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“You’re awfully bossy for a dead man,” I muttered, relaxing against him.

His chuckle rumbled against my spine. “You killed me. Least you can do is keep me company in the afterlife.”

He slid his hands under the water, skimming over my ribs in slow, lazy lines that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with touching just because he could, like he was memorizing me by feel.

For a while, we didn’t talk. The only sounds were the soft slosh of water, the faint hum of the hotel heating, and our breathing gradually syncing up.

His lips brushed the side of my neck, barely there. “You didn’t need to do all this,” he said quietly. “The presents. The rope. The…” He paused, like he was searching for a word that wasn’t completely obscene. “Costume.”

I smirked. “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy being my personal Christmas ornament?”

He tightened his arms around me. “I’m saying I don’t remember the last time someone made that much effort…just to make me feel good.”

That stupid, traitorous warmth in my chest flared again. I stared at our hands under the water—his big, scarred fingers loosely linked with mine across my stomach.

“Get used to it.” I aimed for flippant and landed somewhere softer. “You’re my pakhan now. My responsibility. Got to keep you well fed, well fucked, and occasionally humiliated in festive lingerie. It’s in the fine print.”

He huffed a laugh against my shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Nonnegotiable.”

32

STAS

By the time the car slowed in front of Yelena and Zasha’s townhouse, the sky had dipped into a deep winter blue. Streetlamps glowed warmly along the sidewalk. Snow dusted the steps like powdered sugar. And beside me, shifting in his seat with that infuriatingly casual grace, was Yuriy, hair loose, falling around his shoulders.

He’d taken it down for me earlier after I made the one simple request while he was getting dressed.

Now I regretted everything.

I practically felt the strands between my fingers, felt the way his hair would slide through my grip while he groaned into my mouth, which was the reason we were late. Because my obsession with Yuriy’s hair loose had left me bent over the table in the room while he bred me again. He’d been more gentle, but having a cock as big as Yuriy’s inside you three times in less than twenty-four hours was not ideal.

In the front seat, Arty cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

“Yeah,” I grunted and winced. I sounded like someone who hadn’t slept.

Yuriy shot me a sideways look, the kind that said I know exactly what you’re thinking and it’s disgusting, and I like it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I muttered.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

He stepped out of the car, and I followed, instantly regretting moving too fast. The second my boots hit the pavement, my lower body issued a formal complaint. My entire ass pulsed with a dull, persistent ache, a reminder of last night’s chaos and this morning’s…round two. And this evening’s round three.

If Yuriy hadn’t cornered and bribed a maid, we wouldn’t have clean bed linens for tonight.

Yuriy closed the door beside me, smirking. “You all right there, babe?”

“Don’t.” I pointed at him. “Not a word.”

He laughed, low and warm, stepping closer so his shoulder brushed mine as we walked toward the steps. “You’re walking like someone’s grandfather.”

“I’m walking like a man trying to keep his pride intact.”

“Well, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it,” he whispered, leaning so close his hair brushed my cheek. “The way you’re walking, everyone will know I had you bent over multiple times today.”

My knees almost gave out. Why did he have to be so fucking unfiltered? And why did I find every lewd thought that came out of his mouth a turn-on?