I won’t have to explain to her that the only reason I’m alive after attending another event with Slava Romanov was because he saved my life again.
Inside the bathroom, I unclasp the necklace, and stare at the seven-pointed star. As I do, I remember something that Luca used to say to me as kids.
Once is an accident. Twice is a habit. And by the third time, it’s an addiction you’ll never quit.
I place the necklace down on the sink and look up at my own reflection in the mirror.
Jesus Christ, I look like a mess.
Mascara tracks down my cheeks like black tears. My hair is a bird’s nest. My dress is completely ruined, and it’s only by a stroke of luck that there aren’t any bruises anywhere on my body.
Not because of luck, I correct myself.Because of Slava.
And only after my heart returns to something resembling a steady beat do I realize that Slava’s jacket is still draped around my shoulders. The fabric slides against my skin, impossibly soft, and his scent embraces me—his unique blend of cologne and that decidedly masculine smell that is uniquely him.
I hang it on the back of the door. I shouldn’t keep it. I should burn it. I should throw it in the trash and never think about the way it felt to be wrapped in something of his.
Instead, I position it where I can see it from the shower, and turn the water up as hot as I can tolerate before stepping in.
The water does nothing to burn away my thoughts. Every time I close my eyes, I see him looking back at me before he shoots. When the water touches my lips, I remember the taste of his mouth on the balcony. And when my hand moves down between my thighs, I can’t stop thinking about the way he carried me to my door.
The only one who gets to hurt you is me.
My eyes fly open and my finger is already circling shamefully around my clit. I should stop. I need to stop.
But instead, all I do is close my eyes, cover my mouth, and push my finger inside. I slide down the wall, all I can hear is his promise that he won’t hurt me until I ask him to.
Scalding water flows down my hair and my face. Steam fills the bathroom. But neither can match the fire Slava’s words have started in my belly.
A whimper leaks out between my fingers, and I wonder what it might feel like to let him ruin me the way he’s ruined everything else in my life. To let him hurt me.
Tomakehim hurt me.
Not until you ask me to.
My toes flex and curl as I bring myself to one of the best fucking orgasms of my life.
And as I ride the aftershocks of my orgasm under the scalding spray, the most disturbing thing isn’t the realization that IwantSlava to hurt me.
It’s the certainty that I would fucking like it.
15
BELLA
The cheery morningsun has absolutely no respect for the three hours of sleep I managed to cobble together.
I’m on my second cup of coffee when my phone buzzes to tell me that Alik is here.
Anthony is already at school, Lydia offered to drop him off early because today’s the day Ms.Patterson promised the class could bring in their favorite stuffed animals. And God forbid he missesthat. He’d clutched Mr.Whiskers (a tragically named elephant) like his life depended on it and barely remembered to kiss me goodbye.
Kids are resilient. Their guardians? Less so.
I grab my bag and head downstairs, expecting to see the same SUV from last night. Instead, I find a sleek black Mercedes outside of my building, and leaning against the door is the giant Russian who’d been talking with Slava at the gala—and not in that kiss-ass way other guests were.
He’s got a sour expression on his face, like someone pissed in his protein shake this morning.
He opens the back door with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced to hold someone’s purse. “Get in.”
