"And Lena?"
"Comes with me." I drain my glass. "Non-negotiable."
He studies me for a long moment. "You're in love with her."
The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I want to deny it, to laugh it off, to remind him that men like me don't fall in love. But the lie won't come.
"That's a problem," I say instead.
"Why?" He takes his vodka in one swallow. "Because she's Lena Orlova? Because you ordered the hit on her? Or because loving someone makes you vulnerable?"
"All of the above." I refill both glasses. "Take your pick."
"For what it's worth, I think she's good for you." He sets down his glass. "You're different with her. Better."
"Better doesn't keep you alive in this world."
"Maybe not." He moves toward the door. "But what's the point of staying alive if you're just existing?"
He leaves me with that question and a bottle of vodka that suddenly seems very appealing.
Hours later, I find myself outside Lena's door. It's past midnight, and I should let her sleep. Should give her space and time and all the things a decent man would offer.
But I've never been decent, and right now I need to see her more than I need my next breath.
I knock once, then enter without waiting for permission. She's standing by her dresser, folding clothes into a small suitcase. She's changed into sleep pants and a tank top, and the sight of her bare shoulders makes my mouth go dry.
"I could have been naked," she says without turning around.
"If only." I close the door behind me, engaging the lock. "Need help packing?"
"I've been packing my own bags for twenty-six years." But she's smiling when she finally looks at me. "I think I can manage."
I cross the room in three strides, backing her against the dresser. My hands bracket her hips, caging her in, and I watch her pupils dilate. "What if I want to help anyway?"
"Then you're just looking for an excuse to be in my room." Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and even through my shirt, her touch burns.
"I don't need an excuse." I lean down, my mouth finding the curve of her neck. She tastes like soap and something uniquely her, and I can't get enough. "I want you."
Her breath catches. "Aleksandr."
I lift her onto the dresser, stepping between her thighs. Her legs wrap around my waist automatically, pulling me closer, and the heat of her core against my cock makes me groan.
"We shouldn't," she whispers, but her hands are already pulling at my shirt, yanking it free from my pants.
"Probably not." I capture her mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," she growls, then bites my lower lip hard enough to sting.
I strip her tank top off in one smooth motion, and the sight of her bare breasts brings my cock to full attention. I palm them roughly, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardeninto tight peaks. She arches into my touch, her head falling back against the mirror.
I growl, leaning down to take one nipple into my mouth. She tastes like salt and heat, and the sounds she makes go straight to my dick, skittering along my nerves along the way.
Her hands fumble with my belt, and I help her, shoving my pants down just enough to free myself. I'm already hard, already aching, and when I slide my hand between her thighs, I find her soaking wet.
"Fuck, Lena." I circle her clit with my thumb, watching her face as pleasure builds. "You're so ready for me."
I position myself at her entrance and thrust home in one hard, smooth stroke. We both groan at the sensation, the perfect fit of our bodies.
