Page 21 of Bratva Sacrifice

Alexei muffles a snicker in his palm. “Katya, I know it is not me. All evening, you were flirting.”

I wasn’t! Was I? My mind plays over the last few hours; the bites of food I shared, the wine. Maybe I was. I wasn’t leading him on. I told him he wouldn’t buy me with a skirt, and he must have known that extended to dinner.

But I was flirting, even if it was a bit inept. Because I do want to see him again.

Alex holds out his hand. “Give me your phone,” he says, and it’s not a request. Against my better judgment, I slip my hand into my purse once more and hand my phone over to him. For a few seconds he taps away at it, and then hands it back. “I will walk you to station,” he says, and there’s something just a little sour in his voice, like it’s a sacrifice he’s making. “And you—you will text me when you are home safe. Da?”

“Yes.” I’m so relieved. I have his phone number. It means he wants to see me again.

“Good girl,” he says, and I’m briefly bemused by the way those words evoke a strange sort of pleasure in my chest. Like there’s something in me that needs praise and flattery.

Alexei opens the door of his car and retrieves the bag that contains my discarded jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. But instead of handing it to me, he instead sets it upon the hood of his Range Rover and thumps his chest with his palm. “Come here, Katya.”

My heart flutters in my chest. Maybe it’s not the wine after all.

Maybe it’s just him.

It’s stupid, probably. Reckless. But I can’t help but think…this is also something I’ve never been allowed. A new experience; a novel one. A man who can’t be sent running by a few oblique threats from Papa or his men. Who wouldn’t be sent running, even if such a thing were to happen. And I think that should probably scare me a little.

Alexei wraps one arm around my waist. His other hand clasps the nape of my neck. There’s a fraction of a second where I feel like I should be afraid. He’s so much larger than me, with the aura of a dangerous man. It’s enough to make any woman a little wary, I think. Any man, probably. I haven’t missed how people tend to give him a wide berth, as if they might just bounce off of it if they should get too close.

But that dangerous aura is large enough to contain me, too, and it encapsulates us both, and instead I just feel—safe. Like nothing in the world could hope to touch me.

Except for him.

A half-turn, and my back is pressed to the door of the Range Rover. The metal is cool, and it penetrates the thin silk of my blouse. Those hot, strong fingers knead my neck. Goosebumps rise on my arms as a shiver careens down my spine.

He doesn’t care that we’re on a public street, that we’re hardly the only people around. The hand at my waist slides down, caresses my hip, palms my ass. “I like this short skirt, Katya,” he says, and there’s a strange rumble in his voice, like the purr of a large cat. “You wear it again for me, yes?”

I’ll have to. I don’t have anything else. But my toes curl inside my ballet flats and my spine softens as his hand leaves the nape of my neck. He presses his arm instead to the car above my head. The weight of his chest pins me against the door.

He’s going to kiss me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so badly in my life.

His head dips, and that deep voice rumbles in my ear, “You want good night kiss, Katya?”

“Yes.” Heat ripples low in my belly, and a gasp shears from my throat as his hand slips beneath the flirty hem of my skirt and curves over my ass again. His mouth touches the side of my neck. I hear a fierce, swift inhale, feel the scrape of his teeth right over my pulse. “Yes,” I rasp, and I’m grateful for the support of the car against my back as my knees tremble.

Now I don’t care that we’re on a public street. I don’t care that he’s got one hand under my skirt, that he’ll probably leave a mark on my neck that will be visible above my collar at work tomorrow.

That proprietary hand pulls my hips into the pressure of his as his mouth slants over mine. It’s not sweet; it’s not gentle. But everything in me yields to the demand of his lips, softens to the thrust of his tongue. I’m being devoured right here on the street, in full view of anyone who might happen to wander by, and it’s—

So good. He tastes better even than the lobster. A shudder runs through me as I grip his shoulders, holding on like I’m in danger of drifting away. His fingertips slip beneath the band of my panties, and I’m sure a first kiss isn’t supposed to include this sort of touching.

But I love it. I love all of it. The taste of my sweet wine on his tongue. The scrape of his stubble on my cheek. The way my skin still tingles with the pressure of his teeth. The heat between my thighs, the low throbbing ache. Even the pressure of his dick against my belly, heavy and hard behind the fly of his jeans.

He doesn’t like sweet things. I think I could develop a taste for dirty ones.

Alexei gives a muffled groan as his fingertips reach the wetness between my thighs. The pressure of his chest against mine deepens, like he’s holding me still to touch as he pleases. I want so badly to let him.

But I don’t have that luxury at the moment. It’s an effort to pull back, to turn my head away even long enough to stammer out, “I—I really have to catch my train.” Before my opportunity is gone and I have to take a cab. An expensive one, at this hour.

There’s a resentful huff against my throat, a growl of discontent that shivers over my skin. For a moment I think he’s not going to let me go. I think there’s no one and nothing on this earth that could make him. Not even me.

With a last, lingering stroke between my thighs, he pulls his hand out from beneath my skirt. His hot breath sears my skin as he says, in a gritty, vaguely frustrated voice. “Okay, koshechka. Where is train station?”

Chapter Eleven

Alexei