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“A few bruises, but nothing that won’t heal in a few days—”
“Take the week off,” Nikolai says immediately. “You need time to heal up—”
“No.” I shake my head at him, slipping my makeup brushes back into their bag. “I don’t want to sit at home and stew over it. All of my clients for the next two weeks want a domme, and I can do that, no problem. They won’t touch me. I’d rather just keep to my usual routine. Anything else is just going to make me feel worse.”
Nikolai lets out a heavy breath, but he nods. “Fine,” he says, although his expression doesn’t look pleased. “Idon’t necessarily think that’s what’s best, but if you do, then I’ll defer to that.”
“Thanks.” I give him as much of a smile as I can muster. “I promise I’m fine. That’s what Damon and the other guys are for, right? And the panic buttons. It almost never happens, but you have all the precautions for if it does, and it all worked exactly the way it’s supposed to. I’m not upset, Nikolai. As long as he doesn’t come back,” I add, and Nikolai nods quickly.
“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “Ignoring a safeword is an instant ban. You know that. I’d never break that rule for anyone. Not even for information.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t.” I want to say that I’dknownhe wouldn’t, but I’m aware that Nikolai is more than just the man who runs this club. He’s a Bratvapakhan, which means his methods of doing things go beyond what an ordinary boss might do. There’s a side to him that I’ve never really seen and know very little about—just enough to know that it would have kept things from ever really working out between us. It also means that while I always hope Nikolai will do the right thing, I can never be completely sure.
“There are other ways to get information,” Nikolai says firmly. He steps completely into the room then, shutting the door as he walks towards me, and I go very still. He hasn’t been this close to me in a long time, and while I tell myself it doesn’t matter, having him within touching distance makes my breath catch in my throat, and my heartbeat quicken in my chest. “Asha, I—”
He lets out a slow breath, and I know he won’t touch me. He’s too devoted to Lilliana for that—the kind of love I really hadn’t been sure he was capable of feeling, as harsh as that sounds. But it just took a certain woman to bring it out of him, I suppose.
“I know things used to be different between us,” he says quietly. “We never really talked about it. I know what you felt was different, too—I’m not blind. I ignored it because I think we both knew there was no future in it. But tonight—”
“Nikolai.” I shake my head, stepping away from him. “We don’t need to talk about it. We really don’t.”
“It scared me, knowing you were in danger like that,” he admits. “I think I cared for you more than I knew. It doesn’t change anything, but I want you to know—”
“I know enough,” I say as firmly as I can, because I don’t want to hear anything else. I don’t want to hearwhat might have beenorif I were a different man, or any of that. “You love Lilliana.”
“I do.” He nods. “I’m not saying anything against that or that there could be anything between us again. Just, back then—”
He’s trying to reassure me that it wasn’t all one-sided, in the awkward sort of way that men like Nikolai have when it comes to talking about their feelings, as if that makes it better.
“We don’t need to retread this. Especially not tonight.” I force another tight smile. “It’s better if we just leave it be, Nikolai. You’re happy, and I’ve moved past it. We can leave it like that. Otherwise, it makes the job too complicated, you know? And I know you don’t want to lose me.” I say it teasingly, but I can tell from the look on his face that the humor doesn’t exactly land.
I see the question in his eyes,have you really?He’s wise enough not to say it, at least, and he just nods.
“I called an Uber for you,” he tells me. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it tonight. It should be outside waiting for you by now. Get some rest, Asha.”
“I will.” I swallow hard, looking at him once more, at that handsome, chiseled face that I once knew so intimately. Whatever emotions he was trying to express before, they’re shuttered now, the cool professionalism firmly back in place.Good, I think to myself as I tell him goodnight and reach for my purse, walking quickly to the stairs. I don’t need more emotion tonight, more retreading of the past.
I need to blow off some steam.
On another night, I might have hit the twenty-four-hour gym that I have a membership at, but I can feel the soreness starting to settle in, and what I want more is a hot shower. So instead, I go down to the Uber that Nikolai was kind enough to call for me and slip in, leaning my head back against the warm leather seat as I’m driven home.
I’m already stripping off my clothes from the moment I walk in my front door—my jacket tossed on the kitchen counter as I pass by, kicking my boots off, tank top stripped over my head as I walk into the bathroom. My apartment is tiny—the kitchen is right next to the front entrance, a postage-stamp-sized living room, and the bathroom is situated right next to my small bedroom. It could be cramped or cozy, depending on the occupant’s perspective, but I like to think of it as cozy.
Right now, I’m just happy to be about to get into a hot shower.
I turn the water up as hot as I can stand, tossing my clothes into a pile on the linoleum of the bathroom floor, and step under the spray. I want Matvei’s touch scrubbed off of me, any hint of it, any lingering scent or feeling that he might have left behind.
Most nights, I come home and shower and fall directly into bed. I’ve gotten very good at leaving the club behind its closed doors, and not bringing any of my work home with me, so to speak. But tonight, it’s not just the clinging, gross feeling of being touched by Matvei that sticks with me. As that lingering sense floods down the drain, a feeling of relief taking its place, my thoughts drift back to the man at the bar before I realize where they’re headed.
I’veneverfantasized about anyone from the club. Nikolai is the exception, but once again, he doesn’t really count. I’ve never had a client that I thought about later, imagining other things I might do with them, other scenarios—or even replaying the scenes we played out in private at the club. I forget it all from the moment I walk outside the Ashen Rose—it’s the only way to do this job and maintain some sense of self, I’ve found.
But I keep thinking about his eyes on me, the way his gaze roved over me, half-hungry and half-guilty, as if he wanted me desperately and felt as if he shouldn’t. I can think of so many delicious ways to exploit that, so many ways I could make him beg for me, for all the wonderful, pleasurable, torturous things I could do to him. So many ways that I could strain that sense of self-respect that he so clearly has, and was so clearly struggling with.
I feel that clench of desire deep in my belly, my blood warming at the memory of his lustful stare, the way I couldseehim resisting the urge to walk up on that stage and do all the things running through his head. He’d beengorgeoustoo, the kind of man who, unless he has very specific desires, doesn’t usually come to a place like the Ashen Rose. He wouldn’t need to spend that kind of money just to get a girl in bed. A man who looks that good typically has a reason for buying a girl—and the clear discomfort I’d seen in the red-haired man’s face is why I’m so sure he was with the guest at the poker table.
Which also means I’ll never see him again.
I shouldn’t feel the flush of disappointment that spreads through me at that—or let my thoughts wander to what might happen if hedidcome back. I feel myself tighten and throb at the thought of having him alone, seeing that hungry gaze close up, seeing that tension of need running through his body. I can easily imagine him bound on his back on the padded bench, stripped bare—
