Page 25 of Paid for By the Bratva

“What do you want to do next?” I ask, the alcohol making me reckless. I reach over, push a strand of her hair behind her ear, and gently smooth it into place.

"Take me home," she rasps, her fingers curling into my shirt—heat flares in my belly at the raw need in her voice. But I know I’m probably seeing things that don’t exist. The truth is, I can recognize the exhaustion in her eyes, the strain of a long day finally catching up to her.

"Alright," I respond, reluctantly stepping away from her grasp. As much as I want to continue dancing, I know that taking care of her needs comes first. "Let's get you home."

***

The moment we slip into the car, I can feel the charged atmosphere between us. Even as the driver starts the engine, Lara leans ahead, over my lap, to request him to turn on the radio.

When the music comes on, she tries to sit back down, but she almost loses her balance. I quickly grab her by the waist to stop her from slamming into my lip.

“Whoops,” she mutters, blushing red as my cock digs into her ass. I groan inwardly, afraid and confused that she canseethe dirty thoughts I’m having about her all naked at this exact moment.

Her hand remains on my thigh as she gets off and sits next to me. It’s so late, and we’re so drunk, that her hand remains there. The streetlights outside bathe us in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the sleek interior.

"Tonight was so much fun," Lara says, her voice light and airy. "I can't remember the last time I let loose like that."

"Neither can I," I admit, my hand moving to cover hers on my thigh. We exchange smiles, our laughter mixing with the distant hum of the city nightlife.

"Remember that guy who tried to dance with that group of girls next to us?" she giggles, leaning closer. "He had no idea what he was getting himself into."

"Ah, yes. Poor guy." I smirk, recalling the way the girls made him buy all six of them multiple shots and bounced when the check came.

“Oh,” Lara giggles, inching closer until her face is an inch away from mine. She stares into my eyes, and I suddenly feel hungry for her lips. Why is she so intent on teasing me, coming so close? I am a gentleman, but even gentleman have their limits. Though I know I’m battling with an active imagination, I almost wonder if she’s come closer to let me taste her.

“You’ve got something there,” she whispers, her eyes trailing up the scar on my cheek to my hair. Her gentle, soft fingers reach for my hair, and she pulls something small and shiny out. “Confetti,” she whispers, her lips moving to the sounds of that soft word, which sounds like pure bliss coming from her.

“Confetti,” I whisper back, entranced by how she said it.

I hold my breath, not wanting to disturb this moment, praying she leans in just a little more. I’m more than willing to meet her halfway.

She touches my face again, and despite myself, I shiver beneath her fingers. She traces the lines of my scar as if memorizing its shape. The warmth of her touch feels chillingly welcome, and I shiver. Lara’s eyes never leave my face, and she whispers. “How’d it happen?

"Oh, that?" I laugh, trying to keep the seriousness from my voice. "It's just a part of who I am. It happened a long time ago."

“How?” she asks again, asserting her right to an answer. I’ll admit, I’m impressed. I’ve never known her to be pushy, but I’m beginning to realize that when she wants something—she’s willing to go all the way.

Our faces are inches apart now, the air between us thick with anticipation. I can feel her warm breath on my skin, her lips dangerously close to mine. My heart races, pounding in my ears like the bass from the club. Every instinct tells me to close the gap, to taste her lips and claim her as mine.

But I don't.

Instead, I force myself to look away, focusing on the road ahead. “You don’t want to know, Lara,” I respond, trying to sound casual while my heart pounds against my chest.

“And if I do?” she asks, settling down beside me, her head on my shoulder.

I sigh and look down at her crown of black locks. “I was seventeen,” I begin. “Our parents had been murdered. Nikolai was busy working so hard, but we had money problems. I began taking up gigs for other mafia and Bratva guys. One night, theysent me on a delivery job. Turns out, their enemies found me. They tortured me, cut into my skin. Nikolai found me before they could shoot me down.”

I can feel the strained silence return as I relate the tale of my scar. Even though Lara's eyes are closed tight, I can tell she's listening, truly listening to my story.

"It's over now," I continue, voice hushed, my attention diverted to the passing streetlights. "But the past never really leaves, does it?"

Lara lifts her head, the streetlights reflecting golden in her beautiful, dark eyes. “No,” she mutters, taking my hand in hers and twining her fingers through mine. She raises our hands together, mesmerized by how they look conjoined. “It doesn’t,” she whispers, turning her head to me, her breath hot and sultry on my lips.

The tension between us is unbearable. Just as I'm about to give in and close my eyes to steal a kiss, the house comes into view. My heart sinks as I see cars in the driveway, my siblings crowding at the doorway, their faces a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Looks like we've got an audience," I say, trying to keep my voice light and playful. Lara's hand slips from mine, her cheeks flushed with desire as she quickly composes herself and looks out of the window.

"Guess we'll have to save this for another time," she whispers, now fidgeting with her fingers as she realizes that the entire Orlov clan is waiting at our doorstep.

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