Page 16 of Roman Petrov

“Wait, I want to show you my particular favorite.” His white button shirt tugs up, exposing his abs and a hint at another tattoo.

I’m torn if I should try and climb the trunk of his body, or stare at the art he’s revealed.

Well, the little trail of dark hair that leads below his belt is much more interesting.

He lowers his arm to show me my worst fear.

The picture of him.

“This one. Now I know you’ve been looking. But, this part is wrong.” He tosses the book onto the counter and begins to unbutton his top.

“What, um. What are you doing?” Snatching my sketches, I hug it to my chest.

Every flavor of embarrassment courses through me as his toned body is slowly revealed.

“Those tattoos, they’re all wrong.” Peeling the sleeves off, he bares himself. “See? This one.” He points at a cluster of skulls beneath a crown. “This one makes grown men piss themselves. You should put it in your drawing.”

He moves closer until I’m wedged next to the refrigerator and all I can see is him.

But, I can’t resist the beauty in the art.

“It’s really well done. What does it mean?” My fingers burn where they trace the ink.

He shrugs. “It means I built my empire on a pile of men. Many have tried to bring down the Petrov family. But, none have succeeded.”

His palm covers my wandering hand when I get too close to a smaller mark over his heart.

It’s just a date, from almost ten years ago.

“What is that one?” I look up, meeting his dark eyes that are pinched in pain.

“The day our enemies tried to destroy us.” He billows his shirt back up over his shoulders and begins to fasten it closed.

He turns away as he opens his belt to stuff the tails inside his waist.

I almost stand on my tiptoes to see what he’s hiding.

I’ve had a hard time sleeping most nights remembering the size of him pressing against my thigh that evening before dinner.

It makes my hands dive beneath my own panties to relieve myself before I can finally drift off.

He glances back and catches me looking.

Heat floods into my cheeks when I turn away.

“Do you want to help me?” He turns with a half smile, the obvious bulge in his open zipper is only covered by the end of the white fabric.

“No. Business, remember?” I let out a long breath. I have to say it to remind myself, even if he’s hot as hell and half unclothed.

The grin fades. “Fine. If you don’t want to, I’ll find someone who will.” He buckles his belt and pulls his suit jacket from the back of the chair. “I’m heading to the club. I won’t be back for dinner.”

“So, what, you move me in, then go out and fuck other women? Nice.” I knew he was an asshole from the beginning. I shouldn’t be surprised.

But, he’s my husband.

Weirdly, even though we aren’t likethat, the thought of him with someone else makes me feel icky.

He pulls his sleeve down and adjusts his cufflinks. One eyebrow raises as he looks at me, his chiseled jaw clenches. “You can come. I have no objections to fucking my wife.”

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