"I . . . fought." He fell silent. I guessed he knew he'd have to give me something more, because he tried again. "In my teens and twenties, I fought in underground mafiya matches. It was lucrative for me."
"I imagine you won lots."
"I never lost one of those match-ups," he said, not with conceit, but almost with . . . regret. In a lower tone, he added, "I am singularly suited to fighting, always have been."
"How so?" Superior bone density? High pain threshold? I recalled Paxan telling me that he'd never seen anyone take hits like Sevastyan, and he'd only been thirteen at the time.
Ignoring my question, Sevastyan continued, "A few years ago, I realized I wouldn't be able to fight forever. I had a business idea, and brought it to Paxan. He encouraged me to use my winnings to develop the scheme on my own."
"What was it?"
"A way to smuggle cheap vodka into the country."
"Isn't Russia the land of cheap vodka?"
"It costs significantly less to buy it from the States, but our alcohol tariffs deter most from importing it. So I came up with a way to disguise the vodka from customs."
"How?" I asked, fascinated.
"I had it dyed light blue with food coloring. Then we labeled the barrels as windshield-wiper fluid. Once in Russia, we reversed the dye."
I grinned up at him. "That's scarily brilliant."
He shrugged, but I could tell he was pleased with my assessment. "It made millions, still does," he said, again without conceit. Then he exhaled, gaze gone distant. "I help get cheap alcohol into the country. Ironic."
"How's that ironic?"
Attention back on me, he said, "Enough questions."
I tilted my head at him. I'd had a victory--he'd told me more about himself than ever before. So should I let him off the hook?
I'd just decided I would when a lustful look arose on his face, the look I now recognized and breathlessly welcomed.
"I want to show you something." He led me up the stairs, then through a foyer to a palatial bedroom suite.
Inside, I saw our bags beside each other. "This is our room?" Staying in hotels with a traveling companion wasn't that big a deal. But it struck me that I was now living with a man.
At his place.
"You don't like it?"
The room was decorated in understated colors, dark blue and cream. The counterpane over the immense bed was lush but refined, the walls papered with a tasteful design.
The furniture was a complementing mix of masculine and feminine. There was a sophisticated dresser for cosmetics and jewelry--that I no longer had--as well as a weathered leather ottoman that looked like it'd been stolen from some duke's retiring room. Yet everything worked together. "What's not to like? Is this what you wanted to show me?"
He shook his head, leading me into an attached office with a bulky door. Inside were a desk, a cot, storage closets, and several monitors displaying camera feeds.
"Is this a panic room?"
"Precisely."
The feeds were from each area of the house. "The whole place is wired?"
"And one hidden outside." It displayed Parisians walking down a side street, most gazing directly at the concealed camera. "I can watch every feed on my phone." Sevastyan held up his cell, clicked an app, then showed me one. "So even when I'm not here, I can watch over you."
Always watching me. "Does it record?" I asked in an innocent tone, but he'd already sensed the direction of my thoughts.
"If we wish it to. Or you could watch a feed live as it occurs." He turned back into the bedroom, picking up a remote. A panel hummed, revealing a huge wall-mounted flat-screen.
With another press of a button, the TV came to life with a crystal-clear color view of the bedroom. The camera must be hidden in the molding on the wall opposite the bed.
He took off his suit coat, then moved to the bed, sitting back against the headboard. "Strip for me." He clicked another button on the remote, dividing the screen between the bedroom and the street. It was as if strangers were with us, gazing directly into the room. With his eyes darkening, he said, "Strip for them."
Oh, game on. This was the first even remote hint of kink since we'd had sex.
I pulled my hair down and shook it out over my shoulders; his gaze trailed over my mane, seeming to follow every curling lock.
With an indolent air, I unbuttoned my blouse; his hand headed south to rub the huge bulge already straining against his slacks.
I turned around when I shrugged off my top, keeping my back to him as I unzipped my skirt. The sound of his zipper joined mine. But I could see him on the TV, his gaze rapt on my ass as he fisted his cock.
God, that man aroused me beyond reason. I had a brief thought that he could be recording even this. The idea just turned me on even more. Any shyness I might have retained had been burned away by nights of his lovemaking, by his ardent gaze, his reverent touches.
This man liked my body and made no secret about it. So what was there to be shy about?
"Do you wish they could see you like this?" he asked as I shimmied from my skirt.
"I might." Off came my bra.
"My little exhibitionist." Just his rumbling voice had my nipples budding. "Are you a voyeur as well?"
Considering my wee addiction to porn, I had to say, "Odds are."
"Don't remove your heels and thigh-highs--I'm going to fuck you with those on."
I shivered at his words, reaching for my thong, the last item he'd let me slip off. I reveled in his heavy breaths as I inched the scrap of lace down to my ankles, stepping from it.
"Turn around so I can see what's mine," he commanded me.
As ever, any hint of his dominance sent a flutter through me. I slowly turned. Though he was still dressed, I flaunted my naked attributes for him.
He looked mesmerized, his brows drawn tight, lips parted. Relishing his obvious pleasure, I squared my shoulders and cocked a hip out. "Like what you see, Siberian?"
"And it's all for me alone. Come."
With a sassy grin, I sauntered to the bed, climbing up to walk on my knees toward him.
"Straddle me."
I situated one knee on each side of his hips and laid my palms against the high headboard--which put my crotch right before his face. Positioned like this, our gazes locked. His expression dared me to look away as he leaned forward to flick his tongue out. I gasped at the hard lash he gave my clit.
He did it again, burying his face deeper, not bothering to hide the fact that he was inhaling my scent. I raked my fingers into his ruffled black hair, rocking forward for more of his carnal mouth.
He licked my bud, tasting it till it was agonizingly swollen. His groans joined my moans as he ate me wetly, loudly--flicking and sucking with abandon until everything between my legs was sopping.
I perceived a droplet of my moisture trailing down my inner thigh, caught by the lacy garter-top of my hose. With a growl, he cleaned the lace with his tongue, sending my arousal spiraling. Then he set back in, ordering me, "Play with your nipples. Roll them between your fingers."
As I played, he spread me wider, nursing the hood of my clit until my legs trembled and my toes curled in my kitten heels. "Oh, God, Sevastyan, I'm close."
Right when I was on the verge, he broke away with a sweet kiss.
I peered down with confusion. "But . . . but you can't stop."
"Just did, pet." As he laid me back on the bed, I sputtered a protest . . . that fell mute when he rose to begin stripping. He made short work of his clothes, as if he didn't want to miss a nanosecond of this.
I gazed on adoringly, riveted to his body moving, all ruthless hardness. Each of those hollows and rises had known my lips. The gunshot graze on his arm was almost healed, another bravely earned scar to join the rest of them.
Another mark for me to kiss.
Back in the bed, he maneuvered himself between my legs, fisting his shaft, aiming between my sodden curls. Even after all the times he'd taken me, I still went wide-ey
ed when he delved the head inside. He took care with his size, but I'd only been doing this for a few days.
"Any more protests?" he grated as he eased home.
I arched to him, sighing, "All good here."
As he began to thrust, I clutched the bedspread on both sides of my head. I saw his gaze flick from my hands, to my eyes, then back to my hands. When I stretched my arms over my head and crossed my wrists, his lids went heavy, and I felt his shaft pulse inside me.
"Don't hold back, Sevastyan."
"Not holding back."
"Don't you want to pin me down? Stop giving me pleasure at the expense of your own!"
He cast me a look like I was insane. "You think this isn't pleasurable for me? It's everything I can do not to come!"
"Then pin me down hard--because I need it."
"You don't know what you're asking," he said, bending down to kiss me, tonguing me with my own taste. He brushed my nipples over and over, then trailed his hand to my mons. His thumb worked my clit until I was moaning into his mouth.
When he finally broke away to drag in a breath, my head lolled, my gaze on the TV screen. I watched him from above, savoring the view of his powerful body as it toiled to sate mine. His back was lathered with sweat, the rigid muscles of his ass flexing as he plunged between my thighs. I could see his shaft disappearing into my pussy, his heavy testicles drawing taut.
As his chest rubbed over my nipples, even more moisture seeped down my cleft. He gripped the curves of my ass with both hands. His spread fingers encompassed the entire width of my ass, holding me steady for his taking.
Just as I wondered if he could feel all the slickness up and down my crevice, he grated, "So wet. My woman needed to be fucked, no?" I'd learned he tended to talk in the throes, and loved it when I talked back.
"I've needed it since this morning in the car. I kept imagining what you would do if I leaned over and started sucking you off."
His fingers dug in deeper, his middle one perilously close to my rim. But it felt good. How easy it would be to use my wetness to breach me with that finger. He squeezed even harder, spreading me, inching closer.
When I imagined him gently probing my ass while his cock pillaged my pussy, I wriggled to get his fingers there.
"Stop, pet. You'll give me ideas."
Anal play had always looked hot in the porn I'd watched. Just thinking about him readying me . . . "I told you I'd try just about anything once."
He hissed, "You want me to fuck your ass?"
When he said it like that? With such lust? "Okay!"
"That's not for you, beautiful girl. I'd hurt you."
Before I'd been a dirty girl. Or a greedy one. Now this tenderness was about to drive me insane.
I was sick of this! Frustration removed any remnants of a filter that had never existed in the first place. "I'll just imagine it then, fantasize about you forcing me to bend over the bed . . . spreading my legs and making me raise my ass so you can lube it up for your use."
"Unh!" His hips shot forward, his body bucking even harder.
His ungoverned response shocked me. God, how badly he needed to do these things to me--how badly I needed him to! I'd already planned to wear him down. How far was I willing to go?
In a throaty voice, I said, "My arms would be tied behind my back, my mouth gagged. You'd order me to be still, commanding me to relax." The more I talked, the easier the words came. "You'd penetrate my ass with one finger, opening me up with another."
"Goddamn, woman!" Another harsh thrust. My words were sending him over the edge--and myself as well. Was this fighter finally on the ropes?
"Then you'd slather lube over your throbbing cock, all over that thick head, giving me no choice but to accept it."
His breaths were heaving, his hips rocking. "You'd be so fucking tight around me, so hot."
Loving his response, I said, "I'd be nervous, might try to twist away--"
"Then I'd whip those perfect curves until you submitted to me. Because nothing would stop me from burying my cock balls-deep between them."
I moaned, so close to coming but never wanting this to end. "You'd start to move inside me . . . I'd go mindless . . . because it's you, possessing me completely."
"Your pretty screams would be muffled by that gag."
"Oh, God, oh, God." His sweat-slicked hips rubbed my inner thighs, the hair on his legs abrading my calves, adding to all the sensations.
I was panting, hovering on the edge when he said, "I'd pump my hot cum into you, flood you with it . . . never let you forget who you belong to--"
I exploded, arching off the bed. Grinding my breasts against him, I keened with ecstasy, clenching around him.
I was still coming when his back bowed, his chest rising above me. The muscles in his straightened arms were bowstring-taut. Tendons strained in his neck as he continued to pound those hips. The power in his body was awing, the power he held in check for me.
When he ejaculated, he yelled, "Natalya!" His thick cock pulsated as it shot his cum inside me, coating me, filling me up.
Never letting me forget who I belong to.
He collapsed atop me, his body quaking with after-shudders--while I was reset once more.
I was barely capable of moving, of thinking. So I trailed my nails up and down his damp back as he ran his lips along my neck.
I didn't know how long we lay like this. Once I could process thought again, I reflected on what had just happened, wondering how long a need like Sevastyan's could stay bottled-up. If he couldn't fulfill his darkest desires with me, would he eventually go to another?
Would I?
I never would have thought I could come so hard and be so disappointed. During my first night with Sevastyan in that plane cabin, he'd told me, "You weren't supposed to be like this."
But I was.
I had "particular interests" as well. And I could now see how well we'd been matched. He'd once been my dream man, one who'd wanted to open my eyes.
Now he was like a mirage. . . .
Later that night, Sevastyan and I lay on our sides, facing each other in the dim light of the room.
Through the open balcony doors, we could hear nighttime Paris awakening. The resident cook had prepared a gourmet meal that we'd taken in bed--between bouts of more lovemaking.
I reached forward to trace a tattoo on his chest. "Sevastyan, why have you been so gentle with me?"
Shrug.
"I'm going to need a verbal answer from you."
Something in my tone must have alerted him that I wasn't playing around. He said, "Most women would want a man to cherish them, no?"
"That's evasive."
"Very well, then. Do you not want me to cosset you?"
"Up to a point. But not always." I pressed my lips together. "It's hard to explain. I want you to be like you were with me those first three times we were together. I want you to be yourself."
"What if this is my true self?"
"I don't believe that, especially not after tonight."
"Couples fantasize and talk about things that never come to fruition."
Damn, he was slippery. "Why fantasize, when we can have reality?"
His gaze bored into mine. "I will never hurt you. Now, change the subject."
Discouragement welled--until I realized he'd just given me an entree. "The new subject is you."
He exhaled. "I told you that I have difficulty talking about myself."
"Probably because you never do it. I want to know you, Sevastyan. As well as you know me. And I don't think that's too much to ask, considering our circumstances."
He swallowed. This man had launched himself in front of a hail of bullets to save my life. He'd braved even more to fight off Gleb and secure our escape. Yet he dreaded opening up to me?
How to get him to understand I wouldn't judge him, wouldn't run screaming? "In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty broad-minded. I wish you could talk to me, confide in me."
"Why?"
> "Because we're in a relationship. And each secret confided between us is another stone in our foundation. Hey, let's just start with some soft-pitch questions. If you really don't want to answer, you can say pass."
He brusquely said, "Ask."
"What's your favorite color?"
"Used to be blue." He reached forward to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger. "Now it's red."
"What do you like to read?"
Still gazing at his twirling finger, he said, "History papers. On women and gender."
Clever. "Have you been to prison?"
"Twice. Neither time for too long. Paxan got me freed quickly enough." A flash of anguish crossed his face.
I forced myself to continue. "Those tattoos on your knees . . . you're a vor yourself?"
He dropped my lock of hair. "Yes." No explanation. No unpacking.
"Are you the head vor of Paxan's syndicate now?"
"Depends. I don't have enough information to answer that yet." He was starting to shut down again.
"Do you have any siblings?"
"No."
"Any family living?" I asked.
"None."
"What were your parents like?"
"Pass."
"Is there anything you'll tell me about your past? Look, I don't need to know things you did for your job, but I want to know about your childhood."
"Why is that so important to you?"
"I'm a historian, Sevastyan--I'm going to want to know your history." I scrambled for another question. "When did you know what your particular interests were?"
He shrugged again. "That's behind us."
I murmured, "Don't say that. You opened my eyes to all these new things"--for some reason, he flinched at that--"and now I want more. I can't go back, Sevastyan."
"Since you'll be only with me, you'll have to." The walls were coming up.
"Don't close me out."
He curled his finger under my chin, all tenderness, even as he said, "How could I close you out when I never let you in?"
As he rose to dress, I recognized a harsh truth: for Sevastyan, confiding in another would be akin to stepping off the trestle.
Which meant I was falling in love with a man who would never be emotionally available to me.
Corner, meet Natalie.
Chapter 31
Pressure.
I'd felt it at Berezka, still did. But over the last week, it'd transformed into something different: the pressure of two people who wanted each other--but no longer fit each other.