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“Why not?”
“Because I have no clue what that word means.”
“You don’t?”
“Not in the practical sense, no.”
“I can explain. It’s when—”
“I don’t want you to explain,” he cuts me off.
“But—”
“Drop it, Lia.” The bite in his tone suggests that he’s done entertaining my questions.
I glare up at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“If you say so.”
His hand lowers until he cups my ass cheek. I wince, gripping his muscled bicep for balance. “You’re sore. Let me take care of that.”
He sits down on the bed and pulls me over his lap. The position is so vulnerable and causes heat to rise to my cheeks and I squirm. “I can lie on the bed.”
I whimper when Adrian cups my assaulted ass cheek. “Or you can stay still.”
He reaches for the ointment he keeps on my nightstand. My attention is robbed by the intricate tattoos on his arms, the way they swirl around his skin, adding another mysterious layer to his personality.
“What do the tattoos mean?” I ask before I can stop myself. I’ve always wanted to know, but I figured he wouldn’t answer. This morning, he feels closer somehow. It could be because he didn’t leave before I woke up or because he told me about himself as normal couples do.
Wait. We’re not a couple.
Right?
Adrian retrieves the ointment and slathers the cool cream on my backside. I wince but soon moan when he rubs it in gently.
“In the Bratva, each tattoo has meaning.” His voice is as cool as his repeated strokes.
“Like?”
“The red rose means I’ve killed before.”
I gulp at the reminder.
“What is it, Lenochka? I thought you wanted to know.”
“I do,” I blurt. “Is the map of Russia?”
“Correct.”
“Do you love it, Russia?”
“What type of question is that? Who doesn’t love their country?”
“I mean, do you love it enough to tattoo it on yourself?”
“No. It’s for another reason.”
“What is it?”
