Page 137 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

Still on my side, I hook my leg back and over his hip and let him enter me from behind. It’s slow, easy sex, but by the end of it, his hand is between my legs, and I’m muffling my screams with my pillow.

“Because I’m not finished yet.”

48

Arya

I sleep for a while, but after a few hours, closing my eyes feels like a practice in futility.

I can’t sleep when I don’t know where Lukas is. Or June. Or Ernestine.

They all feel so important to me now, though I’ve only known them for a short time. Little pieces of my heart, spread across god-knows-where and stuck with god-knows-who.

It’s a waking nightmare.

Before the sun is even up, I feel Dima’s breathing change next to me. He’s awake, too.

“You don’t have any idea where they could have gone?” he asks, his voice raspy from disuse.

“Not a clue. I’ve been thinking about it for hours.”

He turns onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. “Maybe they went back to the trailer.”

I shake my head. “They wouldn’t. Zotov knows where it is now. Ernestine wouldn’t risk it.”

“You trust that old woman?”

I raise a warning brow at him. “That old woman might be the toughest person I’ve ever met. She’s the reason we escaped Tommy in the first place. She’s smart enough not to run back into a trap.”

He shrugs and we go quiet.

It feels good to be with Dima like this. To at least know that one thing between us is fixed. But that doesn’t change the one major thing between us that isn’t: our son.

We need to find him.

Restless, I go to take a shower, but I haven’t been in there a minute when the curtain pulls back and Dima climbs in, too.

“Hey, you weren’t invited.” I slap his chest, leaving a wet handprint.

His eyebrows raise. “Invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“Well, fine, but there is still a cover charge.”

I’m only joking, but Dima’s smile turns devious. He licks his lips and then drops to his knees in the shower. “I’ve got a way to pay,” he mumbles into my thighs.

“I was kidding, Dima. You don’t have to—”

He parts me with his fingers, silencing my protests.

When he slips a finger over my slit, I have to grab onto the handle that was probably installed for elderly people to use.Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

Dima slides one finger into me and then another, and I’ve never been so ready before. There’s no need for a build-up, for a gentle teasing. I’m primed. I’m aching.

He adds a third finger, and I lean against the cold shower wall and part my legs to give him better access.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his breath warm against my sensitive skin.

Then his tongue is on me.

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