“Good morning, husband.”
Husband.The word shot through me like electricity, prompting me to flip her onto her back. Her surprised gasp morphed into a moan as I pinned her wrists above her head and pushed inside her. Still wet from the night before. Still mine.
I fucked her slow at first, then harder as she urged me on with her legs circling my waist, her heels digging into my ass. The sunrise painted her skin gold, transforming her light brown hair into flame where it fanned across the pillow.
Mine. My wife.
The bleached blond receptionist clears her throat, dragging me back to the present. I’ve been standing here, lost in memory, for who knows how long. Forcing myself to focus, I sign my name in the ledger.
Professional.
I need to be professional.
Even as I reprimand myself, my thoughts drift back to breakfast. To Aurora bent over the kitchen table, her flowing skirt around her ankles. She’d been preparing coffee when I, still riding the high from our morning lay, crept up behind her. Round two started as a kiss on her neck, evolved into my hand between her legs, and concluded with her begging me to take her right there.
I can still hear her pleas.“Please, Alexei. I need you inside me.”
What else could I do but spin her around, lift her onto the table, and push her knees to her chest? I told her to hold them, and she obeyed, gripping behind her knees and opening herself to me. The sight of her glistening pussy, pink and perfect, stole my breath. I dropped to the floor, buried my face between her creamy thighs, and feasted until she screamed my name.
Once she finished, I flipped her onto her stomach and rode her hard and fast while her fingernails scraped the wooden surface. She pushed back against me, meeting every thrust. The coffee went cold. We never did eat breakfast.
“Sir? Your weapon.”
I blink, focusing on the dark-skinned security guard’s outstretched hand. Right. The Banya’s most sacred rule. No weapons beyond this point. I remove the gun from the holster, check the safety, and place it in the provided lockbox.
The guard seals the box with a numbered tag that matches the one he hands me. I don’t love being disarmed, but I understand the necessity. The Banya serves as neutral ground, the one place in Chicago where enemies can meet without bloodshed. Absolute adherence to protocol helps maintain the peace.
He extends his hand. “Phone as well, sir.”
I surrender my cell, watching as it’s sealed in another box. No recordings, no calls, no outside communication. What happens in the Banya stays in the Banya.
Another rule that preserves the sanctity of this neutral territory.
The guard escorts me to the locker room, where I strip before hanging my clothes in a cedar-lined compartment. The wedding ring stays on. I catch myself staring at the way the white gold encircles my finger.
A mark of possession. Of Aurora.
I never expected to feel this way about anyone, let alone a woman I initially meant to kill. My life has been all about violence and control, blood and death. Now my chest aches whenever I think of Aurora’s smile, and a fierce protectiveness compels me to gut anyone who glances at her the wrong way.
No matter how many times I take her, my insatiable hunger for her is never quenched.
The mandatory shower comes next. A brutal blast of frigid water that shocks the system and cleanses both body and mind. I duck under the spray, hissing as the icy water pummels my skin. The cold drives away some of the lust fog that’s been clouding my brain all morning, allowing me to focus on why I’m here.
Business.
The Falcones.
The meeting Roman arranged for the day after my wedding.
My thoughts of Aurora don’t vanish entirely. Instead, they become a constant background hum, like music played just low enough to feel rather than hear. The cold water clears my head enough to remember the stakes.
Whatever the Falcones want won’t be simple or benign. Nothing with them ever is.
I shut off the water and reach for one of the thick white towels stacked nearby. The club is silent save for the distant dripping of water and occasional hiss of steam. I wrap the towel around my waist, the heat already building in the air. The Banya’s main bathing floor will be even hotter, thick with humidity that soothes muscles and loosens lips.
Time to see what game the Falcones are playing.
I roll my shoulders to dispense the building tension. Three times this morning, and I still want to be back in bed with her.
