Page 25 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
I take some oil in my fingertips and gently begin to massage it into the nape of her neck. She gasps softly, her shoulders tensing before relaxing under my touch. The oil smells like citrus and flowers, reminding me of a beautiful hotel room. It sends thoughts skittering down my mind of beautiful things that happen in beautiful hotel rooms with beautiful women.
With women like Arina.
Not that I’ve met one like her before.
I bite my lower lip, hoping the pain can distract me from these intrusive images I’m conjuring in my mind. What the hell is wrong with me? Since when did I start lusting over Arina Sokolov?
I don’t have an answer to that question, but there is no other way to describe the way the blood gushes through my entire body, sets every point of contact with her skin on fire.
My fingers drift up into her hairline, and I hear her breath catch. A strange, possessive feeling surges through me, and I have to restrain myself from pulling her closer.
“Now, partners, trade places,” the instructor says.
Arina turns to face me, her cheeks flushed and eyes darkened. I turn my back to her, offering my neck. For a moment, nothing happens, and then I feel her tentative touch.
Her fingers are cool against my heated skin, and I close my eyes at the softness of it. Her touch grows firmer as she works the oil into my skin. When her fingers brush the short hairs at my nape, a shudder runs through me.
This is torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
“The final step in our journey tonight,” the instructor says, “is the sharing of breath and essence. Partners, face each other now.”
I turn back to Arina, and our knees touch as we sit cross-legged on the cushions. Her face is flushed, her pupils are dilated, and I wonder if she has the same kind of thoughts I do.
“In tantric tradition, the joining of breath represents the joining of souls,” the instructor continues. “We will seal our connection with a kiss. Something gentle, something mindful. Not a taking, but a giving.”
Arina’s eyes fly to mine, and the panic in them is as clear as day. For a brief moment, I feel hurt. Would it be so bad… to kiss me?
Around us, couples are already leaning toward each other, sharing soft kisses.
“We don’t have to—” Arina starts.
“Kiss me,” I say, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice.
She stares at me, lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“Kiss me,” I repeat, softer this time. “They’re still out there. We can’t go out and in here; we need to look like we belong, in case they glance in.”
The moment I say the words, a voice in my head hisses: Liar. I shut it down, tell the voice it’s got my intentions all wrong.
I’m only trying to protect us.
Arina nods and leans forward. I do too, my hands resting on her knees as I angle my head toward her. Our eyes remain open when our lips meet, but the cloud-like softness of her lips pulls me away into a dream, and I close my eyes. A second later, I feel her lashes flutter against mine and sense her closing her eyes too.
The kiss is sweet, polite, but this position is causing me pain. I inch closer and gently cup her cheeks in my palms to anchor myself, and then she lets out a little whimper.
The world stops.
The kiss mutates from a ploy into something dangerously close to real, and I feel a warm, fuzzy feeling inch through me at the taste of her lips. Long gone is brief and perfunctory, replaced by a raging fire that makes me slide my tongue across the slit of her lips, that makes her open for me until our tongues slither together like criminals having a great time.
That spark I felt earlier is now a full-blown storm. Arina makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and her hands reach for my T-shirt. She arches her back, pulling me flush against herself.
My hands slide from her face to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I deepen the kiss.
She responds with unexpected passion, her hands gripping my shoulders. She sighs, and the sound goes straight to my core. I forget where we are, who we are, until we hear the instructor gently ask us all to pull away.
When we break apart, for a second, I drink in her face. Arina, with her swollen lips, her dazed eyes, is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” the instructor is saying. “May your connection remain strong for all time to come.”
