Page 65 of Alexei (Belles & Mobsters 4)

“I have a VIP room ready for you,” Igor added.

“Do svidaniya.” Dismissing him, I focused on the woman next to me. She was attracting too many glances from other men. The sooner I got her out of the open view, the better.

When Igor was completely out of earshot, she leaned slightly over and whispered, “Is that the guy?”

“Da.”

A group of men crowded the bar, their eyes devouring my date like she was a rare delicacy. She was, but not for them.

“VIP room. Now,” I barked.

I guided her to our VIP suite and it wasn’t until the door clicked behind us that the red murder haze finally receded. This room was pretty standard, though it appeared my date wasn’t accustomed to it.

Her eyes lingered on the St. Andrew’s cross mounted to one wall, and it was clear she was appalled. Her gaze flickered to me in exasperation.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” she warned. A slight tremble to her voice didn’t escape me.

“Relax.” Hard core shit was Sasha’s thing.

I strode to the only chair in the room and sat myself down. It’d be a long night if she couldn’t relax. And the way she looked right now, she was anything but relaxed. Her eyes darted all around, back and forth, watching me like I was her enemy.

I wasn’t her enemy but maybe her instincts weren’t far off.

“Sit,” I ordered her.

Her eyes darted around and came back to me. “Where?”

I should be sorry to put her in such a situation. Yet, I couldn’t muster the will for it. I liked the idea of having her sit in my lap.

Like a wild animal, she took a step closer to me. And another one. Then she turned around and sat down stiffly onto my lap. Igor was watching us, but she didn’t need that pointed out. She was a ball of nerves as it was.

“He’s watching,” she mumbled, barely moving her mouth.

“Da.”

Placing my hands on her waist, I held her still. She hadn’t realized it but each time she moved, her ass grazed against my groin. There was only so much torture I could endure. My hands slid down her waist and to her thighs.

Her eyes glued on the screen, her breathing hitched and her lips parted. I wasn’t even sure she was aware of it. She kept shifting, her skin flushed. She watched the show out there; I just watched her.

She moved again, her ass grinding against my hard groin and she froze. Her eyes flared to my face. There was something warm and beautiful in her eyes, like a lifeline I never knew I needed.

I didn’t want to scare her. Me wanting her wasn’t part of the deal. But fuck, I wanted her. Unlike anything or anyone before her. It was a depraved kind of hunger for her. An obsession that a single touch with her would fuel for the rest of my days.

Since the day she walked back into my life, I’d dreamed of her, fantasized of her and obsessed over her.

Her tongue swept over her ruby red lips and lust crossed her expression. For me? I wasn’t sure but my control snapped. All the blood rushed to my groin and my brain stopped functioning.

I stood up, my hand gripping her hips and pressed her hands against the window. Bending her over, her palms braced against the glass, my hands pushed her red dress up, baring her ass to my view. The woman wore the tiniest string I had ever seen. I pressed my body against hers so she could feel my cock against the soft curve of her ass.

Pressing my lips to her fragile neck, I enjoyed her soft skin, the racing pulse beneath my mouth. Licking the skin over her collarbone, I brought my palms to her round ass.

This wasn’t for the show. This was for me.

Yes, I was a bastard, but I fucking wanted her. And the scent of her arousal told me she wanted me too. At least at this very moment.

“Ready?” I asked. A small whimper escaped her mouth, her breathing labored.

She glanced over her shoulder, our eyes connecting. Those deep, warm brown eyes. The color of chocolate. She smelled like chocolate too.

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