Page 8 of Baby for the Bratva

He’s wearing very little, just a pair of swimming trunks that barely fit over his massive thighs. He’s so muscular that I imagine it’s a struggle to find things that fit him. The world simply wasn’t made for men this perfect.

My eyes roll over his massive chest, examining the tattoos that hide under his thick hair. Some of them are fresh and dark, but others seem like they were etched into his flesh decades ago.

Probably before I was born. He’s quite a bit older than me, but he carries his age well. Some people age like milk, but Yuri has aged like a fine bourbon. The wrinkles accent his features, making them deeper and more dramatic.

But I’ve been looking for too long already.

I straighten my cover-up and sit up straighter. “I was just getting some fresh air. A bit stuffy in my room,” I blurt, feeling the need to make excuses for why I’m reclining by the pool in something that will give me the weirdest tan lines.

“Stuffy?” he asks, raising a thick eyebrow. “I could take a look at your ventilation if you’d like. It shouldn’t feel stuffy.”

“Oh, um… No, it’s fine,” I reply with a nervous laugh. “I’m just not used to being at sea.”

He holds up a crystal glass filled halfway with amber liquid. The veins are popping in his thick, capable forearms. “First time on a cruise ship?”

I nod. “And you?”

“I live in the water. Like a fish. Maybe a shark. More days at sea than on land.”

I still can’t believe I’m talking to him. When we were in line, I thought he’d be lost in the crowd the moment he left my sight. But here he is, standing in front of me like he followed me to the pool.

And maybe he did. I just don’t understand why.

“So, why are you always on cruises? Is it to pick up women?” I ask, cutting straight to the point. I’ve lost most of my inhibitions due to the warm course of alcohol through my bloodstream.

“Pick them up?” he asks, looking mildly confused. He takes a sip of his drink. “I am not taking them anywhere.”

“You know what I mean,” I reply, but maybe he doesn’t. He’s clearly not from the United States.

His eyes go blank. “No, I don’t.”

I sigh. “Sorry, I’ve had a few drinks. I’m just teasing you.”

“About what?”

Suddenly, I’m self-conscious again. All the alcohol in the world wouldn’t make me comfortable having this conversation with Yuri. “Um, about your cruise habits,” I say. “But don’t worry about it. It was just a joke.”

He smiles. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You probably don’t.”

“I do.”

Fuck, he’s not going to leave this alone. I don’t know whether he’s doing this on purpose to punish me for suggesting he’s a man-whore, or if it’s just because he really doesn’t understand my English, but either way it’s making me want to melt into my chair and disappear.

I wish I had a drink right now.

“You seem to be here alone,” I begin, checking his ring finger again before continuing. “And a lot of people come to cruise ships to… you know… have fun.”

“Sure,” he replies with a shrug.

“And by fun, I mean hook up,” I clarify.

He cocks his head to the side, frowning down at me. “I don’t know this term. Hook up. What does that mean?”

Blood rushes to my face, and I do my best to avoid his eyes, but they pull me in like a tractor beam from a UFO. They’re an icy-blue color, pale and intense, with a hint of mischief behind them.

“Hooking up means having sex,” I finally say.

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