Keep: Romanian Mob Chronicles (5 page)

BOOK: Keep: Romanian Mob Chronicles
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Would she be tentative, shy, when I touched her, or would she touch me back? My cock leaked precum furiously, my own fluid mixing with the cold spray of the shower and slicking my hand as I stroked myself harder and then harder, imagining Fawn’s warm body under mine, her wide eyes looking up at me as I pounded into her.

My orgasm hit hard and fast, cum shooting out of me on a rush of gut-wrenching pleasure. I leaned against the cool tile and rode out my climax. Once I finally regained conscious thought, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

Nine

F
awn


D
o you like it
?”

I waited by the stove, watching him intently as he sat at his table, the shadows created by the falling darkness making his always inscrutable face even more so.

He murmured a few low, indecipherable words and then took another bite, not looking at me, focused on the plate I had anxiously set in front of him minutes ago.

“I can make something else,” I said, nerves springing up in my stomach.

“It’s fine.” His voice was flat, as icy as it had been that first day, and my nerves redoubled.

Twisting my hands together, I drifted closer to where he sat at the table and speaking around the building tightness in my throat, I said, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I made this, but I can—”

Green eyes as hard as shards of crystal silenced me. “I said it was fine.”

His lips were a flat line, the thunderous expression on his face making me huff out a harsh breath, my lungs growing tight with fear. I’d done something, and I racked my brain trying to figure out what it was and what I needed to do to fix it.

Vasile stood and carried his plate to the kitchen sink, his big body coiled tight with tension. I didn’t move, wished that I could sink into the floor to escape the intensity—and fear—of this moment. He turned then and walked toward me, eyes still icy cold, and for reasons I couldn’t articulate, I stepped back again and again until I could go no farther.

As he pierced me with his stare, I thought I might explode from the tension, and when he finally spoke, a shriek slipped out before I could stop it.

“Are you afraid of me, Fawn?” he asked, face close to mine, voice low, dangerous, arousing.

I met his gaze and lied. “No.”

“You should be.”

Not even a breath passed before he closed the scant distance between us, his lips so close to mine that the faintest movement would have made our mouths touch. But he stayed back, mouth millimeters from mine, his warm breath sparking a wave of shivers. His expression was still harsh, but this close, his lips were surprisingly soft-looking, and the thought of him touching me with them left me light-headed with desire, which contrasted with the fear that had ebbed but was still there.

I twisted my head, and my cheek brushed against his mouth. It was a light touch, barely a caress, but that simple touch was enough to capture me. His power had never been in question, but that contact with his skin made me want to give all of myself to him, to give in to the pull that had been there from my very first glimpse of him.

As if of their own volition, my hands crept up, the touch of his hard biceps against my palms, the sizzle of his smooth, hot skin making me suck in a quick breath. He turned his eyes to meet mine, and I dropped my hands.

He stared at me, his eyes icy, his face twisted cruelly, but his breath coming out harshly. Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked it down my cheek, across the column of my throat, down the middle of my chest to rest between my breasts, his hard, heavy hand flat against me. He pushed me gently until I was flush against the wall and then kept his hand there.

I wondered if he felt my heart pounding against his hand, and then all thought fled when he moved again, sliding his hand down my stomach to rest on my waistband. Eyes still on mine, he lifted his other hand and deftly opened my pants and pushed them down to midthigh. On instinct, I tried to widen my stance but my pants held me hostage, as did the almost chiding look that sparked in his eye.

I went still and waited, breath hanging as I watched him, wondering what he would do. That fear and uncertainty remained, but more, I wanted him to touch me.

Badly.

And when he finally did, I cried out, the deep, throaty moan that bubbled from me only giving a hint of the desperate desire that seemed to intensify with each passing second. His rough fingers against my pussy sparked pleasure, and I couldn’t stop the ripple that rushed through me or the low, frenzied moans that poured from my throat.

His hand was huge, hot, rough yet gentle, and the dizzying sensations he stirred left me disoriented, torn between the desire—need—to seek more and the fear that I wouldn’t be able to withstand it. That fear died on a choked-out moan, replaced with the insistent need for more when he pressed up, his palm pushing against my clit, the pressure intense but not nearly enough.

Eyes slammed shut, I groped out to feel him, his solid, heavy muscles under hot, smooth skin only ratcheting my need further. I didn’t recognize the husky voice that spilled from me. I’d never made a sound like it. No one, certainly not David, had ever made me feel even a fraction of what he did. That was even more true when he worked his fingers against my slit, spreading my lips with easy but persistent caresses, ones that coaxed even more moisture from me with each pass.

He was a stranger, a terrifying, dangerous one, yet more than anything, I wanted him inside me. I rocked my hips, trying to get more, and he took pity on me and sped his motion, allowing one finger to ever so slightly breach me.

“Please… More…” I cried, gripping his thick, solid forearms tight.

I rocked against him harder, faster, trying to set a rhythm that would send me to the climax that lay within reach, but he moved at his own speed, driving me higher but not sending me over.

“Fawn.”

My name on his lips, the low rumble of his voice, the accent that had once sounded cruel but now dripped over me like warm honey gave me the strength to open passion-heavy eyes. Our gazes collided, the icy green of his softer now, sparkling like the finest jewels. His expression was still stern, but I thought I could see desire in his huffed breaths and the tight clench of his jaw.

And then my eyes slammed closed again when he pushed two thick fingers inside me, filling me more than I ever had been before. One pump, two, and I clamped down on him, my cunt sucking at his fingers, trying to keep him inside. His harshly exhaled breath fanned across my face, and I was so sensitized that the simple touch felt like a heated caress.

Our bodies didn’t touch except where I gripped his arms and where his fingers pumped inside me. He still hadn’t even kissed me. But none of that mattered. No one had ever possessed me as fully as he did in this moment. And with that thought echoing in my mind, I held him as the pleasure rushed through me, cresting and then falling in a wave that had my vision blurring at the edges.

“Let me…” I started long, long moments later, laying a hand on the hard ridge that tented his pants, wanting to give him some of the pleasure he’d given me.

But he slipped his fingers from me, grasped my arm, lifted my hand, and placed a soft kiss on my wrist.

And then he was gone.

Ten

V
asile


D
o
you want
me to handle it?” Sorin asked.

“You wish,” I said, allowing myself a moment of levity before we entered Familie. “But no. It’s my responsibility.”

Sorin nodded as we made my way to the back room. The restaurant was closed today, and only Clan Petran was present. I stared out at the men assembled, all of their faces familiar, men who had been here before me, some of whom would be here after I was gone. I centered my gaze on one in particular.

“Viktor,” I said, the crowd quieting when I spoke, “is there something you need to tell me?”

Viktor kept his gaze averted, confirming what Sorin had discovered. I waited, and the room went silent, the moment tense and heavy. We all knew why we were here.

“I apologize,” he finally said. “It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again, Viktor?” I asked.

“I won’t sell drugs for the Peruvians again,” he mumbled.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because the leader of my clan has forbidden it.”

“And you will make amends?” I asked.

“Of course,” Viktor said, nodding. He looked up, his rugged, worn face almost hopeful.

Then he stepped from the crowd and laid his hand atop a table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a serrated knife. I watched as he pushed down, removing his pinkie and ring finger in one clean slice.

And to his credit, Viktor didn’t cry out. The only hint of any reaction was the flash of pain that crossed his face and the shudder that passed through his body. He then took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his bleeding hand, the blood that flowed from his fingers wetting the fabric almost instantly.

“Is that your amends?” I asked, stepping closer to Viktor.

He nodded. “Is it sufficient?” he asked, still hopeful.

“It is not,” I said. Then I plucked the knife from his fingers and slashed it across his throat, stepping out of the path of the blood that spurted from the wound. I watched as he fell to his knees, a gurgling sound emerging from his throat as he groped at the wound, fingers going slick with his blood.

He collapsed completely to the ground, twitching, and I watched until he moved no more.

“That is the only amends for betrayal,” I said, meeting the eye of every man in the room. I saw understanding in some faces, fear in others, but all received the message. Betrayal would not be tolerated.

After a moment, Oleg and Sorin grabbed Viktor and carried him out as the others turned their attention back to me.

“Is there other business that needs to be discussed?” I asked.

No one spoke, so I nodded, and the men broke into their groups. Soon, boisterous laughter and animated conversation filled the room, much like any other day.

It wasn’t though. Viktor had been well liked, and some might take his death hard. And those who didn’t would still be watching, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of second-guessing.

There would be none, but I needed to stay, make my presence felt, and root out any dissension before it could fester. I moved among the men, congratulating one on the birth of a third son, another on his wedding, gave my condolences to yet another on the loss of cousin in a territorial dispute and reassured him that the perpetrators would be handled. It came naturally enough. I’d watched my father, his father, do much the same thing all my life, and yet I wondered…

I didn’t feel guilty about killing Viktor. It had been necessary, and death, that of others and even my own, was a part of my life I had come to terms with years ago. But I couldn’t help but think of Fawn, of how she would react if she knew what I’d done, what I was.

The thought was something that nagged at the back of my mind. The swine I had taken her from was low, but I doubted he’d ever gotten his hands dirty. But mine were, and they would never be clean. Could I touch her with them again?

Would I be able to not?

“Vasile.”

Priest pulled me from my thoughts as he approached.

“Not a friendly visit,” I said.

As usual, Priest’s demeanor was closed, mysterious, but he didn’t drop by for social calls. This was about business.

“I hope all of my visits are friendly, but I’ve come with a message. Or rather, a request.”

He had my interest. Priest was no errand boy, so this had to be important, and I thought I could guess the subject.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Vargas asked me to extend a dinner invitation. He’d like to open his doors and welcome you into his home, an apology for his intrusion. He hopes to bury any animosity between you and Ashmore.”

I couldn’t tell what Priest thought of all this, but it was a bold move on Vargas’s part, either an attempt to further solidify his position among the Peruvians or to test me. Probably both, but I wouldn’t be Vargas’s pawn. If I rejected the invitation, it would be a sign of disrespect. If I accepted, it could be seen as a sign of weakness. But an idea sparked, and I nodded slowly at Priest.

“There’s no animosity. And I accept.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want anything to disrupt operations.”

“Always worried about the bottom line, Priest. What about honor?” I asked.

That got what passed for a smile from him. “There’s no such thing. You know that by now, Vasile.”

F
awn

When he came
home, I didn’t bother to pretend I was asleep. It felt…dishonest, and he’d have seen through it anyway. And, there was the fact that I wanted to see him, wanted to get back something of the connection we’d shared, if only for those brief moments.

But doing so had proved difficult. He’d been different, more distant, and I wondered if it was something I had done. I’d quickly come to feel comfortable here, safe, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. And though I tried to pretend otherwise, I was attracted to him. Stupid because I knew what he did, what he was, but I wanted him, and I thought he felt the same.

I tried to avoid those thoughts, recognized he wasn’t prone to sentimentality, that whatever I’d felt that night had no reflection on what he had. It may have meant nothing to him, been a few moments of amusement. That felt wrong to me somehow. I was sure I’d seen something in his eyes, but as I’d proven, I was hardly a person who could rely on her perceptions. And Vasile’s actions, his lack thereof, didn’t clarify things one way or another. He hadn’t touched me again, and I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d missed his touch, craved it.

He went to the kitchen, not looking at me as usual.

“Vasile?” I called before I could stop myself, voice so weak I would not have been surprised if he hadn’t heard me.

He looked toward me quickly, and I could see the tension in his face, in his stance, and it called to me. And I answered. Using courage I hadn’t known I had, I walked toward him, my heart pounding with both fear and anticipation. I stopped when I stood in front of him, the heat from his body, his spicy, masculine scent making me want to touch him everywhere, breathe him in until he was all I felt, smelled, tasted. I didn’t, though, and instead lifted my hand to his stubbled jaw. His eyes flashed, but he stayed still. I stroked his jaw, the coarse beginnings of the beard that he always seemed to sport rough against my fingers and making me imagine how it would feel on other parts of my body.

Brimming with boldness, I let my thumb graze his bottom lip, surprised by its masculine softness. He turned his face into a scowl, and pulled back.

“Don’t, Fawn,” he said, his voice a rough, husky whisper.

I ignored him and dragged my fingers lower, down his strong chin, the powerful column of his throat, a little trill flittering through me when he swallowed, and then lower over his collarbones, across his shoulders, over the tattoos that covered his biceps.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hands away, his eyes piercing mine. “You can’t take this back, Fawn. We do this, and you’re mine.”

BOOK: Keep: Romanian Mob Chronicles
3.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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