Page 84 of The Beast of Moscow

“Being forced to quit did, actually,” she returned. “And running.”

Vas chuckled, leaning back to settle into the bucket chair with the open bottle of vodka balancing on his thigh. He palmed the top, cocking his head to the side a bit as he took her in again. “Right, you’re a runner.”

She felt the shiver crawl up her spine at the way he called her that—like it might not be a good thing, even though his husky drawl did the most wicked things to her insides.

“Can’t forget that,” he added. “Are you still going to crawl, my sweet little kitten?”

It was the sardonic way he twisted the question out that sent her blush blooming. With no robe to hide her chest, he could even see the way it flushed down to the valley between her small breasts.

“Derr’mo,” he swore. “That’s a lovely sight.”

“Yes,” she told him, “I’ll still crawl.”

Because he didn’t think she would. It was obvious to her that Vaslav liked to rise to a challenge, and he expected the same from those around him. Even making her crawl across the floor like a kitten who wanted him to stroke her between the ears—he thought she wouldn’t do it, and if his respect came from proving him wrong, so be it.

The second Vera’s palms touched the hardwood floor, she understood entirely that she had given Vaslav an immense amount of control. To make a woman crawl across the floor and ask for him, well, that would be humiliating enough for anyone to refuse.

Except that was part of what she liked about it.

That, and the way he tipped the top of the vodka bottle up to take a swig. A few gulps, actually, before he set it back down. All the while, he’d never taken his eyes off her. Or the way her shoulders and hips bobbed and swayed as she inched forward.

“How have men touched you?” he asked.

Vera hesitated just long enough to decide to push up where she could kneel on her bent legs. Folding her hands in her lap, she asked, “You threatened to cut a shirt off me earlier because it might belong to someone else—now you’re asking about other men touching me?”

“Net.” He smiled, or the closest thing to it, before pulling the bottle to his lips for another long pull of liquor. “I asked a very careful question, and I expect a very careful answer.”

“Most, all, or specific?”

Vas shrugged. “Like I said, a careful answer.”

Right.

“Like glass. They treated me like fine china.”

He pointed a finger at her while he discarded the vodka bottle to the side table. “Ah, priceless and fragile.”

“And I only get taken out and played with when it’s convenient, or someone’s throwing a party. Boring doesn’t excite me.”

That earned her one of his dark laughs. She loved the way his genuine amusement could soften his severe features ever so slightly, not that she would ever dare to tell him that. She got the impression that this man didn’t laugh very much.

“A fucking shame, that,” he murmured, his grin fading while his tongue swept the line of his lower lip. “Who told you to stop? Here, kitty-kitty.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, instead mumbling a weak, “Fuck you.”

Vas winked. “Well, isn’t that the point?”

It was.

And she planned to see it through.

Her fingertips barely touched the floor again when he asked, “All, or most?”

“Do you want to talk, or me to crawl?”

Vas clicked his tongue, considering that for a moment before he said simply, “I am sure you can do both, kisska.”

She moved forward, closing a foot of the ten that was left between them. Only the dimly lit streets and the glow of the moon in the dark sky filtering in from the open shades offered any light. The lighting from the hallway did nothing but halo the door behind her.