really don’t drink a lot, huh?”
He shook his head. “I don’t relish feeling out of control. Except for during sexual play with you. Then I want to keep control—right up until the time you steal it from me.”
I almost fanned myself at his hungry look, a sight I’d never forget. In the candlelight, he was spellbinding.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Two babes sashayed past our cabana—for the third time—audibly sighing over him.
“You get that everywhere, huh?”
“Get what?” He was oblivious.
“Attention from women.” I swirled my finger around the rim of my glass. “What was your last relationship?”
“I’ve never had one.”
I waited for that nails-over-chalkboard sensation, but he was telling the truth. “So you are a player.”
“No. I am not.”
“You can’t have it both ways.” I could do the math. If he took a new lover anytime he wanted sex, the notches on his belt would start adding up.
“What was your last relationship?” he asked.
I let him get away with not answering me. “About a year ago, I broke up with a guy I’d been with for nearly two years. We were engaged.” Brett had been so normal, his life an open book. Back then, I’d equated normal and open with honest. “The wedding was weeks away.” I’d just gotten a passport for our honeymoon to the Caribbean, and I’d been finishing up a wedding gown that had given me fits for months. Creating it had felt like drudgery, which should’ve been a clue.
“He allowed you to break up with him?”
Allowed? “What should he have done?”
Dmitri held my gaze. “If I’d been him, I would have fought for you.”
His words sent a tingle through me. “Who said Brett hasn’t been doing just that?” Each Sunday, I pictured him struggling to come up with another e-mail, to tap into my memories of better times and reach some part of me not hardened by his infidelity.
“Yet you haven’t taken him back.”
I raised my chin. “He cheated on me.”
“I am very sorry, Vika,” he said in a sincere tone. “That must have been painful.”
“It was.” I’d considered my wedding gown so tainted with bad luck I’d scissored it to shreds instead of selling it. “You know, everyone had bet against us, but I was determined.” Being with Brett had made me ask questions I’d never asked before.
What if I didn’t have to grift? What if I gave people my real name—all the time? What if I made clothes for a living? “I really thought we had a shot.”
“Are you tempted to return to him?”
Life had been pretty good. I’d moved in with him, and he’d paid for my car. I’d limited my grift work, and enrolled in fashion design classes. He’d cooked, and I’d cleaned. We’d lived modestly.
Yes, hiding my cons had been stressful, but nothing like I struggled with now. Even if my family settled our debt, I was still getting evicted and driving an unreliable truck. Of course, now I owned a Porsche. But not for long. God, this was all so confusing. I absently murmured, “I don’t know.”
A muscle in Sevastyan’s jaw pulsed. “And this is why you’re so cautious.”
Partly. “Let’s not talk about him anymore.”
After a hesitation, he said, “Agreed. Tell me more about you.”
“Where should I begin?” I’d been intimate with Dmitri—twice—yet we knew so little about each other.
“What makes Victoria Valentine tick?” A wayward breeze tousled his black hair.
Right now golden-eyed Russians make my pulse race. “Compared to the women you usually meet, I’m sure I live a boring life.”
He didn’t address that. “Where did you go to school?”
“I was homeschooled. My parents wanted me to go into the family business. They could teach me better than anyone.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“My folks are still mad for each other after thirty years of marriage. My big sister, Karin, is my best friend. My brother is my hero. I have an extended family I love. In their own way, they’re all overprotective of me. But I think . . .” I trailed off.
“You think what?”
They underestimate me. “Nothing. What about your family? You said Maksim basically raised you.” Some of Maksim’s charm must’ve rubbed off on his little brother. Maybe that was why I detected such a mix of polish and uncertainty in Dmitri.
“My mother died when I was five, my father when I was seven.”
“I’m sorry.” I was about to ask him how, but his changeable expression gave me pause. Instead of sadness, I perceived . . . anger.
Dmitri’s busted knuckles whitened on his glass. Then he inhaled, as if for calm.
I grasped for a change of subject. “You seem to get along really well with Lucía.”
“Yes. I like her very much.” He frowned, then said, “At first, I didn’t. I didn’t like the idea of her. I didn’t like how my brother was acting. I was not shy in letting him know.” His tone implied an understatement.
“What do you mean?”
“He was a sworn bachelor who saw only escorts. His longest ‘relationship’ was an hour. Then I heard rumors he was obsessed with one woman—after a single date—and living with her after their second. For him to veer so drastically from all the years before, I wondered if he was having some kind of early midlife crisis.”
“What changed your mind?”
“It’s not a pretty story.”
I waved him on. “Please.”
“A man targeted her for her money, learning everything about her, then courting her.” Oh. Shit. He sounded like a con artist, maybe a serial groom. But a true grifter would never target a good person.
> Aren’t I right now? No sins, still in?
Dmitri continued, “He tricked her into marrying him, planning to murder her once she’d signed over everything.”
“My God.” Not a con artist. He was a killer who’d stolen some of our methods to do evil. Step nine in the progression of the long con was not murder your mark. “The man sounds like a psychopath.”
“He was. She ran from him for years, but he found her and stabbed her in the chest before my brother could reach her.”
My eyes went wide. I couldn’t imagine anyone taking a knife to the lovely girl I’d laughed with. “Then what happened?”
“The man pulled a gun on Maksim, had a bead on his head, but my brother charged him anyway.” Dmitri couldn’t sound prouder. “Maksim would have died if Lucía hadn’t found the strength to hit that fuck’s arm at the last second. Maksim took a bullet in the shoulder.”
“I had no idea.”
He shrugged. “It’s not something we lead with.”
I put my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my hand. “Your brother charged a loaded gun for her?”
“Da.” Now Dmitri couldn’t look prouder. “He was ready to give his life for her. How could I deny what that meant?”
So Maksim was part of the three percent. Had his younger brother been cut from the same cloth? “What about Aleks? You’re not as close to him?”
“Before one year ago, I did not speak to him.” The mended fence. Yet another of Dmitri’s changes that had taken place around that time. “I had not even been in the same room with him in decades, not since we were young.”
“Why?” I couldn’t imagine being estranged like that from a loved one. Sure, my family could frustrate me, but they would lay down their lives for me in a heartbeat. Just as I’d do for any of them.
“He was not there for me when I very badly needed him to be.” Dmitri gazed away, the wheels of his complicated mind turning.
Oh, yes, this man had been hurt. And he’d longed for his oldest brother to have helped him in some way. Dmitri’s history was a puzzle, but I could be patient, easing information from him here and there.
Yet then I frowned. I only had eighteen days with him, at best. Surely, he’d be called back to Russia soon. “I’m sorry, Dmitri. But you’ve since worked things out with Aleks, right?”