Gaping up at him, "Really? You're, what- thirty? And you've always worn a condom?"
"Twenty-nine and yes. I've never had sex without one and you…" His voice drops to a growl. "Make it worth being careful all these years. The feel of you around my cock…"
Noting with some alarm that he's getting hard again, I take a step back. "We should go." He watches me take another pathetic step, tottering like a baby fawn, and scoops me up, shouldering his way through the door.
"Put me down!" I hiss, mortified as two of the Morozov employees pretend they don't see their boss carrying me through the lobby. A horrible thought occurs to me as he puts me into the Bugatti. "Please God, please," I moan."Pleasetell me there's not a security camera in that range? You're so big on cameras."
"There's not," he says, looking over his shoulder and backing us out of the parking space.
"Are you lying to me?"
"Yes."
"Sweet Mother of Mercy and all the angels and saints!" My head sinks into my shoulders like a turtle's. "We're like some sort of terrible OnlyFans show! Who could see it? Did the guys at the counter see it?"
His warm hand lands on my thigh. "Sweet Violet, do you really think I would let anyone see you like that, other than me? I'd already disabled the camera before we came onto the range. I wanted you to learn how to shoot in privacy." He glances over as we hit a red light. "Though I did enjoy the finish even more than the gun play." He considers it. "Maybe more like foreplay, eh? If that's the case, I'm gonna buy you twenty-seven gunsand take you shooting every day. I will strip this city clean of ammunition."
I'm laughing helplessly. "Is that Bratva humor?"
"I like this brazen side of you, Violet," he says, patting my hand approvingly.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed it," I say. "Because I'm going back to Sane and Rational Violet now, thank you very much."
I'm lying.
Just sitting next to him and seeing those thighs, thick with muscle and his competent hands on the steering wheel, I already know I would jump back on that dick in the middle of Madison Avenue during rush hour.
Back at Roman's house, Iris and Rose are lounging in the living room, snacking from a huge plate of pastries no doubt brought by one of the bloodthirsty Bratva men that they're turned into their minions.
"Hey!" I snap. "No eating in the living room. You're making me look bad, like I didn't raise you with any manners."
"But we get to eat in the living room at your place," Rose points out.
"That's because my living room is also my kitchen." I say.
"It's also your hallway," Iris adds, "and the vestibule."
"What is a vestibule?" Rose says.
"I don't know," Iris admits. "I just think it sounds cool and Violet's apartment is too tiny to have a separate vestibule."
Sniffing as I walk closer, I ask, "What is that smell? It's like one of those candles you put out to repel mosquitoes."
Iris looks wounded. "That's my new perfume! I'm searching for my signature scent."
"Unless your only intention is repelling insects," I say, waving my hand in front of my nose, "You might want to reconsider." Glancing down at the table, I see six different bottles of perfumes scattered there. Two I recognize and have names like Dior and Prada that guarantee they cost over a thousand dollars. "Where did you get these? Remember we're saving money for college?"
"Oh they came in this big sample box. All the girls were trying them out at school." Rose waves her hand. "It was like some introductory sale."
Just then, her nostrils flare slightly, her brow arching and I step backward in a hurry, edging towards the stairway. I know I smell like sweat and sex.
"Where have you two been? I thought we couldn't leave the house," Iris asks.
"I took your sister shooting," Roman says, picking up one of the bottles and sniffing at it. His face scrunches up in distaste before setting it down again. "Don't use that one either. It smells like a wet cat on a hot summer afternoon."
Rose moves that bottle over to the discard pile. "I want to learn how to shoot."
Roman shakes his head. "You two are dangerous enough. You can strip a man's will to live within twenty minutes. Your charm is deadly enough."
