nazlanmak
(v.) saying no and meaning yes
MILA
I didn’t see Ronan for two days. I spent my time thinking about him, being the worst private investigator to exist, and deleting my papa’s and Ivan’s voicemails.
Food—thoughtfully, vegan—was delivered like clockwork by the same teenage boy with poor customer service skills. This was a relief because, one, it fixed the issue of my limited funds, and two, it let me know Ronan hadn’t forgotten about me after that very intense and confusing kiss.
I went to the opera house twice during busier hours, but each time I questioned someone about my mother, they stared speechlessly at me, made the sign of the cross on their chest, or simply turned and walked away. It was frustrating, to say the least, but also . . . disconcerting.
My only relief was, I didn’t see the man with tattoos on his hands again, and I was much more vigilant while out and about.
I shut the door, having just returned from sightseeing. One could say the priority to find information about my mother had become jumbled with the beauty of the city and thoughts of a generous man. Or maybe I was just stalling due to an uneasy feeling in my gut that threatened to open a Pandora’s box I’d never be able to close again.
I’d just slipped off my boots and hung up my coat when a knock sounded on the door. I knew it was only dinner, but I was taken aback to find Ronan delivering it himself. Heat and anticipation rushed to the pit of my stomach, battling with uncertainty at how we left things two days ago.
“Hi,” I said on a shallow breath.
He smiled. “Kotyonok.”
When I opened the door for him, he stepped inside, his large body and presence sucking the air out of the space. He strolled into my room like he owned it—and maybe he did. Maybe he was a successful hotelier. Curiosity bloomed, but I kept it inside. I asked him about his occupation before, and I refused to admit I was so nervous about kissing him I didn’t hear a word.
He set the bag on the table by the window, and I told him, “I’ve never been as well-fed as I have in the last few days.”
“Not surprising, Ms. French Fries.” He glanced at me, then down at the flowy sunflower dress I wore. A little leg showed between the hem and my thigh-high socks, and the mere touch of his gaze on that sliver of skin sent my heartbeat off its tracks.
I leaned against the dresser while he moved around the room touching my stuff. The Vanity Fair on the nightstand, a tube of strawberry lip gloss. He lifted a headband with the tip of his finger. Apparently, I was an interesting creature.
“So this is where moy kotyonok sleeps,” he said, standing at the foot of my neatly made bed.
“It’s not as comfortable as your office couch.”
He cast a lazy gaze my way. “Sounds like you miss it.”
“I do.”
The conversation was practically harmless, but the innuendo grabbed ahold of my throat.
He sat on the couch and fixed me with a heavy stare. A ray of remaining sunlight from the window fanned across his black-suited form, making the blue heart-shaped earring between his fingers sparkle.
I reached up to find an earlobe bare.
He smiled.
I didn’t know how long the earring was missing or how he got ahold of it, but he said nothing, only twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. His presence overwhelmed my senses, each breath more difficult to push out.
“Are you enjoying your stay?”
I swallowed. “Very much.”
“What do you like about Moscow? It can’t be our french fries.” He was amused.
I chewed my lip in contemplation and fidgeted with my necklace. “The architecture. The vibrant colors and rich history. I like how I can hear the bells from the chapel every day, and how I could live here for a hundred years and still not see everything the city has to offer.” The room held onto the words for a moment, though we both seemed to know I wasn’t finished.
Maybe he would shut me down hard, but I had to know what this was. I needed absolution from the twisted, consuming way I felt about him. I needed more before this was forced to end. Or maybe what I needed from him the most, from this man who seemed to be so respected, so commanding and alive, was to be accepted. Every yellow, rebellious, heart-on-my-sleeve inch of me.
“And you,” I added softly. “I like you.”
He watched me for a heavy second, then his eyes darkened. “Do you get off on embarrassing yourself?”
A flush crept up my neck, and the hot feeling of vulnerability twisted the next words from my mouth. “You should know what I get off on.”
The memory of me grinding on his leg sparked and hissed like electricity between us, burning the oxygen in the room like fuel.
Gaze glimmering between heat and something entirely unamused, he put my earring in his jacket pocket and rested his elbows on his knees. “Apparently, first dates’ thighs. Are all American girls as unparticular as you?”
He may as well have just called me easy. Resentment stirred inside, but I tamped it down. For whatever reason, he was trying to make me angry. I knew he felt this connection too, and I didn’t want to play games—not with him, not right now, and especially not after being rejected by half the city.
A restless buzz saturated the air, and I dropped my necklace to hold onto the edge of the dresser. “You can deny it all you want, but we both know there’s something here.”
His gaze narrowed. “There’s nothing here. Trust me, Mila, if there are happily-for-nows, I’ll never be yours.”
He said my name like I was young, stupid, like I was too immature to recognize something as simple as attraction. If he was aiming for a nerve, he hit it. Bitterness singed my lungs until it escaped in one harsh accusation.
“I may be naïve, but I know a liar when I see one.”
His pause was the only tell of his surprise, shortly replaced by a slow smile. “So there’s some fire in you after all.”
There was so much fire in me, he had no idea. For years, it had festered inside like a volcano, rumbling and pressing at the seams of tight clothes and expectations. It was so close to erupting a cold sweat spread.
“Careful.”
His warning was the last straw. He wanted to see fire?
So be it.
“If the only reason you came here was to warn me away from you, then get out.” My words lashed at the air in the room, the release vibrating beneath my skin with cool adrenaline.
His eyes hardened, the shadows inside them rising to the surface. “Nobody talks to me like that.”
He’d blown the top off the bottle I’d pent everything up in for years. There was no stopping the backlash now. Not even the imposing and threatening presence on my couch.
“Maybe that’s your biggest problem.”
“Kotyonok,” he mocked, darkly amused, “so worried about my problems when you have no idea what kind of shit you’ve stepped into.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I did know I didn’t appreciate him turning this around on me. He was the liar in the room. And my next words became a battle of wills to make him admit the truth.
“You feel this too,” I insisted.
“I don’t.”
If that was true, it wouldn’t bother him if I froze to death in this frigid city, would it? My frustrated heart sent a burst of energy through me. I paced to the window and slid it open. Then I walked past him with the coat he bought me, having every intention of throwing it to the sidewalk below. But I didn’t make it that far. He was on his feet, ripping it from my hand and tossing it onto the bed.
“You want to play?” His voice was a growl. “Fine, we’ll play.”
Maybe it was true. Maybe they didn’t teach self-preservation in Miami.
He gripped the back of my neck, spun me around, and slammed his lips against mine. Anger still brimmed inside me, and I pushed against his hard chest, but I might as well be trying to move a wall.
“Don’t fight me,” he said roughly against my lips. “You won’t win.”
I opened my mouth with a retort in mind, but he used the opening to slide his tongue inside. And then I was lost to the wetness and heat, the overwhelming fever writhing and pulsing in my veins. I rose to my toes to give him full access; to fit my body against his. I panted, fisting handfuls of his jacket to pull him closer.
He groaned and slid his hands around the backs of my thighs. I made a noise of protest against his mouth when I realized his intention. I was lithe but tall—I wasn’t light—and it was incredibly sexy how easily he lifted me.
Wrapping my long legs around him, I reveled in how well our bodies pieced together. He squeezed the bare flesh of my thighs possessively, making an angry sound in his throat like he’d been thinking about them too much and was furious with me for it. A palm slid beneath my dress, grabbing a handful of my ass as he walked us to the couch and sat.
I straddled his thighs, our mouths drifting apart so he could pull the dress over my head. The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor slowed the urgency of our movements.
My skin prickled with goose bumps where he looked at me. The lacy hem of my thigh-high socks, the thin straps of my white thong, the shallow dip of my navel, and the way my breasts pressed against the edges of my matching bra with every breath.
“Idealnaya,” he said roughly.
Perfect.
He gripped the flare of my hips, palms sliding up. A soft sigh escaped me as the pressure of his touch ached between my legs. He ran a thumb over the yellowing bruise on my waist, eyes flickering with violence. All of the fight in me died like a breeze against a flame, leaving something heavy and softer in its place.
His gentle caress wrapped around my heart and tugged it toward him.
“You feel this too,” I breathed into his mouth.
He bit my bottom lip and responded, “Shut up,” but there wasn’t any heat in it.
He caressed the bare curves of my ass, the skin on skin liquefying every nerve within me. His lips traveled down my throat to the tops of my breasts, and he nipped the skin before sliding a rough hand beneath my bra to squeeze the flesh.
Pleasure rushed to my core, and I hummed against his neck.
“Pomni.” His lips pressed against my ear. “Ti eto prosila.”
I didn’t get time to dwell on the Russian words because he unclipped my bra and pulled it off. My breasts felt heavy as cool air brushed them, and momentary shyness reared its ugly head. I didn’t know what I was doing with this man—if I’d get out of here in one piece, or if I even wanted to. The idea I might be in over my head sent a rush of nerves to prickle my skin, but the hazy, almost reverent look in his eyes as he ran a thumb across my nipple charged me with newfound confidence.
He leaned in and sucked a nipple into his mouth. I groaned, dropped my head back, and ran a hand into his hair, fisting it with each pull. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, and flames curled low in my stomach.
My breasts weren’t more than a handful, but he didn’t seem to mind with the attention he gave them. He pressed the soft flesh together so he could bite, lick, and suck from one to the other. I was flushed with a wave so hot, so unstable, I didn’t know if I should push him away or beg him to never stop.
A quick wick burned from the warmth of his mouth to the damp material between my legs that grew wetter and more sensitive each second.
“More,” I begged.
He released a nipple with a graze of teeth and dragged his mouth up my neck. “What do you want?”
Anything.
Everything.
I merely grinded against his erection with a desperate noise.
And then his hand was where I needed it, palming my pussy through the fabric and running a thumb across my clit.
“This?”
My skin caught fire, burning everywhere, from my ears to the tips of my toes.
His thumb slipped under the strap of my thong, tugging it down a little. “Snimi eto dlya menya.”
I didn’t know what he said or if he even meant to say it in Russian, but then he pressed his lips to my ear to translate the command.
“Take it off for me.”
A tremble started in my hands as I pushed my thong down my thighs, adjusting on his lap to slip it all the way off. He released a breath, gaze black as he took in the most private part of me. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hands down my thighs, dragging my socks with them.
“The sight of your legs that morning in my office made me hard.”
God, that was hot. I’d had no idea he was sitting behind his desk with a hard-on. He found me attractive from the beginning, and I relished in the knowledge.
I pressed my lips to his, though he only complied for a moment so he could look at my body again. I was completely naked, and he hadn’t even removed his suit jacket. It felt like such a dirty act in a hotel room in broad daylight.
“Do you come on all your first dates?” he asked, eyes narrowed but full of heat on my body.
I’d been honest with him so far—I may as well take it all the way.
“Nobody else has made me come.”
A momentary pause was my only warning before he gripped my hair, and a gasp escaped me when he pulled my head back by my ponytail. I panted, unresisting the ruthless hold that kept my neck angled toward the ceiling.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I fought the aggressive hold with words. “You’re the liar, not me.”
After a second, he loosened the grip on my hair, but as his lips traveled down my neck, I knew he didn’t believe me. His palm pressed against my clit, applying the smallest amount of friction. His hand was rough, and I didn’t need much. I bit my lip to hold in a groan.
Maybe Carter could have made me come if his hands weren’t softer than mine, but on second thought, probably not. I didn’t feel even a fragment of passion with Carter compared to this.
Ronan watched his hand between my legs and roughly said, “I could set a timer and get you off in less than thirty seconds.”
“Do you want a trophy?”
He gripped my chin and pulled my eyes to his. “I want you to tell me the truth.”
By his voice and the tightening of his fingers on my cheeks, he expected me to appease his jaded soul in the next two seconds. He withheld the truth but demanded it from me. How ironic. And annoying. His palm moved at a tortuous grind against my clit, and frustration bubbled within. He was playing with me, and I’d lost my patience.
“Fine. You want the truth?” I snapped. “If you don’t get me off in the next thirty seconds, I’ll find someone else to do it.”
His hand stilled, and after a second that stretched like taffy, a low chuckle escaped him. The leak of darkness that tainted any humor in it raised the hair on my arms. “So sweet, and then all fire . . .” My breath caught at the nip he placed on my jawline, and when his eyes lifted to mine, they were filled with such intensity it stole the warmth from me. I shivered as he dragged a thumb across my lips.
“Count down,” he ordered.
“What?” I breathed.
“Count. Down.”
He slipped two fingers through my wetness and pushed them inside of me. I arched my back, dug my nails into his shoulders, and groaned in pleasure and a little pain. This was rougher than anything I was used to, but it only seemed to spark a fuse inside me.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Count.”
“Thirty . . .” I breathed. “Twenty-nine . . .”
Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like the hit of a drug—a mind-numbing, breathtaking drug—as he slid his thick fingers in and out. He rubbed a spot deep inside of me, hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back.
Ronan smacked my ass, reminding me to count. The unexpected slap stung my flesh, but it also sent a vibration to my clit that stole my ability to do anything else but moan against his neck. Judging by the rumble that vibrated in his chest, he liked my reaction, though the noise ended on a cynical note.
“Use your words.”
I didn’t know any words at the moment, so I shook my head.
The next spank wasn’t as pleasurable. It was a lance of fire that brought a yelp up my throat and a tepid glare to my eyes. I thought he wanted to smile, but he didn’t; he only continued to slowly fuck me with his fingers until the annoyance in my gaze faded to half-lidded lust.
When I managed to say, “Twenty-five,” he soothed the burn on my ass with a palm, liquefying every muscle in my body, and then he swallowed the sigh from my lips. The kiss lacked finesse while I grinded against his hand, panting numbers into his mouth. The impending release curled down my spine, and I wasn’t even at twenty.
He’d never believe me if he got me off in less than ten seconds.
A cold sweat started beneath my skin, and my nails dug into his biceps as I tried to hold off for as long as I could.
He nipped my neck. “Malen’kaya lgunishka.” Little liar.
“Twenty . . .”
I trembled, the flush beneath the surface threatening to erupt. He wasn’t even putting much effort into this, like he knew he didn’t need to in order to win. I was the one riding his fingers. It was against my endgame, but I’d passed the ability to care. I was so wet, there wasn’t any resistance. It was dripping down his hand and my leg.
“You’re making a mess, kotyonok.” The words were bitten between clenched teeth.
“Sorr—” A gasp cut off the rest of my apology when his fingers thrust hard, curling against a spot that made me see stars.
“Fifteen,” he reminded me coarsely.
I shook my head, unable to say anything.
His thumb pressed on my clit, and another finger eased inside. The extra pressure sent me over the cliff. Prickles of flashing heat exploded, my vision dimmed, and my heart pounded to keep up with the scorching blood pumping through me.
His fingers moved slowly, in and out of me, while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t pull his hand away until he wrung the last pulse from me. Languid warmth spread through my body, sating me in a way I’d never experienced before.
Fifteen breathless seconds.
He won, and I didn’t even care.
I kissed up his neck, making a soft noise of appreciation. The man smelled so good, so masculine and unlike Carter’s expensive cologne. The heady scent hit me like a shot of dopamine.
“And now she’s sweet.” His voice was soft but leashed. He angled his neck away from me like he wanted me to stop kissing him. I was too high on the heat of him and post-orgasmic bliss to stop.
I ran my fingers over his erection, relishing the thick, hard feel of him. My hand moved of its own volition to feel every inch while my lips and teeth teased a line down his neck. Soon, he hissed out a breath and gripped my wrist to stop me.
“I can’t do much more of this unless we’re going to fuck.”
Oh.
Hesitation flickered to life.
Was I ready for that? It would take little effort. I could unzip his pants and have him inside me in seconds—it would be so easy. But something held me back. The fact he wouldn’t admit he felt this connection too. My pride wouldn’t allow him to have everything of me without giving a piece of himself in return.
My eyes met his, and I knew he saw the resistance behind them. Letting out a breath of amusement and frustration, he kissed me on the lips and then moved me off him and stood. Naked and cold, with my ass cheek still stinging, I watched him walk to the door.
“Eat,” he demanded, and then he left without a parting look.
