She snorts. “You’d catch me.” Then she wiggles her ass against me. “Like you caught me b’fore. When we…” She tries to turn, stumbling. “Remember that night? When you bent me over and—”
“Zatknis.” Shut up. Because if she keeps talking about that night, I really will bend her over. Right here on these stairs.
Third floor. Only two doors up here, and I know the other one’s empty—Galina keeps it that way when I’m around. Old habits. The hallway’s dim, just one yellow bulb casting shadowson the floral wallpaper that’s peeling at the corners. Soviet-era charm at its finest.
Clara trips again, this time falling back against my chest. Her head tips back, andblyat—the way she’s looking up at me makes my cock throb harder.
“Are we going… home?” she mumbles, trying to turn in my grip and nearly taking us both down.
Home?The word hits harder than any bullet. But this drunk woman slurring that one fucking word makes my throat tight.
I step closer, positioning myself a step below her so she won’t tumble down like a fuckingyebuchiyHumpty Dumpty.
Bad move.
Now her ass is perfectly aligned with my cock, and every tiny sway of her body has her pressing back against me. One wrong move and—
“Nyet.” I steady her with both hands on her waist now. I glide one hand lower, tracing the curve of her spine, trying to get that perfect ass away from my cock and up the stairs where it belongs.
“No?” The word barely leaves her mouth before she’s grabbing for the railing, the drunk little menace trying to prove she can handle stairs. Instead, she falls back and grinds her ass right against my cock. Fuck. My dick jumps, and so does she—like she’s just discovered a loaded weapon.
She spins around, tits pressing against my chest through my hoodie, and nearly brains herself on the railing. I grab her just in time. Her face is so close I can taste the vodka on her breath, those fuck-me blue eyes trying to focus as she sways.
“Uhhh…” she smirks, tapping that finger against my chest. “You’re… hard down there.” Her finger trails lower, tracing a path that makes my cock jump.
Her tongue swipes across her lips, eyes glazed but hungry. “God, you were so big I couldn’t even—” She hiccups, then giggles.
“Blyat,” I curse. I know that look—the same one she gave me that night before dropping to her knees.
Nyet.Not happening.
Before those sinful lips can reach mine, I’ve got her over my shoulder like a sack of trouble.
“Suka,” I growl, because now her ass is right by my face, my hoodie riding up to show black lace that barely counts as underwear. My hand slides up her thigh, dangerously close to where I can feel her heat.
“Hey…” Her bare feet dangle by my chest, dirty from the floor but somehow making my dick harder. Everything about her is fucking filthy perfect—raw and real and making me want to mark every inch of her skin.
I tear my eyes away, juggling this squirming handful of trouble while fighting with Galina’s ancient fucking key. Clara shifts again, and I feel wetness through that thin lace.Yebat. The key nearly slips from my sweating hand.
“Leonid,” she moans, and Christ, the way she says my name—like she’s already coming.
I shift my grip, palm full of her ass, to keep her from somersaulting over my shoulder.
“Stop squirming,” I growl, but she just wiggles harder, making these little sounds that go straight to my cock. The shirt’s ridden up to her waist now, giving me a front-row view of that black lace barely covering her ass. Fuck me, it’s the kind that disappears between her cheeks, leaving exactly nothing to my imagination.
“Make me,” she purrs. Her position over my shoulder has my hand splayed dangerously close to where that thin lace is already damp. Every time she moves, my fingers slide a fraction higherup her inner thigh, and I know one more inch will have me touching that wet cunt.
Focus!
The key finally catches, and I shoulder the door open, flinging it wide as we burst in. Clara’s head lolls against my back, her words slurring into my shirt.
“Where’re you takin’ me, Bratva man?” Her hands hang limply, swaying with each step. “Better be somewhere fun… ‘cause your shoulder’s not very comfy.”
“Suka,” I mutter, trying to focus on getting us to the bed without dropping her.
I’m two steps from throwing her on that iron-frame bed when she goes completely still. “Leonid?” Her voice is small, different.
“What?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
