Then his radio starts blaring with rough, urgent Russian.
He lets out a groan, fumbling for his belt.
“What the fuck?”he hisses under his breath. He sounds more annoyed than I expected.
I feel like I’m floating on a cloud right now from our kiss. Leks’s voice is rough with urgency. On a different planet to my blissful pleasure. He sounds like he needs something.
“I’m busy, this had better be important.”
He releases my wrist and I rotate it in surprise. I hadn’t minded being pinned down to the bed by Leks. In fact, I’d liked it.
I’m confused by the contrast between the orders and question he’s impatiently barking into the radio and the tenderness of his touch.
Between messages, he presses his lips back to mine, kissing me so hard that my lips tingle, then reluctantly pulls away as the next message comes through.
His eyes drip with molten heat as he looks at me. “We’ll continue this later. Drug bust down the other end of the port.”
Even as he presses another kiss to my cheek — a filthy, proper kiss this time — his voice stillsounds clipped, annoyed. He stands up, attaching his radio back to his belt, and I become aware of why he’s acting irritated.
It’s hard to miss, now that he’s standing up. His black suit pants are straining in the crotch, the fabric tenting over a huge bulge in his pants.
I think Aleksandr has a hard-on.
19
LEKS
Ashopping trip should not be my number one problem right now. But somehow, Natalia going shopping is the low point of a week involving two drug busts and millions of dollars of product lost.
Yuri radios me urgently to notify me that my wife has returned from a shopping trip — a hobby that I encouraged her into, to get her out of the house — needing help with all the bags.
And being Natalia Bryusova, who is now known as “darlin’” by every asshole who’s been within a mile of the port in the past month, the crowd that has manifested to take time away from their work and generously help her with her bags is not insubstantial.
On my estimate, it numbers around one hundred men, all clamoring to carry a pile of tissue-paper and designer clothing filled bags that are probably scented with jasmine andpatchouli and a thousand other perfumes that don’t belong at the port.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I watch the crowd gather around Vera’s sparkly gold Bugatti sports car from my window.
When Natalia steps out of the car, arms laden with bags, men rush to help her. Vera sits in the driver’s seat with a satisfied smirk on her face. She’s doing this just to fuck with me, I just know it. My wife might be blissfully ignorant, but Vera knows exactly the effect that Natalia has on men.
As Natalia stands up from the passenger seat, taking the hand of the man nearest to her, my mind goes blank of all other thoughts.
I’ve never seen Natalia dress in clothing like this.
Ifit can be described as clothing.
The pale blue babydoll dress is floaty and gauzy. The hem brushes the tops of her thighs, leaving her smooth legs on display. The white stilettos she’s wearing make her legs go on for miles. Her pearl choker and dainty silver bracelets normally strike me as old-fashioned. With this dress, they’re alluring and sexual.
The worst part? The layers of ice-blue fabric are tantalizingly see-through.
Her breasts make my brain short-circuit. Because I don’t think Natalia is wearing a bra. The pale blue fabric covers her nipples, but only barely.
She looksmouth-watering.
And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. The men on the dock cannot get enough, swarming around her like bees to honey.
“Leks?” comes the voice on the other end of the line.
Kirill. The business deal. I’d forgotten I was talking to him.
