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It’s a fucking erotic crime scene.
“No, that is not it.” My words are harsh, my clenched teeth caging my chaotic desire. “From what I am told, this room is off-limits.”
That’s an understatement. This room is Niko and Ava’s private sanctuary. Two decades ago, the queen proclaimed it retired. Being here is the blasphemous equivalent of pissing in the Sistine Chapel.
Bebe’s heavy-lidded stare settles on me. “A lot of things have changed.”
No shit. Back then, I would’ve been in control. I sure as hell wouldn’t have been digging my nails into a plastic red couch to stop myself from shoving my hand up her skirt.
“Lisichka…”
“No talking,” she commands, pressing a finger to my lips. “You seem to know a lot about Seven’s secret rules. Should I be jealous?”
“I have never visited a woman here if that is what you are asking.”
“I said no talking.”
“Then how do you expect me to—?” My challenge is silenced as she stands on the couch, one high heel on either side of me, and unzips her skirt. I watch, mesmerized, as it falls to my lap. The tiny black G-string she’s wearing is so sheer, she might as well be naked.
I can’t fucking breathe.
Stepping off the cushions, she grabs the back of the couch and leans over me. “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a stranger.”
Dangerous words, lisichka. Take them back.
“I do not live in Miami.”
“That’s right. You’re Russian.” Those wicked hands trail down my chest, stopping inches above the one place begging for her touch. “Here for business or pleasure?”
“Business,” I groan.
“Of course, my employers….” Spinning around, she sits on my lap, wrapping an arm around my neck while her body works my cock into an inferno of lust. “You implied they’re in danger. Should I be worried, too?”
“No.” Ignoring my surroundings, I close my eyes and soak in the feel of her as my tongue disobeys me. “This problem has nothing to do with the club. It is personal.”
“You asked about Zasha Gaheris.”
“And you said you do not know her.” I force my eyes open to find her bent over with her heels on the floor, her firm ass inches away from my face. “Did you lie to me?”
She cuts her eyes over her shoulder. “I didn’t say I don’t know her. I said her name sounded familiar.” She turns and straddles me, sinking her fingers into my hair. “I know who I work for, Mik. Do you think I’m so stupid as to give out that kind of information?”
I know my reservations weren’t unfounded. This girl isn’t who she seems.
But I don’t play games. I end them.
I tighten my hands around her waist. “Where is she?”
She gasps, her gaze drifting upward. “Safe.”
“She is not,” I roar. “I must find her. Tell me.”
A subtle smile tips her lips as she pops the button on my jeans and drags the zipper down. “Make me.”
While I’d love nothing more, I’ve spent enough time in the bratva queen’s presence to assume cameras are recording our every move. While Niko would never begrudge me a lap dance, he’d consider fucking an employee to be a blatant act of disrespect.
Leave now.
This has gone too far.
