Page 9 of The Agreement

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Marky, despite his earlier warnings, didn’t even bother to hide his incredulous grin when Roman slipped out the back door of the restaurant, with the redhead on his arm. “You’re fucking nuts,” he remarked with a slap to Roman’s back.

“That is exactly what I want you to take care of,” he told Anastasia with a wink.

She threw her head back and laughed. Out of Dima’s view, the woman wasn’t as flighty and ... fake. Although, he was sure those tits of hers were bought and paid for.

The deserted alley at the back of the restaurant worked fine for him and what he planned to do. Roman had made sure he wasn’t going to be noticed by anyone who really mattered when he walked out. The meeting was still in progress, but things had turned more casual amongst the bratva men.

Marky knew exactly what to do without being told. He stood to the side with his back to the wall, keeping watch while Roman busted a nut down Anastasia’s throat.

Anastasia’s tongue danced along the seam of her top lip when Roman grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her down to her knees in front of him. A wicked smile spread on her face while she clung to his muscular arm. She liked his rough handling.

He had to do nothing after that, which was fine with him. She was the one who undid his belt and pulled down his pants. His cock throbbed and grew hard at the sight of her red mouth coming dangerously close to the head of his cock with white teeth baring slightly. She opened wide and licked her bottom lip while she stroked him in preparation.

Fuck that.

He didn’t need foreplay.

He twisted one thick bunch of her red hair around his hand so he could hold her in place, murmuring to her, “Just fucking suck me—don’t play.”

Her hands found his thighs for support, and that painted-red mouth of hers took him in. He plowed his cock deep down her throat and began thrusting. Slurpy sounds followed her moans of delight with every push.

He should have just closed his fucking eyes and got his rocks off, but getting head in a dirty alley was the least exciting thing he’d done that week. The distraction of busting a nut wasn’t enough to keep Roman from noticing the marks on her wrists where her bangles had slipped down her arms.

Bruises.

Blue and fresh.

He had a good idea who put them there, too. Dima had her eating out of the palm of his hand. He hurt her; maybe it was some shit he got off on, or maybe it was just because he could. Either way, she had to sit there and listen to him boast about all the other women he was using—or trafficking.

Fun times.

And he needed to get his head out of that headspace. Fast.

Roman tried to focus on the way her tongue moved over his cock instead of the imprints of bruises he could still see even after he closed his eyes. After a while, it started to work. She sucked him hard. He controlled her hair like reins around his hand. Yanking and tugging her while he fucked her mouth exactly the way he wanted.

When he came, he filled her mouth with his sticky cum until it dribbled down the side of her mouth while her tongue was still flat to the base of his cock, and she stared up at him. Only then did he pull away. Anastasia wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her perfect red lipstick was smudged now.

She eyed him with her big green eyes while he pulled up his pants, waiting for something, maybe. What, he didn’t know.

Did she expect something?

He wasn’t Dima—wouldn’t hurt her. Roman also wasn’t a saint; the furthest thing from it really, and he got what he wanted here. Everything else was over.

Staring back at her, it was the first time he noticed the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. He allowed himself that one moment to feel sorry for her—whatever her circumstance—before he reached down and fished the key out of the front of her dress. She had wedged it deep down her cleavage, but he had a pretty good view of it the entire time.

He’d noted the Bugatti emblem on the keychain at first glance. It wasn’t the kind of car he could forget, and while he might have had other things on his mind earlier when they first arrived, he didn’t miss the vehicle when Dima pulled up, either.

He had to hand it to Anastasia. She at least tried to make a grab for the key. Roman held it out of her reach with a dry chuckle, and a little shake of his head.

“I would apologize, but I don’t think you really care,” he said.

“Of course, I care ... he’s going to kill me!”

Anastasia scrambled up from the ground, following him on shaky legs as he walked past her without a glance backward. Marky turned when Roman approached, and he tossed the key his friend’s way with a laugh.

There was no way that Dima drove all the way from Chicago in a Bugatti. It was pretty obvious that it was a rental. He was already delighting at the thought of chopping the car down and shipping it overseas to one of the clients on his list. Roman had spent the past decade adding up a trusted roll-call of clients who would drool at the vehicle he was about to have in his possession.