Page 11 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

OLIVIA

God-fucking-shit-dammit. This cannot be happening.

I may be awkward, but I’ve kissed. I’ve kissed plenty!

Or at least, I thought I had. I thought I knew what a kiss felt like. What it tasted like. I assumed I knew what passion was.

But Aleks kisses like he means it. And with every passing second, I understand more and more just how short-changed I’ve been my whole life.

I lean into him, greedily demanding more. Something is happening between my legs and my heart is thundering and my hands are needy. I’m not in control of myself anymore.

Which is why, when his lips leave mine in favor of tracing my neck, I’m shocked to realize I’ve somehow climbed into his lap. I’m straddling him.

My hands are roaming on his bare chest. Somehow, his shirt came unbuttoned. Not completely, but open to his stomach so that I have a partial view of abs that look like the goddamn Himalayas. I count two, four, six, eight.

He nips at my neck, which is apparently a direct connection to the heat between my legs, judging by how viscerally I react. I moan and reach for the waistband of his pants. My fingertips rub against the massive bulge in his crotch.

I’m not even remotely surprised to see that he’s packing. A man with that amount of self-assurance has to have a big dick, right? Or so Mia tells me. She’d know way better than I would.

If I stopped to analyze what I’m doing, maybe I’d be disappointed in myself. But right now, I can’t imagine regretting this. Not when he feels this good.

I jump as his hand slides underneath my shirt. His fingers are cool against my bare skin, but then again, at the rate my body is heating up, I suppose everything’s going to feel cool relative to me.

My lips are a millisecond away from his when, of all the godforsaken things that have happened to me already since Aleks swept into my life, the motherfucking Macarena starts blaring from my phone.

“Shit!” I blanche, swinging off his lap and landing quite ungracefully on the cushion next to him. “Sorry…”

I snatch up my phone, meaning to put it on mute, but then I see Mom’s number on the screen.

“Fuck,” I mumble, resolutely avoiding Aleks’s face before getting to my feet and accepting the call. I tug my sweater down to cover myself, as if she can see me. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey! Mia told me your flight was delayed. That’s terrible!”

“Hi, uh, yeah,” I stutter. I can feel Aleks’s gaze smoldering on the back of my head but I steadfastly ignore it. “Terrible.”

She tuts. “Are you going back home?”

“No, it takes too long to get there and back. I’m just going to hang out here.”

And do dirty things with a handsome stranger in a private lounge.

“Oh, no. Sounds boring,” she sighs.

I glance over at Aleks. He’s sitting on the sofa with his arms extended across the back of it, utterly and completely at ease. He hasn’t even bothered to button up his shirt. His erection is glaringly noticeable, but by the way he’s sitting there, calm and collected, you wouldn’t know it.

“… Honey?”

“Sorry, Mom,” I say quickly. “I’ll keep myself… occupied. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” she says in alarm.

“Ah, no, uh, today. I meant today,” I say, feeling all kinds of flustered. “I meant today.”

“You sure everything’s alright, darling? You sound awfully frazzled.”

“Of course, Mom. Just—it’s just, um… crowded. I’m waiting in line for cake,” I say, catching sight of the tray of cake and macarons on the table that we’ve completely ignored.

“Oh, how nice. A little sweet treat. Glad you’re enjoying yourself, honey.”

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