Page 16 of Baby for the Bratva

“You’re not funny,” she replies dryly.

“I’m hilarious. Admit it.”

She tries to pull away again, but with much less effort. “Not hilarious. More like stupid.”

“You keep assuming that. I wonder why? You don’t like foreigners or something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not falling for that one. I’ve dealt with enough manipulative men to know better.”

There it is. That’s what I was looking for. She’s bitter about some guy, and she’s taking it out on me. I bet that’s why she’s on this cruise alone in the first place. She’s looking for a rebound and another reason to hate men.

Hell, I could give her both, but only if she stops acting like I’m terrorizing her for long enough to get her out of her clothes.

I let go of her hand suddenly, and she stumbles backward. She grabs her wrist, rubbing it and staring daggers at me. “You’re lucky I don’t report you for this.”

“For what? Hurting your feelings?”

She glares at me, but that’s all I get from her. It seems that this night is spoiled, and working my way back from a loss like this might be more effort than it’s worth.

But when Stella turns around to leave, her ass is like a pendulum, hypnotizing me into giving her another chance. I hate to think I’m only driven by sex, but what more is there to gain when I have to leave her in a month and move on to the next big cocaine deal?

I let out a sigh once she’s gone, shaking my head at the opportunity I spoiled by being too eager. I’m usually a patient person, but she has me jumping over myself to get a chance at having her in my bed.

I’m almost about to have a few drinks and call it a night when I hear the shower turn on in Stella’s room. I press my ear to the wall, and I hear something that surprises me.

A soft moan, and then her delicate voice muttering my name.

8

Stella

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

I clamp my thighs together on my hand as another orgasm rolls through my body. I can’t stop this one from making me moan again. I know I’m being too loud, but part of me wants Yuri to hear me. I want him to know that even though I hate him, my body still wants his.

I bite my bottom lip so hard I taste metal, but the hot water running down my face and the pleasure pumping through my body eliminate the pain. I’m elevated by guilty gratification, unable to do anything but close my eyes tight as I moan Yuri’s name in the shower.

I rarely masturbate. Tyler hated it when I did. He used to tell me that I wasted an orgasm on myself when he could’ve fucked it out of me. That it was borderline cheating.

It’s laughable now, but I took his words seriously when we were dating. I didn’t look at other men, read romance novels, or dare touch myself more than a few times, and never all the way to climax.

I let Tyler control my pleasure, but I won’t let that happen again. I’m in charge this time, and Yuri won’t have any say over when, where, and how I cum. He may never have the opportunity to be a part of it, either, but I’ll make sure he hears it, so he knows what he’s missing out on.

I might even bring someone else into my room and scream his name instead, just to see what Yuri would do. It would serve him right for joking about a threesome like I’m some kind of easy bitch.

But he’s right about me being the jealous type. I don’t like to share.

After the third orgasm, I’m struggling to breathe in the steamy shower, and it’s getting late. I don’t know if they’ve found the killer yet, but I’m too tired to be afraid anymore. I just want to sleep.

A thick cotton towel hangs beside the shower from my previous rinse, and I dry myself off with it again. It’s a little damp, but I’m not bothered by it. When I was younger, I used to take upwards of three showers a day because I was a runner, a student, and I worked at a fast-food place. All three of those things made me want a good rinse afterward, and I only ever had one towel.

Growing up poor, it’s a wonder I made it this far. Most people don’t make it out, but I did, and I left it all behind in pursuit of greater things.

And apparently, greater things turned out to be sitting in front of a computer for nine hours a day, and coming home at the end of a long day to a cheating boyfriend. The impulse cruise isn’t turning out to be much better.

I wrap myself in my towel and sit down on the edge of my bed, only to be startled out of my oxygen-deprived daze seconds later by a knock on the door. That had better not be Yuri, and if it is, he’d better be coming with a more convincing apology than the last one.

I get up, letting the towel slip down a few inches before opening the door. Yuri should know what he’s missing.

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