Assassin's Heart: A Dark Mafia Romance Standalone
Date: 2023-07-25 00:00:00+00:00
Description: My job is death, danger, and intrigue. Never love. Since I was sixteen, the Syndicate has been my entire life. Now, on the brink of becoming one of their most trusted assassins, I've been given a job that should be simple–find a woman named Lidiya Petrovna, and use whatever means necessary to convince her to work for us. From the first word she says to me, I know she's going to drive me insane. Feisty, fiery and determined to try to escape me at every turn, she captivates me like no other woman I've ever met–and leaves me feeling things I never knew I could. As the days pass and it gets harder
Rights: Copyright 2023 M. James. All rights reserved.

Assassin’s Heart

A Savage Trilogy Prequel

M. James

PNK Publishing

Contents

Prologue

1. Lidiya

2. Levin

3. Lidiya

4. Levin

5. Lidiya

6. Lidiya

7. Levin

8. Lidiya

9. Levin

10. Lidiya

11. Levin

12. Lidiya

13. Levin

14. Lidiya

15. Lidiya

16. Lidiya

17. Levin

18. Levin

19. Lidiya

20. Lidiya

21. Levin

22. Levin

23. Lidiya

24. Lidiya

25. Levin

26. Levin

27. Lidiya

28. Lidiya

29. Levin

30. Lidiya

31. Levin

32. Lidiya

33. Lidiya

34. Lidiya

35. Levin

Prologue

Levin

The window is open.

Not open—shattered. The glass is scattered across the floor, blood drops refracting off of it in the sunlight, like some kind of macabre art installation. Glittering, shimmering blood.

He’s seen blood before, plenty of times. More of it, even. But never like this.

Never blood that matters.

It feels like it’s his blood, scattered across the floor. Like every tiny shard of glass has embedded itself in his chest, cutting, slicing, opening him up until there should be a deluge of his blood on the gleaming wooden floor, joining hers.

The gauzy white curtains are blowing in the breeze that the shattered window is letting in. They’re blood spattered, too. The crisp white sheets, the fluffy duvet, the piles of pillows that she always loved, covered in blood. A river of it, an ocean.

One and a half gallons. That’s how much blood the average human body contains. In hers, maybe less, since she was so slender. So delicate, even, though she always hated that word. Petite. That was a word she hadn’t hated.

He knows how much blood there is in a human body. He’s spilled enough of it, but it never fails to surprise him how voluminous it looks, when it’s outside of the body that’s meant to hold it. How sodden fabric can become with it, heavy and rich and red.

He thinks all of this, standing in the doorway with his heart shattering in his chest, because he can’t believe that it’s real. It’s a dream—a nightmare—that she’s lying on the blood-drenched bed, her hands still clutching her split-open stomach as if to protect what was inside of it.

Nothing, really. Cells. A few weeks’ worth of development. Not enough to even see. He’d dreamed of seeing how she’d grow round and luscious, like a warm ripe peach, the way he’d run his hands over her growing belly and imagine a future that up until very recently he hadn’t even dared to picture. Hadn’t even thought he wanted.

And then, suddenly, he had.

She’d been afraid to tell him. Afraid that he’d be angry with her. They hadn’t been careful. She’d told him it wasn’t the right time of the month, anyway. That it didn’t matter. But it had mattered.

He would have thought he would have been angry.

But he hadn’t been.

He’d fallen to his knees and cried. Clutched her waist and pressed his cheek to her still-flat belly and cried.

It was like the world had opened up, like the clouds had parted and the rain had stopped, like everything he had never known he needed was handed to him in that moment.

But she’d always taken him by surprise.

And now—the last surprise. The worst one. Her beautiful body, splayed out on the bed, her stomach laid open, her wrists and throat cut. Their bridal bed, the bed he’d brought her home to the night they’d gotten married, soaked in her blood.

He’d thought the all-white bed was impractical, but she’d insisted. It reminded her of the hotel beds where they’d started their love affair, she’d said, where they’d snuck in so many nights and afternoons when they’d still believed this wasn’t forever, just a little while. Just a forbidden desire that neither of them had been strong enough to fight off for long.

But it had turned into forever—or at least, he’d thought it would be, until right this second.

All of it, all the things that he’s thinking, are only a way to ignore the truth. To pretend that what he’s seeing isn’t real, but he knows it is, because he’s created this sort of scene too many times himself.

He has to admit, he’s done it to people who were loved, just as he loved her. Fathers, brothers, husbands, sons. But never to a woman. And never this grotesquely.

This was meant to send a message. One he’s received, loud and clear.

He crosses the room, slowly, and then faster. He doesn’t know how long she’s been there, if there’s any warmth left in her body, but if there is he wants to feel it. He wants to hold her to him, one last time, so he can remember how her warmth feels in his arms, smell the scent of her skin, let it sink into him so that even though she’s gone, he’ll never, never forget.

But when he crawls onto the blood-soaked bed next to her, when he pulls her into his arms, she’s cold. The only smell is that of metal and death—there’s nothing of her skin left, nothing of her perfume or soap, only the copper-rich scent of blood and the sick smell of the dead.

He feels nauseous, but he doesn’t allow himself to get sick. He’d have to let go of her, get up, and that he can’t do.

This is the last time he’ll hold her. His wife, his beloved, his heart. Her hand falls to one side, the diamond on her finger glinting in the sunlight, and he sees that it, too, is flecked with blood.

He clutches her to him, feeling the beating of his heart, and in that moment he knows that he’ll rip the world open to avenge her. When she fell in love with him and he with her, everything changed. Now, it’s all changed again.

But he can’t let her go just yet.

And so, with the sunlight coming in through the window and surrounded by blood, just as he’s been for so long, he holds the body of the woman he loves, and cries.

One last time.

There will be no tears after this.

Only more blood.

Lidiya

Moscow in the winter is bitterly cold.

Not just cold in the sense that you need to bundle up, but to-your-bones, sink in deeply and stay there, in a way that only a hot bath and a fire and a steaming drink can fix, cold. It’s raining today too, which means that it’ll be even harder to shake the chill once I get home.

As if to add insult to injury, my radiator is broken. It’s been broken for most of the winter, but it didn’t matter, because I spent most of my nights at my boyfriend’s apartment in the better part of the city.

Well, ex boyfriend, now.

His heat never stops working, and the tub in his ensuite bathroom is big enough for two. I should know, we spent enough nights in it together. Bubbles, rose petals, champagne, the works. He was good at romance, until he wasn’t. Or rather, until I figured out that what I’d thought was romance was really just a way to keep me from picking up on the fact that he had a girl on the side.

Not a girl. A wife.

Kids.

It makes me sick. Really, seriously sick—I threw up in his meticulously twice-weekly cleaned foyer when I found out. On her shoes.

Expensive shoes, as expensive as a month’s rent on my flat probably, which made me feel a little better. Good luck getting that out of leather.

She isn’t really who I should be mad at though—and I’m not. Not really. I’m furious with him for being a lying, cheating cad, and mad at myself for not seeing it. For letting myself be swept up in expensive dinners and nights in his giant bed and champagne bubble baths.

After all, who wines and dines a fucking grad student like that?

He’d said he wanted someone intelligent and charming, someone who could both look pretty on his arm and hold a conversation with his business associates. He’d taken me to a couple of those dinners and events, and of course I’d been able to hold a conversation—I’m in graduate school for fuck’s sake—but I don’t think I was charming. But then again, his wife didn’t look particularly charming either, even if she was quite pretty. She just looked—sad, and even though he’s the one who lied, I feel like that’s my fault. It shouldn’t be, but I can’t help feeling that way. I don’t understand what I have, exactly, that she didn’t, or why he would choose me to be the one to put in that position. We’d met at a party for my department, some research mixer where we were introduced to various donors, and he was one of them. I remember being surprised, because he seemed young to be a donor. As it turns out, we had a fifteen-year age gap, but that hadn’t mattered to me at the time. And unsurprisingly, it hadn’t mattered to him.

I’ve been told I’m beautiful, but I don’t see it. Beautiful is the ballerinas that I pass on my way to class every day, catching glimpses of them through the arched windows in the stone building where the bulk of their classes are held. Beautiful is the voices of the opera singers I hear practicing when I head to the adjunct offices after class. Beautiful is the art I see on the walls of the department across from mine.

My blonde hair is frizzing from the humidity, my eyes are swollen from crying, and my cheeks are stained permanently red from the cold and wind, it seems like. I study archaeology, as much from a desire to spend months in a dry, hot desert as a real need for discovery. Especially this time of year, I’d give anything to be picking shards of pottery out of a dry riverbed with sweat rolling down my forehead.

I have enough layers on to constitute an entire other person.

And I’m fucking running late.

I barely make it onto the train. I leap across the gap, pushing through the crowd of morning commuters and clinging to the overhead rail as the train jerks and moves forward, the crush of bodies feeling more suffocating than usual. I want to be home, curled up in my bed and alternating crying and seething over my ended relationship-that-was-never-really-a-relationship, but I also don’t, because there’s not enough blankets in the world to make my apartment habitable today.

Tonight is going to be even worse.

I force the thought out of my head, because there’s no point borrowing trouble, as my babushka used to say. It’ll be frigid tonight whether I think about it or not, so I might as well not bring myself down anymore than I already am.

She would have hated Grisha, my ex. She would have said there was something not quite right about him, and she would have been right, because there definitely wasn’t. I’d even sensed it at first, but I’d written it off as him being someone out of my league. Someone wealthy and cultured, while my idea of a nice meal prior to our first date was getting the ramen noodles with the little shrimp instead of chicken from the corner store.

Being a grad student is hard. Being an orphaned grad student with a sick babushka back home is even worse. I know I should be with her—I want to be with her, but she’d beat me with her cane if I tried to drop out and go home to take care of her. My education is everything to her, and she’s immeasurably proud of me for getting this far, farther than anyone else in our family ever has. So I have to shove down the guilt and be satisfied with going home on weekends to see her, bringing her the money I have leftover from my stipend and the extra I make tutoring, and soaking up every bit of time I get.

That, now that I think of it, should have been another clue as to what was really going on with Grisha. What kind of boyfriend never asks why his girlfriend is gone every weekend, or ever complains about it? It wasn’t like he knew about my babushka, I never said anything. I didn’t want him to think I was angling for him to help me financially, so I just kept it quiet. But he never once asked me to do anything on the weekends, or complained that I was never available, or wondered why I was gone.

Now I know why, of course—he was spending those weekends with his wife and children, wherever they live. Some upper-crust house outside of the city, probably. He never asked because he was probably just grateful to not have to fucking worry about it, probably a little bewildered that he never had to make excuses, but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I’d been the perfect fucking side piece and I hadn’t even known it.

I even gave outstanding head, whenever he fucking asked.

He didn’t fucking deserve it.

Bitterness feels better than being sad, honestly. Anger is better than the yawning hole in my heart left by the fact that I really had been falling in love with him, that I’d believed him when he’d said he was falling in love with me. The part of me that had adored what we’d had together, before I knew it was all a lie.

The anger warms me up a little, at least.

The train jerks to a stop, and I surge forward with the crowd, stumbling over the gap onto the platform where the wind is whipping bitterly through the train stop. I pull my scarf up over my nose and mouth, and catch a glimpse of a man that I’d seen just as I’d gotten onto the train, a few seats down from where I’d been holding onto the railing. He’s wearing a black cap pulled low over his eyes and a black wool trench with a thick black woolen scarf wrapped around his neck, but even all of that hadn’t kept me from catching a glimpse of the piercing blue of his eyes, bluer than anything I’ve ever seen. Almost dangerous, in a way that made my heart race a little.

What are you thinking, Lidiya? As if you need to be noticing another man right now.

The small voice in my head always sounds like my babushka, chastising me. It’s a good thing, usually, although where was it when I was missing every red flag that Grisha ever waved? It’s not as if there weren’t plenty of them. I just hadn’t wanted to pay attention, because it had been so long since a handsome man had noticed me, and he did everything right. Too right. I’d wanted it to be real, so I’d ignored my intuition.

The same intuition that is pinging wildly right now, telling me that there’s something off about this man, too.

Or maybe I’m just being suspicious, because I’m pissed at men in general right now.

The man is getting off of the train too, looking around, and for a moment I think he’s looking for me. That’s insane though—why would he be? I hardly know anyone in Moscow, other than my few friends from the department, and even then, we don’t get to spend nearly enough time together.

I certainly don’t know any tall men with piercing blue eyes who wear all black.

I push forward in the crowd of commuters, later than ever now. I’ll never hear the end of it from my ancient history professor, who despises tardiness more than anything and yet has the gall to have one of the earliest classes of the day. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s eyes boring into my back, and I resist the urge to look over my shoulder for several feet, until I can’t anymore.

When I finally do, my pulse leaps into my throat.

The man is several paces behind me, his head lowered, pushing through the crowd—towards me. Not towards me, I tell myself, just in the same direction. But then I turn the corner to take the stairs up to the street level instead of riding the escalator with everyone else, and when I glance over my shoulder again, he’s still there.

Closer now.

Fuck. I pick up my pace, faster and then faster again, but he’s still there. I swerve to the right, my heart hammering, looking for another exit, a way out of here that might enable me to lose him, feeling crazier by the moment. There’s no reason for anyone to be following me. But he’s right there, closer now, and I’ve taken too many turns at this point away from the normal path out of the station for it to be a coincidence.

I grab the railing to head down a set of steps that heads down to the next level, entirely in the wrong direction, but I don’t care anymore. I’ll miss class if I have to. I never have, not all semester, not even when Grisha tried to get me to play hooky and stay in bed all day with him, warm and naked. But I just want this man away from me—in fact, if all men could stay away, that would be just fucking—

My foot slips on ice on the stairs, someone’s leftover wet footprints frozen over from last night, and I try to catch myself on the railing but my feet are already going out from under me. I hear myself let out a screech as I tumble down the stairs, ass over beanie. Luckily it’s only a half-flight, but the stairs are hard, cold metal in the frigid temperature, slick with ice from disuse, and I hit the landing hard, my head striking cement as I lie there groaning.

The world is swimming, and I have just a moment to look up and see the man coming down the stairs, his piercing blue eyes visible under the cap, and realize that unless I’m hallucinating, he’s fucking gorgeous. Strong jaw, long nose, stubbled cheeks and of course, those fucking eyes.

But then again, I could also have a concussion.

“Lidiya Petrovna?” His voice carries towards me, thick and heavily accented, and I peer at him from where I’m lying and trying to decide if I also have a cracked rib or three, as well as the aforementioned concussion.

“How do you—know my name?” I manage, through lips that feel thick and numb.

I don’t have a chance to hear his answer before I pass out cold.

Levin

I hadn’t expected the girl I was following to be clumsy as a penguin—actually, clumsier, because most of the time penguins can walk on ice. Well—there was that one YouTube video I watched, but—

I shake my head, looking down at the pile of girl that’s on the landing of the stairs, and hoping against hope that she’s not actually dead or brain-damaged, both of which would make her completely ineffective for what we need her for. My job is already harder than it needs to be—of course she would have broken up with Grisha Fedorov the same day I was meant to have a discussion with her about what, specifically, was needed from her out of their relationship.

Not that she knows who I am, or who I work for, or why she’s a person of interest to us. I’d planned to explain all of that, somewhere quiet. But now she’s unconscious, and I have to figure out how to get her out of here inconspicuously and somewhere safe until she—hopefully—wakes up.

There’s nothing I like less than dealing with women in the course of my job, and Vladimir knows that. Actually—that’s not exactly true. I love dealing with women, both for my job and after hours, when there’s some pleasurable aspect to it. For instance, seducing a woman that we need information from? Right up my alley. Exploring the entertainment district of whatever city I happen to be doing a job in when my time is finally my own? My favorite way to pass the late hours of the night and the wee ones of the morning.

But I don’t harm women, and I don’t like interrogating them unless there’s some pleasure to be had from it—on both sides—and I definitely don’t like feeling as if I’m kidnapping one.

Unfortunately, there’s not really any way out of this particular situation. Lidiya Petrovna is an important part of this particular mission, even though she doesn’t know it yet, and I’ve been assigned to be the one to pull it all together.

When it’s done, hopefully she’ll still be in one piece, and I won’t ever have to see her again. I’m certain she won’t want me to, especially after this.

But what she wants isn’t exactly the most important thing right now.

Checking behind me to make sure no one else is coming down the stairwell, I carefully make my way down the steps to the landing where she’s crumpled. She passed out cold after asking how I knew her name—convenient, since that’s a conversation we need to have somewhere else—and while that’s a bad thing for a concussion if she has one, it’s a good thing for the fact that I need to quickly and quietly get her out of here, without all the yelling and arguments and struggling that I’m sure would take place if I tried to do that with her conscious, even if not fully awake.

Drugging a woman is something else on the list of things I hate the idea of and wouldn’t want to have to do, so in all honesty she did me a favor by tumbling ass over teakettle down the steps, as my babushka would have said.

Careful of her neck, I scoop her up, cradling her bridal-style in my arms as I start to make my way down the next flight of stairs, careful of the icy patches. This stairwell clearly leaks, which has caused patches of the dripping water to freeze on the metal steps and make the stairs more than a little hazardous. Thanks to the girl in my arms, I’m aware of it enough to not make the same mistake she did.

She’s incredibly light. She feels as if she weighs almost nothing as I carry her down the stairs, her head lolling against my chest with her blonde hair escaping from the moth-eaten wool beanie covering it. She must be wearing ten layers of clothes—she looks like a homeless person if I’m being honest—but a remarkably beautiful one at that. She has a small, delicate face with a pointed chin, and I thought I caught a glimpse of huge blue eyes fringed with pale lashes before she passed out.

There’s no telling what she looks like under the pile of clothes, but that’s not something I should be thinking about anyway.

Rein it in, Volkov. My libido has gotten me in trouble more than once in the past. I can’t help it—I have an eye for pretty women, always have, since I was old enough to be the Lothario of my secondary school. In fact, I’ve been going through a dry spell recently—and having a girl this pretty curled up against my chest is doing strange things to the heart beating inside of it.

In general, I don’t date. My job isn’t conducive to a real relationship—hearts and flowers and champagne and dinner reservations. It’s certainly not conducive to love, or anything long-term. For one thing, a relationship built on lies and secrets isn’t one that can ever be real or truly fulfilling—my own parents’ marriage taught me that—and for another, in my line of work, you keep those close to you few and far between.

When someone does what I do, one day, someone will want their blood, their head on the proverbial platter. And if they love anyone—parents, close friends, a spouse or children—those people will be a prime target for hurting them. It’s a kindness to keep people at arm’s length—mostly for them, but also for myself. I’ve lived a life mostly free of loss, because I’ve made sure that I have nothing to lose. And I like it that way.

So my love life is mostly comprised of three options—picking up women at bars for a one-night-stand, having torrid flings with women I need to get information from, or purchasing company. I’ve never minded the latter or felt there was anything particularly salacious about it, I’m careful about what establishments I frequent, and I only ever pay for time with women who are sober and look genuinely pleased to be making money in such a way. It’s easy to tell the difference between a woman who is enjoying herself, and one who has to be drugged up or is being coerced, either by circumstance or someone else.

The latter is the furthest thing from a turn-on, to me. There’s plenty of men who I work with who wouldn’t scruple at any kind of pussy, no matter how coerced, but that’s never been and will never be me. It’s possible to exchange money and still have all parties happy to be there, and that’s the only way I choose to go about buying company.

Lately, there hasn’t even been much time for that, though. And the fact that this girl smells distinctly of some expensive soap and warm feminine skin is distracting me far more than it should be.

I carry her all the way out to the street, moving quickly through the crowd as I head back in the direction of my hotel. Thankfully the streets are mostly full of tardy commuters, people with somewhere to be and no time to consider their surroundings. No one bothers to look twice at me, despite the fact that I’m walking at a brisk clip with a girl cradled in my arms, and I’m glad of it. My success depends on not being noticed, and I make sure to keep my hat down and scarf up, my face mostly obscured, just another person swaddled tightly against the frigid Moscow air.

A week ago, there were still holiday decorations up around the city, but those have all been taken down now. This is the worst part of winter, when any joy that might have been derived from it is gone, the lights and cheer dissolved, and it’s nothing but grey skies, cold bitter wind, and filthy slush piles of snow. Everything seems more dreary and bleak this time of year in mid-January, and I find myself wishing desperately that I’d gotten an assignment somewhere warmer. Mexico, perhaps. I’d deal with the cartel for a little sunshine. It seems like a fair exchange.

But instead, I’m here, freezing my balls off as I cart this girl back to my hotel in one of the nicer parts of the city. Sometimes my assignments require me to stay in some real shitholes to avoid detection, but at least this time, I’ve been permitted to stay in a five-star establishment, a real treat compared to my last job in the favelas.

All the better to keep an eye on Grisha Fedorov, who has been fucking an entire string of co-eds in this hotel. But the only one we have any real interest in is Lidiya, who managed to develop an actual relationship with him.

The doorman raises an eyebrow as I approach the hotel. I don’t recognize him, which means he probably wasn’t working when I checked in a few nights ago, or anytime since. Still, everyone at this hotel who I might encounter has been made aware of who I am and that I’m not to be interfered with, and this doorman will be no different.

“Volk peredayat privet,” I say clearly as I step up to the revolving door. The wolf sends his regards. Unless this doorman hasn’t been briefed, which would be a massive oversight, he’ll know by those words that I work for Vladimir and why I’m here. No one will touch me, interfere with me, or call the politsiya on me.

He steps aside, looking away and down quickly as if afraid to even be noticed, and I feel a small, grim wave of relief.

I don’t necessarily like making the average man—or woman—afraid of me. There’s certainly people who I do enjoy instilling a healthy dose of fear in, others who I’ve even taken satisfaction in seeing the terror in their eyes, but a doorman isn’t one of those, or the maid who cleans my room, or the person who clips my railway ticket. My boss, Vladimir, is a man who enjoys making everyone fear him, but I’ve never understood that.

Fear, like anything else, loses its savor when there’s too much of it. If the whole world fears you, you are entirely alone.

For all that I’ve lived a mostly lonely life, I like to think that at least some of the people I’ve encountered in my day to day have found me pleasant enough to remember me kindly if they think of me. After all, especially for a man like me, what else will there be when I’m gone? There will be no children, no wife, no family, no close friends to keep my memory alive. Just a hotel doorman, perhaps, who will remember the man who slipped into the revolving doors either because he was afraid, or because he found me compelling in some other way.

I’d rather it not always be fear. And I try to be inconspicuous, more often than not. But I’d like to be remembered kindly, if I am.

Death always feels very close, in my line of work, but lately it’s felt more so.

I take Lidiya up to my room on the 17th floor, moving quickly down the hall before any guests can come up and catch sight of me. She’s remained absolutely still in my arms, which worries me, but all I can do is wait for her to wake up, and hope for the best.

There’s one crisp king-sized bed in the middle of my hotel room—which has gone woefully unused except for sleeping—and I lay her down on top of it, grabbing the fine wool throw blanket from the end of the bed and pulling it over her before stepping back. The room is quite warm, and I debate whether I should remove some of the layers she’s bundled herself up in. I don’t want her to be alarmed when she wakes up, but at the same time, even I’m eager to shed my coat and scarf and cap considering the warmth of the room. The maid turned on the gas fireplace when she came in to clean and make the bed while I was gone, and while the ambience of it is lovely, the warmth is almost stifling.

I start by shedding my own layers, tossing my black wool trench and the wool pullover that I had on beneath it over the nearest armchair, followed by my scarf and the cap tossed onto the seat. I run my hand through my short dark hair, sitting down on the edge of the sofa as I watch her and roll my shirtsleeves up.

Finally, I cross the room to where she’s lying on the bed, hoping she’ll wake up. Everything would be simpler if she would just wake up, and we could have the discussion we were meant to have. But she’s still motionless, her face paler than what seems healthy, her long pale lashes lying on her thin cheeks. Just looking at her in all of those clothes makes me feel hot and uncomfortable, so I tell myself that it will be fine, as long as I don’t undress her completely. Just enough to make sure she doesn’t overheat.

My concern for her in and of itself is a bit odd, though I try not to think about it too closely. I’ve never been a cruel man except to those who deserve it or to whom I’ve been paid to be, but I also keep my distance, when it comes to feeling. I’m not rude to the women who I spend my time with or even particularly dismissive–I think–but once we’re done, I send them on their way. This girl isn’t even someone I can, under any circumstances, think of sexually—so why do I give a shit?

Fuck. I pluck the moth-eaten beanie off of her head, tossing it aside and unwinding the rough wool scarf after that. I knew graduate students were broke, but this girl dresses like she bought everything out of a rummage sale. The buttons on her coat are hanging on by a thread, and I carefully undo them, pulling off one outer coat to find another and two layers of sweaters underneath it.

Will there be an actual person under all of this, once I get it off?

To my surprise, there is. I peel back the layers until it’s just her in a long black wool skirt and a fitted black sweater with a V-neck. I pull off her battered ankle boots and socks and let them join the pile of clothes on the floor, and marvel at how different she looks with all of that peeled away. She looks pretty, petite and delicate, with her soft, stick-straight blonde hair around her face and her angular bone-structure, her pointed chin in a heart-shaped face. Everything about her is quite lovely, if a little shabby—I can see why Grisha Fedorov took a liking to her. Men like that like to feel needed, and this girl definitely could use a hot meal and a comfortable bed. I’m sure he told himself that he was giving her a taste of the good life, that it didn’t matter if he was keeping her as a side piece as long as he was giving her something good to look forward to.

Men like that find all kinds of reasons to justify their behavior. Cheating, in my opinion, is abhorrent. The lowest of the low—if you’re going to dip your dick wherever you please, just stay single. I like variety, and that’s just one of the many reasons I’ve chosen not to get into a relationship. But if I did—though it’ll never happen—I would be faithful above all else.

Nothing good has ever come from lies. There’s a number of reasons why Grisha Fedorov deserves what’s coming to him, but as far as I’m concerned, this only adds to the tally.

I nudge the pile of clothes aside, looking down at her pretty face, wondering how difficult this is all going to turn out to be. Yesterday, I would have said that it might be easier to manage, but I’m pretty sure Lidiya Petrovna doesn’t ever want to set eyes on her ex-boyfriend again, and I honestly don’t blame her.

That’s not my problem, though. Grisha Fedorov is, and to deal with that problem, I need Lidiya.

For better or worse, she’s going to have to hear me out, and agree to help. Even though I can just about guarantee she’s not going to like it one bit.

She stirs then, moaning softly in pain, but the sound is nearly indistinguishable from one of pleasure. I feel my dick twitch inconveniently at the sound—it really has been too long—but I don’t have long to think about that.

Because a moment later, those wide blue eyes that I’d noticed start to flicker open, and only get wider as she sees me hovering over her, and catches sight of the hotel room—and the fact that she’s in a bed.

With surprisingly good lung strength for someone who just tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, she opens her mouth and shrieks at me, startling me enough to make me take a step back.

“Where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

Lidiya

“Where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

I’m glad not to be still freezing to death in a train station stairwell with a possible concussion, but I’m not any less alarmed by the fact that I’ve woken up in a crisp white bed that’s clearly in a hotel room, with that strange man with the piercing blue eyes leaning over me with a concerned expression on his face.

A man who, apparently, has removed a good deal of my clothing. Not enough to expose anything or be inappropriate, really, but it still feels uncomfortably intimate. Enough that I instantly squirm away from him, moving towards the other side of the bed as quickly as possible while getting a good look at this man who has—kidnapped me? Brought me back to his hotel as a good Samaritan act? Has nefarious plans for me?

I honestly have no idea, and my head is aching so badly that I feel like I can hardly think, but it doesn’t escape me how handsome he is. Without the heavy coat and cap and scarf, it’s clear that he’s lean and fit, wearing a thin grey wool sweater that clings to his muscled arms and flat abdomen, and slim-cut black jeans that cling to equally muscled thighs and an ass that definitely wouldn’t quit—if I were looking at it, which I’m not.

I’m not looking at his ass, or his long-fingered hands, or his strong stubbled jaw and long sharp nose, or those piercing blue eyes that are looking at me with a mixture of frustration and concern. I’m definitely not looking at them while feeling uncomfortably warm—that would be the wool blanket covering me and the fire a few feet away…right?

Definitely.

“Lidiya Petrovna.” His voice, saying my name, instantly makes all that warmth and thoughts of his strong jaw and round ass fly straight out of my aching head, reminding me that he’s a stranger, a stranger who followed me, and that I shouldn’t be thinking about him in any way other than what way I can manage to escape this room.

He shouldn’t know my name. I don’t know him. My first terrified thought is that he’s some friend of Grisha’s, come to convince me to give my cheating ex another chance. I half expect Grisha to walk through the door at any moment with an obscene bunch of roses, begging me to forgive him and blathering something about how he hates his wife and plans to divorce her when the kids are older, etc. etc.—

“How do you know my name?” I squeak, pulling the blanket up to my chest as I sit upright, ignoring the stabbing pain in my head and neck as I do so.

“How do you feel?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me as he completely ignores the question. “Your head, I mean.”

“It feels like I fell down a flight of stairs,” I snap irritably. As a matter of fact, the pain is spreading through my head, throbbing painfully behind my eyes, and I badly want to go back to sleep. I know you’re not supposed to do that with a concussion—I think?—but at the moment I don’t care. I definitely don’t want to try to carry on a conversation with this strange man, who is unnerving me both with his presence and with the fact that I’m pretty sure this hotel room that I’m in is his.

“Half-flight,” he corrects me, his mouth twitching at the corners. Is he trying not to smile? Is he trying not to laugh at me? The thought of that is even more infuriating, and I narrow my own eyes right back at him—only to gasp in pain from the movement.

Fuck, this has to be the worst headache I’ve ever had.

“Try not to move around too much,” he cautions. “You don’t seem to be badly injured, but since you haven’t been seen by a doctor, I can’t be entirely sure. You probably have a concussion, and I’m sure you’ll be quite bruised for a bit. Still, it wasn’t a far fall—”

“The steps were frozen,” I grind out through gritted teeth. I can’t believe this man is trying to make light of my accident. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck—or you know, fallen down frozen concrete stairs, and he looks like he’s about to start laughing at my distress.

“Yes, I’m sure it was very painful,” he says slowly, as if he’s talking to a small child. “But the fact of the matter is, nothing was broken, and you seem to be mostly okay. It would be better if you stayed awake for a while, just in case, but that’s for the best anyway since we have things to discuss—”

“Excuse me?” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “The only things we need to discuss is why I’m here–in your hotel room I presume–how you know my name, and how far I’m going to have to go to get back to my apartment. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing else we need to talk about—”

“You’re correct, this is my hotel room. As for how I know your name and why you’re here, we’ll get to those in due time. And regarding your apartment—” He takes a deep breath. “You won’t be going back to your apartment for a little while, Lidiya. Not until I know for sure I can trust you.”

My mouth drops open. I can’t help it. I stare at him mutely, unable to think of anything to say for several minutes as we watch each other, me from the far side of the bed, him from where he’s standing opposite it.

“I think I heard you wrong,” I finally croak out. “Or else you have the wrong girl. I won’t be going back to my apartment? Until you know you can trust me? I don’t even know who you are—”

“No, you heard me correctly.” He huffs out another sigh, and for some reason from the tone of his voice and the look on his face, I’d almost think that he doesn’t want to be saying these things to me. That he doesn’t like it. But that doesn’t make any sense either, because if he doesn’t want to keep me here or say these things to me, then why do it at all?

“I’m just a grad student,” I argue. “In the archaeology department. I’m not even in like—cybersecurity or anything. What are you going to trust my word about, the intricacies of Roman architecture? You must have the wrong girl.”

“Are you Lidiya Petrovna?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Were you previously dating Grisha Fedorov until this morning?”

Oh fuck. My teeth clench. If Grisha has gotten me mixed up in some shit without my knowledge—well, I already kind of wanted to kill him for being a lying asshole, but now—

“Yes, but—”

“Then you’re exactly who I was looking for.” The man runs his hand through his short dark hair, looking at me with an almost tired expression. “Look, Lidiya, we can do this the easy way, or—”

Oh no, I know he’s not using that line. Headache forgotten, I scramble from the bed with full intent to run straight for the door. My bare feet smack against the carpet, and my clothes and boots are in a pile too close to him for me to grab them, but I don’t care. I’ll risk frostbite on my toes in the freezing Moscow cold over spending another second in a hotel room with a strange man who says things like we can do this the easy way or the hard way.

If Grisha has gotten me tangled up in some bad shit, I’m really going to kill him myself.

I dart around the bed towards the door, and despite how badly literally everything hurts, I almost make it there. He looks like a man who’s used to moving quickly, but I think I caught him off guard trying to run.

My hand gets as far as closing around the knob before I feel his arms around my waist pulling me backwards. The door is locked, and I don’t have a chance to turn the lock before he’s dragging me back towards the bed.

“Oh no you don’t!” I scream out loud, kicking and wriggling against him, twisting every possible way that I can in his arms. I try to stomp on his foot, but he seems impervious to that, his strong, muscled arms holding me so tightly that I know it’s useless. I’m not going to actually stop fighting though, which he seems to realize, because he tosses me onto the bed, staring down at me threateningly.

“We don’t have to make this difficult, Lidiya.” He’s not even breathing hard, and I’m panting, trying to catch my breath as I fight past the headache to glare up at him.

I guess I really should be doing more cardio.

“Then let me leave.” The words sound strangled in my throat, and he looks almost sympathetic as he shakes his head. It really does seem like he’s not happy about this, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything. it makes me feel worse, because if he isn’t the mastermind behind this then someone else is calling the shots. Which means this guy is probably just going to do what he’s been told, up to and including—

“Don’t you dare touch me,” I manage to growl. “I swear to God, if you try to touch me again—”

When he takes another step towards the bed, letting out a long-suffering sigh, I don’t wait to see what he’s going to do next. I lunge forward, reaching right between his legs to where I know his balls must be in those fitted jeans, and squeeze.

Hard.

“Bladya!” The man curses aloud, bending forward as he jerks himself out of my grasp, but it’s the opening I was looking for. I leap off of the bed again, going straight for the door a second time, this time fumbling for the lock as I yank at it—

--only to feel those hard hands on my upper arms, turning me around and slamming me up against the door, harder than he’s handled me before.

For some strange reason, it sends a rush through me. My heart is racing in my chest, my pulse lodged somewhere in my throat, and I look up to see those piercing blue eyes glaring down at me as he holds me tightly against the door.

For the first time, I become truly aware of just how physically large he is—not just in terms of his height and muscles, but also his presence. This might be a man with a boss, but he’s also a man who I imagine other men don’t often try to fuck with. There’s something terrifying and intimidating about him so close, those broad, long-fingered hands wrapped tightly enough around my arms that I’m sure there will be marks. There’s a hint of anger rising in his eyes, heating up his gaze, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

He moves closer to me, close enough that he’s almost touching me, and I smell the scent of lavender soap—probably the hotel’s—and underneath that the warm, masculine musk of his skin. He’s breathing slightly heavily too, and when I try to squirm away from him, arching forward in an ineffectual effort to get free that I just can’t help trying, I feel something else that startles me into going absolutely still.

He’s hard. Rock-hard, in fact, pressing against my thigh through those fitted jeans when I press myself against him. It wasn’t an effort to seduce, just to push him backwards enough to squirm away from him and the door, but clearly throwing me up against the door had some kind of effect on him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lidiya,” he says, his voice rough-sounding but not angry. “Just stop trying to run, okay? I don’t want to have to tie you up.”

His words are saying one thing, but the way I feel that hardness in his jeans lurch at the mention of tying me up says something else.

“You’re—” I swallow hard, not wanting to say it aloud. “Look, whatever’s going on, I’m sure it has nothing to do with me. Just please don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats. “Not in any way. But I do need you to calm down, and accept that for now, you’re staying in this hotel room.”

“Your—” I lick my lips, feeling my cheeks flush. “I hear you, but your dick is saying something else entirely.”

Something in his eyes darkens at that, and I feel his hands tighten imperceptibly on my upper arms. “You’re not here for that, Lidiya. But I can’t help it if I respond to having a beautiful girl like you pinned up against the door of my hotel room.”

I stare at him for a moment, shocked once again into speechlessness. I’m not about to fall for a line like that, of course not. And it’s not as if no one else has ever called me beautiful–for all that I don’t really believe it, more than one man has complimented me on my appearance.

But somehow, it sounds different on his lips. Holding me there with his hands on my arms, those piercing eyes fixed on mine and his muscled body so close to me, close enough that I can almost feel the heat of it sinking into my skin through his clothes and mine, the word beautiful seems to take on a different meaning. The way his rough, thickly accented voice murmurs it sends shivers over my skin like I’ve never felt before, makes my heart leap in my chest and my eyes flick down to his full lips, wondering suddenly what they might feel like on mine—

What the actual fuck, Lidiya.

This man has all but kidnapped me—maybe even actually kidnapped me—and is holding me prisoner up against a door, and I’m thinking about his lips. Maybe Grisha really took every last bit of common sense I had with him.

“If I let you go,” the man continues, “are you going to be a good girl, and go and sit on the bed while we talk this out?”

Something about the way he says good girl makes my knees go weak, enough that I might have stumbled if he wasn’t still holding me against the door. I’d been freezing not all that long ago, but now I feel flushed and hot, and I suddenly want nothing more than for him to let go of me—and at the same time, my mind is racing with fantasies of what could happen if he didn’t.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but clearly Grisha did a number on my brain.

I try to think rationally. It’s clear that I’m not going to get out of this hotel room, not right now at least. I’ve tried twice, and he’s gotten ahold of me both times. I don’t trust him in the slightest, but I do believe him when he says that he’s not going to hurt me—my instincts about people are generally pretty good. Grisha excluded, of course, but that’s the exception. From the moment I woke up and he started talking to me, I got the distinct impression that he’s not happy about keeping me here. And even if certain—other—parts of him seem happy about our current situation, I also don’t get the sense that he’s going to take advantage of me. Even him removing my layers in the warm room seems more caring in retrospect than creepy.

Despite the fact that I’m here against my will, he doesn’t seem like that bad of a man. Still, he’s clearly determined to keep me here, and I’m not particularly interested in finding out what lengths he’ll go to to make that happen if I don’t cooperate.

I definitely don’t want him tying me to the bed, and not just because I’m not particularly fond of the idea of being restrained in a strange man’s hotel room.

It’s also because from the way my heart is racing, I’m almost worried I might like it a little too much.

“Alright, fine,” I manage through my teeth. “I’ll listen to what you have to say. But then, and I swear to god—I’m going home.”

Levin

This girl has been awake for less than twenty minutes and she’s already driving me insane.

At first, all I’d felt was relief that she’d woken up. I’d have had a hell of a time explaining it to my boss, Vladimir, if the girl had died under my watch—even if it would have been through her own clumsiness. But then she’d tried to run, and I’d realized that this was going to be a harder process than even what I’d initially expected it would be.

Follow that up with her twisting my balls and making a second run for it, and that leaves us where we are now, with me pinning her up against the door and sporting a rock-hard, completely inappropriate erection.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not some teenage boy, to get a hard-on for every pretty girl I touch. I’m particularly not one to mix business and pleasure unless the circumstance specifically calls for it—I don’t go around getting aroused by every woman I come in contact with. This one is beautiful, certainly, but she’s not some supermodel—there’s absolutely no reason for me to have lost control of myself in that way.

But something about the way she’s looking up at me defiantly with those pretty blue eyes, squirming and fighting back like a little wildcat, the way she’s not screaming and crying in panic and definitely the way her slender body felt arched against me all add up to the fact that I’m harder than I remember having been for a woman in a very long time, my heart pounding in my chest at the feeling of her arms in my grasp and the scent of her skin.

I want to fuck her. I want to toss her onto the bed, pin her down all over again and strip those unflattering clothes away from her so I can see what her pale, petite, naked body looks like beneath them before shoving my throbbing cock so deeply into her that she’ll have the veins of it imprinted inside of her for days to come. I want to fuck her completely, thoroughly, and as roughly as she could possibly take it.

Which makes absolutely no fucking sense, because I have actual business to handle with her, and she’s just a girl. Just another pretty Russian girl in a country full of them.

My cock seems to think differently, though.

I’m almost disappointed when she says that she’ll stop fighting and listen to what I have to say. Not that I would have hurt or taken advantage of her—I very much want to avoid physically hurting her and I’ve never violated a woman and never will—but the idea of her tied to the bed so I can look at her that way while I question her holds a certain appeal that has my cock straining even harder against the fly of my jeans.

“Alright, then.” I let go of her anyway, because I’m a man of my word. “Go and sit on the bed then, and I’ll sit on that chair, and we’ll have a proper talk, like adults.”

Lidiya glares at me, rubbing her upper arms where my fingers have left red marks, but when I step back to let her pass, she doesn’t try to go for the door again. Instead, she pushes past me, striding towards the bed and plopping pointedly down on the edge of it, staring at me as I make my way towards the chair.

A woman of her word then, too. Good. We’ll get along much better that way.

“Let’s start with introductions,” I say, pulling the wing chair a bit closer to the bed so that there’s about a foot of space between us, my hands loosely and unthreateningly on my knees. I want to be close enough to catch her if she tries to run again, but not so close that she feels threatened. I also want a bit of space from her—the moment I sat down my cock folded up uncomfortably in my jeans, still raging on in its inability to understand that this is not a woman we get to fuck.

The sooner my body gets the message to think of her in business terms, the better—especially considering the business we need to discuss.

“You already know my name,” she says crossly. “You’ve mentioned it a few times now.”

“Yes, I do. Lidiya Petrovna. Daughter of Igor and Katya Petrovna, granddaughter of Helena Petrovna. The former are dead, the latter is quite ill, I hear. You send most of your living stipend to her, and the extra you make from tutoring, leaving you with a shitty apartment in the worst part of the city, questionable heating and groceries that hardly qualify as food. Am I right?”

As I speak, Lidiya goes very silent and very pale, her hands knotting between her knees as the seriousness of her situation and the level of information that I know about her sinks in. “How do you know all of that?” she asks, her voice quiet and small. Good. I don’t particularly like the idea of frightening her, but she needs to understand that this isn’t a joke or a game. I might have scruples about how I intend to handle her, but my boss has none of those. If I fail here, the men that will step in to take my place won’t treat her so kindly.

“Let’s begin with something simpler.” I watch her carefully, ready to grab her again if she tries to make a break for it. “My name is Levin Volkov. My job is to get information. I am very good at my job—when I am required to get that information, I gather as much as I can, by any means necessary.” I frown, leaning forward. “Do you understand me?”

“No,” she whispers. “But I don’t like the sound of that.”

Well, she’s honest at least. “I work for a—private company, Lidiya.”

“Like a detective?” She frowns.

“In a sense.” It’s the simplest explanation that doesn’t involve telling her that I actually work for a secret syndicate of assassins and spies, with headquarters in Moscow and cells throughout the country in every major city. Private detective will get us far enough without scaring her completely out of her wits—or just plain causing her to not believe me. I could see her calling me a liar and shutting down, or refusing to cooperate altogether.

This isn’t a girl I can terrify into obeying me, which makes me respect her a great deal. She’s not some wilting flower, but while it’s an attractive quality it’s going to make my job harder. Whatever I can tell her to make that easier, I will.

I hate lies, but I’m not trying to have a relationship with this girl. When the matter of Grisha Fedorov is handled, I’ll never see her again. It won’t matter if I’ve lied to her.

So why, then, does the idea of it make me feel faintly sick?

“I don’t understand,” Lidiya says quietly. “I don’t have anyone who would want me followed. I only have my babushka, and then my boyfriend—ex boyfriend, as of this morning.” She swallows hard. “I swear, if he’s the one having you follow me, I’m going to leave him alone. I don’t have any plans to interfere in his marriage, I didn’t even know he was married, I don’t want anything to do with him now. I’m not going to try to get his wife to leave him or something. I’m sorry I threw up on her shoes—”

She trails off, and it’s all I can do not to burst into laughter. The image of this pretty, petite girl barfing on some woman’s shoes is so ridiculous—and at the same time, exactly what I would expect of her based on what I’ve seen of her so far.

So she breaks up with her cheating “boyfriend”, vomits on his wife’s shoes, falls down a flight of stairs, and then wakes up in my hotel room. All that considered, I can’t really blame her for freaking out.

Lidiya Petrovna has had one hell of a morning.

“I’m not following you for Grisha,” I say patiently. “But this does have to do with him.”

“I knew it.” Her eyes widen. “I don’t want anything to do with him anymore. And whatever he’s mixed up in, I don’t have anything to do with that either. He never told me anything about business or what he does. When we were together we just went out to eat, went to the theatre, watched movies and fucked. I swear, I don’t know anything about anything—”

“I know.” I cut her off again. “I don’t believe you have any information about him now, Lidiya. But I do need you to get that information.”

She blinks at me. “What? What kind of information? And why me? I told you I broke up with him—”

“He’ll take you back,” I tell her confidently. “There’s not a chance in hell that he won’t. All you have to do is properly apologize and ask him to, letting him know you understand he’s married and that you’ll be respectful of it, but that you can’t live without him in some way—”

“Like hell I will.” Now Lidiya looks angry. Her eyes are blazing with an almost intimidating fire, and she clutches the edge of the bed, leaning forward as her mouth thins. “You’re a man, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But Grisha lied to me. He didn’t tell me I was a side piece from the start. He didn’t even give me the slightest inclination. He wined and dined and romanced me, fucked me, let me stay in his apartment and acted like the perfect boyfriend, only for me to find out he was fucking married because his wife showed up when she wasn’t supposed to.” Her teeth clench, grinding together. “He has kids.”

“Be that as it may,” I say calmly. “I need you to get information from him, and the way to do that is for you to be in a relationship with him. A fully romantic, sexual relationship.”

My stomach twists at that last, and that makes as little sense as the near-painful erection that’s only just now starting to recede. I knew from the moment I went to grab Lidiya at the station exactly what I would be asking from her, and it hadn’t bothered me then. It’s a fairly standard sort of mission—install the girl doing the fact-finding, have her get into a sexual relationship with the man, find out what she can when he’s loose-lipped and post-coital, and look around the apartment for anything else she can uncover. Show up at his office for some lunchtime fun and poke around, listen carefully at any events he takes her to. I’ve dealt with plenty of women on missions like these. I’ve even had a couple try to get to me in that way for dirt on the syndicate, though I always put a quick stop to that.

There’s no reason why the thought of Lidiya fucking Grisha should bother me in the least. It certainly shouldn’t make me feel sick, or angry, like I want to punch the man for ever having touched her at all, or like I want to be the one taking her to bed, not some asshole that doesn’t deserve her. I don’t even know her, I don’t know what she deserves or doesn’t, or anything about her or who she is.

Other than that she’s an adorably clumsy, beautiful, intelligent, fiery girl whose reaction to meeting her boyfriend’s wife unexpectedly was to barf on her shoes.

I’ve never been captivated by a woman. I’ve been attracted to plenty of them, driven to distracting desire by a few, interested in them often. But no woman has ever held my attention for more than a few nights, and none of them have ever, ever gotten in the way of me doing my job.

I’m married to the syndicate, body and soul, ‘til death do us part. There is no other path for me.

Lidiya cannot, under any circumstances, be a distraction.

I can’t think about how she felt, arched against me as I pinned her to the door, or how badly I want to find out what she looks like under those questionable clothes. I certainly can’t think about how I have the insane urge, at this very moment, to touch her quivering chin and soothe her, telling her that it’s all going to be okay.

For her, it’s not going to be, not for a while anyway. She’s going to have to go back to a man that she rightly hates, and get the information I need. And I can’t be upset about it—I have no reason to be.

“He said he loved me,” Lidiya whispers, her voice trembling along with her chin, as if she’s suddenly trying very hard not to cry. “I can’t—Levin, please. I just can’t.”

The sound of my name on her lips makes me go very still, my cock twitching in my jeans all over again. It sounds so good, almost musical, and it’s all too easy to imagine her crying out that name in bed, if I stripped her down and pinned her against those crisp white sheets, if I spread her slender thighs with my hands and discovered at length what she tastes like. If I found out whether she would moan my name or scream it, or better yet, both.

For fuck’s sake, pull yourself together.

I need to get laid, and soon. But for now, I need to convince Lidiya to do as I’m asking her, or we’re both going to have bigger problems.

“I understand,” I say calmly. “But all of that doesn’t matter. Grisha is involved in some very bad things, Lidiya. And we need proof of those things, so that we can take care of the matter.”

“Find someone else.” She juts her pointed chin outwards determinedly, staring me down. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back to him, pretend to love and want him. I won’t debase myself for you, beg a man who lied to me to come back to me. For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to do that to his wife. She doesn’t deserve this either.”

“It has to be you.”

“Why?” Lidiya’s voice rises, thin and high and plaintive. “If he fucked me, I’m sure he fucked others. Get some other girl to do it.”

“He has,” I admit, though I know it won’t improve matters. “But you’re the only one he carried on an actual relationship with, treated you as a girlfriend. I think, in his own twisted way, he does love you. Plenty of men who keep mistresses love them, Lidiya—”

“That’s not love.” Her voice is sharp and pointed, like a knife driving home a point.

“I would be inclined to agree with you.” I shrug. “But it doesn’t matter, Lidiya. What matters is that he believes he loves you, and that he will take you back. It has to be you. It would be too difficult to try to arrange another girl to start a relationship with him from scratch, to get the information.”

“What about his wife? She must be pissed at him too, after—”

“We’ve evaluated that option,” I say calmly. “It’s the opinion of my boss that his wife won’t turn, and may even be involved in his business affairs herself.”

“Well, I won’t help you either.” Lidiya crosses her arms over her chest, going from tearful to defiant again in the space of a moment. “I’m not going back to him. Just the thought of him makes me sick. I was falling for him too, and he lied to me. I hate him now.”

I was falling for him too. Those words shouldn’t strike a chord in me, shouldn’t make me feel a hot flush of jealousy at the idea of Lidiya telling Grisha Fedorov that she loves him, that she wants to be with him forever. I shouldn’t give a single goddamn about how she feels about him one way or another, so long as the mission is completed.

I don’t know how this girl has gotten in my head and under my skin so quickly, but I need to fix it, and fast. Vladimir won’t have patience with that kind of nonsense, and I can’t risk fucking up. I’ve risen quickly in the ranks of the syndicate, but I’ve seen others fall just as fast.

“You will.” I let out a long breath. “Don’t make this difficult, Lidiya—”

“You can’t make me.” She sounds stubbornly petulant now, and it grates on me. “What are you going to do, hold me prisoner in this room until I agree? It won’t work, and it won’t get you information on Grisha.”

“You’re right that it won’t get us that information,” I agree. “But you’ll capitulate quickly, I promise you that. There’s no need to drag this out though—”

“I said no.” She pushes herself up from the bed, standing up as if to walk past me. “I’m leaving now—”

I stand up just as quickly, moving between her and the door. “No, you’re not. If you refuse, we’ll keep you here, and freeze your accounts.”

She goes very still, looking up at me. “What? You can’t do that—”

“I assure you, we can.”

“A private detective agency can’t—” Her eyes go wide and round as it hits her then—I might not have admitted out loud what I’m a part of, but it dawns on her that it’s much more complex than just a private investigation agency. “What the fuck is this?”

“You don’t need to know more,” I say carefully. “But you will not leave this room, Lidiya, until you agree. And if you don’t, we will freeze your accounts, and the money you send to your dear babushka won’t reach her. It won’t take all that long before she’s unable to buy food, or her medicine, and soon enough things will start getting cut off. Lights, gas, even her apartment itself. And if you still refuse—”

I hadn’t thought Lidiya’s eyes could get any wider, but they do. She swallows hard, and I see that tremor in her chin again, though she hides it well.

“You’re a monster,” she whispers. “A monster—”

“No, I’m not.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to do any of this, and I certainly don’t enjoy it. But I assure you, Lidiya—my boss is. And he will do every single thing I’ve threatened—and more.”

I look down at her, hoping that she sees how serious I am.

“So what will it be, Lidiya Petrovna?”

Lidiya

What will it be?

It’s all I can do not to start shaking as I look up at Levin. He can’t do this, I think wildly, but it’s rapidly becoming apparent to me that he can.

I don’t fully understand who this man is, what he does or who he works for—although I don’t believe it’s just a fucking private detective agency anymore, that’s for sure—but I’m beginning to believe that he can do just about whatever the fuck he wants. I know someone must have heard me screaming earlier when I’d tried to escape—I’d purposefully tried to be noisy enough that someone might come to my rescue or call the police, but the hall outside of the room has been dead silent.

Whoever Levin really is, whoever this boss is that he’s mentioned, it’s becoming clear to me that he is, to some extent at least, above the law. That the people who should protect others like me turn a blind eye to the things that he, and the men he works for and with, do.

I grip the edge of the bed tightly, forcing myself not to shake, not to cry, but to think.

He’s going to keep me in this hotel room, that much is plain. He wants me to get back with Grisha, so that I can find out information that he hasn’t yet shared with me what it is. And then—what?

He takes the information, fucks off, and I go back to my life, feeling like shit after spending god knows how much time in the bed of a man who now makes me feel physically nauseous?

The thought of it makes me want to hurl all over again.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “You’d put an old woman at risk to force me to—”

“Not me,” Levin corrects, and I glare up at him.

“What? You’re just the poor messenger? I’m sorry, but I’m not fully buying that. Your boss is putting you up to this, fine. But you’re still working for a man like that, which makes you—”

Levin lets out a frustrated sigh, sinking back down in his own seat. I blink at him with surprise—I could make a break for it now, if I wanted to, though I still think he’d manage to stop me before I could get out of the door. His retreat makes me feel obligated to do the same, though, which is probably what he was going for.

Either way, I sink back down onto the edge of the bed, and we stare at each other across the foot of space, at an impasse.

“I don’t think you want your boss to know that I’m being a pain,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes. I might not know of any good way out of this—especially since I believe he really will do what he’s threatening and cut off my accounts—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over without a fight. “I think it would threaten your job too, if he knew how much trouble you were having with one girl—”

“I wouldn’t be having so much trouble, if I weren’t circumspect in my methods,” Levin says with a growl, a warning in his voice. “And I can tell you, Lidiya, my boss is not. Most of the men who work for him–I’d say all of the men, though I hate generalizing–aren’t either.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Don’t be glib.” Levin narrows his eyes right back at me. “You don’t want someone else being brought in to deal with this, Lidiya. You might think I’m a monster, but I’m a fucking angel compared to the other men who work with me. I won’t hurt you, or violate you, I won’t make you bleed or cause you any pain. Physical pain, anyway,” he adds, his mouth twisting a little at the corners. “I’m sure you feel that having to go back to Grisha is causing you emotional pain right now. And I don’t enjoy that, but it is a necessary evil of my job. Putting a stop to Grisha’s machinations is more important—”

“More important than my happiness? Than my grandmother’s health?”

“Yes.” The word is clipped, and Levin sits back, his piercing blue eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t know you, Lidiya, and you don’t know me. When this is finished, we’ll have nothing more to do with each other. But the fact that I don’t know you means I don’t have the sympathy that you seem to expect me to have.”

“I don’t think you know what the word means.”

“Be that as it may.” He folds his hands together, looking at me calmly. “You have a decision to make, Lidiya. So make it. Or don’t—but I can tell you that if you don’t, I’ll begin the process of making calls to have your accounts frozen.”

“I want to be paid.” I blurt out the words unceremoniously, and Levin raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, Lidiya. I hadn’t thought you were so mercenary.”

“You, calling me mercenary?” I glare at him. “Anyway, I phrased that wrong. It’s not me that I want you to pay. I want the money to go to my babushka. You can put it my account and then have it transferred to her, but it’s not for me. She deserves more than what I can send her, and—”

“Ten thousand.” Levin says it with the calmness of a man who expected that this might be an outcome. “Don’t push your luck either, Lidiya, I’m already being quite generous.”

“Ten thousand rubles is nothing—”

“Ten thousand dollars. US currency. I’ll convert it to rubles.” He looks at me evenly. “That’s all the bartering I’ll do, Lidiya, and I mean it. Now I need an answer.”

I stare at him, my heart in my throat. I don’t want to do it. Everything in me rebels at the thought of going back to Grisha, of saying and doing the things necessary to carry out the mission that Levin seems determined to involve me in. It hasn’t even been a full day since the events of this morning that resulted in us breaking up, but so much has happened since then that I feel as if it’s been weeks.

Just this morning, I was thinking about how little I wanted to go back to my shitty, cold apartment, but right now I feel as if I’d do just about anything to be back there, even if it means shivering beside a broken radiator. Anything to not be sitting across from this handsome, cold-faced man, being given options that are all bad.

I don’t want to do it, but I don’t see any way out. I don’t see an escape, and he knows where I live. He knows where my babushka lives. No matter what I do, where I go, if he’s determined to have me do this, he’ll find me. And maybe it won’t be him who comes after me next, who scoops me up and drags me off to a room to be “convinced.”

Everything that he’s threatened, I believe that he’ll do. That alone would probably be enough to make me agree to it, in the end. For myself, I can hold out. But I can’t stand the thought that my grandmother might be left without electricity or heat or food, or even a place to live.

And now he’s sweetened the pot with a sum of money that would make a real difference to her quality of life, something that I’ve desperately been trying to achieve. I’m not a fool, I know she doesn’t have much more time. But all I want is for the time that she does have to be comfortable.

“Alright.” My voice is small and hesitant when it first comes out, and I clear my throat, squaring my shoulders and looking Levin squarely in the eye. Whatever comes of this, whatever I have to do, I won’t let him see me afraid. “Alright,” I repeat, more clearly this time. “I’ll do it. But I won’t step a foot out of this room or say a word to Grisha until that money is in my account and has been transferred to my babushka.”

Levin’s mouth twitches, and not for the first time, I think he’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’re stubborn,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a quality that I can see is going to make my life harder, for sure. But I’ve half a mind to say you ought to work for us more often.”

“I won’t ever work for you, or anyone with you, ever again after this,” I tell him with a glare. “I’m doing this under duress, because you’ve forced me into it. Not because I want to. I don’t care what you think of me. I hate you.”

It’s not entirely true. A part of me, a part that I don’t want to examine too closely, feels warm and glowing at the way he called me “stubborn,” with something close to admiration in his voice, mixed with a sort of fond annoyance. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me, but that tiny part of me does.

It’s the same part that felt a rush when he pinned me up against the door, and when he talked about tying me to the bed.

I’ve never met a man like Levin before. I mean it when I say I hate him—in this moment, I do, but I’m also more than a little fascinated by him. He’s dangerous and handsome, cunning and mysterious—and I’m trapped in a hotel room with him, for who knows how long.

Which, actually, is a reasonable question to ask.

“I’ve agreed to your terms, as long as you meet your end of the bargain,” I tell him, tilting my chin up haughtily. “So when do I get to go back to my apartment?”

Levin smirks. “When I decide I can trust you not to pull all your money out and take the first train out of Moscow—and when I see some actual results. Until then, you’ll stay in this room, like I said. You’ll go out when I tell you to, in order to see Grisha. You’ll stay with him for whatever length of time is necessary to keep up the appearances of your relationship, and then you’ll come back here and report back to me.” He holds my gaze unflinchingly, his voice cold and terribly matter-of-fact. “You work for me now, Lidiya, for the price of your continued life and your grandmother’s life, sweetened with ten thousand US dollars. Your contract is up when I say it’s up, and not before then.”

I feel my throat tightening with anxiety at every word, my hands balling into fists. “When are you going to tell me what exactly it is that you need from Grisha?”

“Soon.” Levin gets up, his tall frame unfolding in front of me, and for a moment I’m nearly at eye-level with his groin, still sitting on the bed as I am. I can’t help it—my eyes flick towards his zipper, and I see the faint outline of his cock pressing against the denim of those tight black jeans.

He’s not hard any longer—maybe a little aroused at best, which just confirms what I’d felt when he had me up against the door…he’s fucking huge. Bigger than Grisha, that’s for sure.

That thought shouldn’t make my stomach tighten and a flush of warmth pool between my legs, but it does. A part of me even wants to push him, irritate him, just on the off-chance that I might get to feel it pressed up against me again.

But I’m also pretty sure that Levin isn’t the kind of man I want to start something with that I’m not sure I can finish. He might not be the type to force me, but I’m sure even he has his limits.

He steps past me, as if he didn’t notice at all, walking over to a leather duffel bag beside the dresser. I feel a sick flutter of anxiety as he reaches for it—god only knows what’s inside—but I have to trust that he isn’t going to hurt me. That he’s going to stick to his word.

That’s all there is between us, at this point. A fragile trust—that if I keep my word, he’ll keep his.

It isn’t much to start a relationship on, even a working one.

But it’s all we’ve got.

Lidiya

What Levin pulls out of the duffel bag is innocuous enough. It’s a phone—thin and black, a flip phone, so clearly a burner. He hands it to me, and though it’s light enough, it feels heavy. The weight of it settles in my palm, making this all viscerally real. Official.

Whatever shadowy organization Levin works for, whether it really is private or something to do with the government, whoever he’s working for or with and whatever Grisha has gotten himself mixed up in, I’m a part of it now. I don’t want to be, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The phone in my hand feels like confirmation of that fact.

“You’ll use this mostly to let me know when you’ve arrived at where you’re meeting Grisha at any given time, and when you’re headed back here after your time with him,” Levin says, sitting back down. “I’ll know exactly how long it will take you to get there and get back, so don’t think about any funny business between points A and B.”

“Why don’t you just put a tracker under my skin?” I snap, my voice laced with annoyance, and Levin raises an eyebrow.

“Too expensive,” he says flippantly. “But don’t give me any ideas.”

I swallow hard, looking down at the phone. “And if I’m in any kind of trouble?”

“Just hit the call button. It’s programmed to call my phone, I’m the one and only number in there.” He looks at me evenly. “Don’t abuse it. You’re to use that option if, and only if, you’re in serious danger. I don’t mean you’ve decided to change your mind, or you and Grisha had a little fight, or you’re pissed off and want to come back early. I mean if you’re in a life or death situation, if you feel you’re sincerely threatened, then press that button and I will come for you.”

“Just like that?” My voice wavers a little at the idea that I might need such a thing, that I’m suddenly in a position where my life could be in that kind of danger. It makes me feel cold all over. I’ve never been in a situation like that. I’ve never felt, sincerely, that someone might hurt me. That I could die.

“Just like that.” Levin’s voice softens, and I look up at him. His face is still emotionless, cold and business-like, but I hear the thread of sincerity in his words. If I truly did need him, and pressed the button, he’d come to rescue me.

Just like that.

But I can’t be the girl who cried wolf. I’m going to have to handle myself, and carefully. Because if Grisha is the kind of man to get himself mixed up in something bad enough to result in him being set up like this, then he’s likely also the kind of man who would retaliate if he knew.

I’m going to have to tread cautiously.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I say quietly, turning the phone over and over in my hands. “I don’t know how—how to manipulate someone. How to get them to tell me things. How to sneak and lie. Those aren’t skills I have.”

I half expect Levin to say something cutting, something like those are skills all women have, or something of that nature. But instead, his face just softens a fraction more, something almost like sympathy in his eyes.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says finally. “And if I’m being honest, men are simple creatures. You won’t have to do much. Feed his ego, seduce him, make him trust you. The foundation for it is already there, you laid it when you thought you were in a real relationship with him. Men talk easiest when they’re happy, and they’re always happy after sex. You just need to take advantage of the opportune moments when they present themselves.”

Levin hesitates then, leaning forward slightly. “You’re angry with him, Lidiya. I get that. So look at it as revenge, if that helps. He tricked and manipulated you, lied to you to get you into a relationship with him. Now do the same right back.”

“And what happens to him, once I’m done?” I swallow hard, setting the phone down next to me. “What am I doing to him, by proxy?”

Levin’s gaze meets mine, unflinching. “Do you really want to know?”

Something about the way he says it tells me that I don’t. “No,” I murmur. “No, that’s okay.” But it’s not okay. I feel the guilt already settling in my gut, the whispering voice in the back of my head telling me that just because Grisha tricked me, just because he’s a liar and a cheater, doesn’t mean he deserves whatever the men Levin works for will do to him. The way Levin said it means that they’ll probably kill him—or do things to him that will make him wish he were dead.

And I can’t pretend that it won’t be at least partially my doing.

I just don’t see what choice I have.

“So I go see Grisha when I’m told, do what I need to do in order to move the relationship forward, try to dig up the information that I assume you’ll give me some idea of what I’m looking for at some point—and then come back here?” I wrap my arms around myself, swallowing hard.

“That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“And you’ll sleep—where, exactly?”

Levin smirks, an expression that I’m getting all too used to seeing on his handsome face. “The couch over there will do just fine,” he says, indicating the narrow grey sofa along the wall next to the door, by where the wing chair originally was. “I’ll be able to hear you, if you try to slip past me at night and get out of here. Not that you’d do that, right, Lidiya?”

I nod mutely, my tongue running nervously over my lower lip. “Of course not,” I murmur. Actually—the thought had definitely crossed my mind. Not for long—I hadn’t really thought I could get away with it. In fact, I’d thought he would be sharing the bed with me, making it even harder for me to get away. I hadn’t thought he’d give up the comfort of the huge, soft king bed for the narrow, hard-looking couch. It looks exactly like the kind of sharp-edged, stylish couch you’d expect to see in a fancy hotel room, meant for looking at or sitting primly on, not sleeping.

“Unless of course,” Levin continues with that same smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “you want me to share the bed with you.”

Those piercing blue eyes meet mine, and in spite of myself, I feel my breath catch in my throat. It’s all too easy to imagine his tall, muscled body stretched out beside mine under the covers, the heat of it close to my skin, very little clothing between us. It’s easy to imagine the way he might roll towards me in his sleep, one of those muscular arms draped over me, keeping me safe—

--or, more likely, holding me prisoner.

“You on the couch will do just fine,” I tell him stiffly. “I would have thought you’d demand the bed.”

“Can’t have you not sleeping well,” Levin says cheerfully, pushing himself to his feet and moving the wing chair back into its previous spot, as if everything between us is all settled now. And I suppose, in his mind, it is. “You’ll need to be sharp, so that you can do your job well.”

“I’ll need clothes from my apartment.” I chew on my lower lip anxiously, wondering if he’ll at least allow me to go and get those. “I can’t just wear this same outfit over and over.”

“I’ll get approval to fund some new clothes for you.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended it to, and I see Levin raise an eyebrow, as if surprised that I’d talk back to him like that. Well, he shouldn’t be, not at this point.

“Grisha will notice, I mean. If I show up with newer, nicer clothes than he’s used to seeing me in. He’ll know something’s up.”

“That’s a fair point.” Levin considers. “We’ll go together, then,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “Tomorrow. I’ll escort you back to your apartment so that you can pick up some of your things and bring them back here.”

There really is going to be no escaping this man. Whatever way I try to think of to get some space from him, even for just a little while to organize my thoughts, he finds a way to stonewall it.

I’m just going to be stuck with him for the time being. And when I’m not with him, I’ll be with Grisha.

It’s not a very encouraging thought.

“What about my studies? My classes? I can’t just stop going.” I glare at him, letting him know that this isn’t something I’ll back down on easily. “I’ve worked too hard—”

“You’ll take a leave of absence. Your ill babushka will be reason enough for that. The department will be more than willing to accommodate you. In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of filing the forms for you already.”

My jaw drops open. “You—what?”

“They were delivered this morning. In fact, if I hadn’t caught up to you on the stairs, I think your department would have been very surprised to see you there, although they would probably just have assumed you were there to pick up some of your things.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Of all the invasions into my privacy so far, this one feels like one of the worst. My reputation in the department is one of being reliable–even as long as I was with Grisha, I never let him talk me into missing class or calling off from my tutoring job. The excuse Levin has given is a good one, but the fact that those papers were sent without my knowing, that all of this was set into motion this morning before I was even aware of Levin’s existence, feels like such a terrible manipulation, such an invasive maneuver, that I feel sick all over again.

“You really had this all plotted out before I had any idea about it, didn’t you?” I swallow hard. “You were always going to snatch me this morning, it was just a matter of when and where.”

“I’ve been watching you for a little while now, Lidiya, waiting for the right moment, and for things to fall into place.” Levin’s voice sounds almost apologetic as he explains, but his expression doesn’t waver. “Yes, this is always how it was going to play out.”

A silence falls over the room, heavy and almost oppressive, and I clutch the edges of the bed again, feeling my head start to ache more intensely. I’d almost forgotten about the aches and pains from the fall during my conversation with Levin and the shock of it all, but now they come rushing back, making me close my eyes briefly as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

“I want to take a bath,” I say finally. “If I’m going to be trapped here, I at least want to soak for a little while, so I don’t hurt so badly. Can I do that alone, or are you going to stand over me and watch me the entire time?”

Levin’s eyes heat slightly, as if he’s imagining exactly that scenario, and I feel my own face flush a little. I’m instantly reminded all over again of him holding me up against the door, his hands on my upper arms and his body very close to mine.

“I’ll do you one better,” he says coolly, as if trying to mask that flare of desire that I saw in his face. “I’ll go downstairs to the bar and have a drink, place an order for our dinner, and we can talk more over that, once you’ve had your bath. But,” he says warningly, as he sees the flicker of surprise on my face. “Don’t even think about trying to make a run for it. I’m not the only one who knows you’re here, and it will be easier for you if you don’t try to slip around what we’ve agreed. Remember—this will be easiest on you as long as I’m the one running this mission. Don’t give anyone a reason to put someone else in charge of you.”

He pauses, those piercing eyes meeting mine all over again. “I’ll keep my word, Lidiya, always. As long as you keep yours.”

I shouldn’t believe him. I have no reason to. But something in the way he’s looking at me, in the tone of his voice, makes me want to.

And truly, at this point, I have no choice.

I just nod, frozen there, on the edge of the strange hotel bed in this strange hotel room, looking at a man who is almost entirely a stranger.

“I think we understand each other, then.” Levin reaches for his jacket, striding purposefully towards the door. He flips the lock that I’d tried so desperately to get to, and opens the door, pausing just once to look back at me.

“Enjoy your bath,” he says, and I see that flicker of heat in his eyes once more.

Then he’s gone, the door closing and locking behind him from the other side.

Levin

I’ll keep my word, Lidiya, always. As long as you keep yours.

Standing out in the hallway of the hotel, the door closed firmly behind me, I wonder if I should have said that. I’m not sure if I can know, truly, that there will never be a time when I have to break my word to her for my own self-preservation. But now that I’ve said it, I feel a deep-seated need to keep that promise, whatever it takes.

I’ve always tried my best to be a man of my word. But I’ve never felt so strongly about it.

I hadn’t expected Lidiya to be so captivating. From what I’d known about her before taking her from the train station, she was a nice enough girl, good-hearted enough to regularly send most of her money to her sick grandmother and pretty enough, from pictures I’d seen. I’d wondered at first if she’d known Grisha was married, if she’d been dating him out of some scheme to get to his money, but that question had been clearly resolved this morning.

But meeting her in person, talking to her at length the way we had for the last few hours in my hotel room, has altered my preconceived notions about her entirely.

She’s smart, fiery, tough. Beautiful, especially once all those ridiculous layers had been peeled away. She’s a woman to be reckoned with, someone strong and kind all at once, and I hate that I’m putting her through this. Deep down, I hate making her go back to him.

He doesn’t fucking deserve her.

I shouldn’t care. This is a job, and Lidiya is far from the first woman I’ve planted to get to a man. But something about her feels different. She makes me feel different, in a way that makes me glad to get some space from her while she takes her bath.

Fuck. Just the thought of her in the bath brings a flurry of images that I don’t need to think about, and can’t stop all at once. Lidiya, peeling away the sweater and skirt that she’d still had on, tossing them to the tile floor, bending over the tub to turn on the taps. What would she have on beneath it? She’s a practical girl, I can’t imagine that she’s wearing satin and lace under all of that. Probably something more ordinary, tight cotton panties, a simple bra. Black, maybe, stark against her pale skin. Unless she’d worn something to appeal to Grisha this morning, before they’d broken up. But I doubt it. Lidiya doesn’t seem like the type to wear lingerie all day. Maybe more the type to have it waiting after a date, change into it before joining her lover in the bedroom—

I clench my jaw, realizing exactly where my fantasies have headed and how ridiculous this is. I’m standing out in the hallway of a five-star hotel, rapidly getting a throbbing erection all over again while imagining the girl I abducted from a train station earlier undressing for a bath, like some inexperienced virgin getting horny over a lingerie catalogue. I force myself to stride away from the door and quickly head down the hall towards the elevator, adjusting myself as I go and pushing every possible thought of how Lidiya would look naked out of my mind.

I’m not going to think about whether her breasts are small or full, if her waist is narrow beneath that sweater or how her hips curve. I’m not going to think about how she felt up against that door, how soft she was or how good it felt when she squirmed against me—

Fuck. I grit my teeth as I step into the elevator, hoping no one joins me and that I can manage to wrestle my cock under control before stepping out into the lobby. That’s all I need—to look like I can’t control myself while in one of the nicest establishments in Moscow.

What I need is a woman. Any woman, really, so long as she’s willing. Just somewhere to put my aching cock, so that I can focus on the job ahead, and stop thinking about Lidiya in entirely inappropriate ways. I can’t even easily jerk off any longer—since Lidiya is confined to my hotel room for the time being, and there’s a chance she’d hear me, even in the shower. The last thing I need is to make her even more uncomfortable, and put the chances of her cooperating in danger—especially now that I’ve gotten her to agree, for now at least.

By now, she’s probably in the bath. She might have even found some of those fancy bath products they’d lined it with, the oils that always smell like flowers. The thought of her sinking into the steaming water, her skin slick with it, her blonde hair floating around her is enough to send another pulse of desire through me, making me nearly groan aloud with frustration.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m no stranger to desire, lust even, but no one has gotten this under my skin in recent memory. I’m not sure any woman has, ever. I don’t stew and fantasize over women, because there’s always one within easy reach, if I want her. I’ve never had trouble finding company, if I want it.

But I can’t escape the lingering feeling that it isn’t company I want. It’s Lidiya. And the harder I try to push the image of her flushed, naked skin slick with bathwater out of my head, the more out of control my hard-on becomes. I grit my teeth against the throb that seems to have taken up residence in my very veins as I rub my hand against the front of my jeans, trying to ease the ache before the elevator hits the lobby floor–which comes all too quickly.

Just like I might, if I saw her naked and wet right now.

Fuck this. I stride out of the elevator, walking as quickly as I can to the nearest men’s room. It’s almost uncomfortable to walk by this point, and to my relief, the lobby is nearly empty. I push my way into the black and marble men’s room, equally grateful that it seems to be empty, and stride into the furthest stall from the door.

I can’t fucking believe what I’m doing, even as I yank my zipper down, feverishly reaching for my aching cock that feels like it’s been at least half-aroused for the better part of the last few hours. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before, ever jerked off in a fucking bathroom stall like someone without a decent hotel room or apartment to go back to, even if he can’t seal the deal with a girl. But there’s nowhere else for me to go right now, and those few hours trapped in the room with Lidiya have me so desperate for a release that I’m past all logical thought.

I want to think of anything but her while I stroke it. The woman I fucked a couple of weeks ago, some Russian supermodel, my favorite actresses, anything except the one woman in the fucking world right now that I need to keep my hands off of, and yet I can’t. All I can see is her flushed, angry face looking defiantly up at me as I pinned her up against the door. All I can imagine is her arched against me, trying to squirm out of my grasp, how right now she’s naked in my hotel room. All I’d have to do is go upstairs, and she’d be there, bare and vulnerable and entirely under my power.

The men I work with, so many of them, wouldn’t have the slightest compunction about doing exactly that. They’d promise her things in exchange for her body, or worse yet, they’d simply take it. But I can’t do that—I’ve never been that kind of man, and I can’t imagine doing it to Lidiya most of all.

There’s two separate emotions warring within me right now—an almost desperate lust for her that makes no fucking sense and is completely fucking inappropriate, and a need to protect her that feels almost compulsive, and makes equally little sense. It’s only the latter, aside from my own personal moral code, that keeps me from getting back on that elevator, dragging her out of the bath, and bending her over the counter while I—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck—I bite back a groan as my cock throbs in my hand, my fist flying over the straining flesh as I picture exactly that–Lidiya bent over the bathroom counter with her ass in the air, her back arched, looking defiantly back at me as I thrust myself into her. I wouldn’t bother to wait for her to dry off, I’d watch her dripping on the counter, every inch of her as wet as her pussy would be, tight and clenching around me. I imagine sliding my fingers between her folds, rubbing and pinching her tiny, hard clit to ensure that she came too, so that I could feel the quivering of her thighs against mine just before I rammed every inch of my hard cock so deeply into her pussy that she’d never fucking forget what it felt like to be fucked by Levin Volkov—

“Bladya!” I curse under my breath as my cock swells in my fist, my hand gripping the top of the wall beside me to steady myself as my thighs tense and I jerk forward, biting back the groans of pleasure as my cock erupts with the relief that I so badly needed. I want more than anything to be buried inside of her right now, to be filling her up with my hot cum instead of shooting it out into the toilet, but at this precise moment the relief of the orgasm is so great that I almost don’t care.

I keep stroking it all the way through, feeling it swell and throb in my fist as I squeeze every last drop out as the shudders ripple through me, and when I’m finally done I sag against the wall with a sigh of relief that feels as if it goes all the way down to my soul.

And then, of course, the clarity comes like a truck slamming into me.

What the fuck are you doing?

This is beneath me. She should be beneath me, and not in the way I was just imagining. I don’t need to fantasize about and fuck the women we use to trap our marks. I’m a fucking idiot for letting her get under my skin, and all I can do is hope that no one saw me rushing in here in that state or heard me, because it’s fucking embarrassing.

I shove my cock back into my pants, gritting my teeth as I zip up. I need to get fucking laid, and soon, because it’s clear that I’m losing my goddamn mind.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me as I step out of the stall. I barely have a chance to wash my hands before it starts up again, this time the insistent vibration of someone calling me, and I dig it out of my pocket as I walk out into the lobby.

“Hello?” I turn in the direction of the bar. I need a stiff drink, maybe two. In fact, if I didn’t have Lidiya upstairs and a job to do, I’d probably get roaring drunk, just to scrub the memory of what I’ve just done clear out of my head.

“Volkov. Is this a bad time?”

Yes, is what I want to say. Vladimir, my boss, is absolutely the last person I want to talk to right now. But of course I can’t say that, because if he’s calling me, that means there’s a reason he wants to talk.

I just hope it’s not a bad one.

“Not at all,” I tell him smoothly, sinking down into one of the plush lobby chairs and looking longingly towards the bar. That drink is feeling further and further away by the moment.

“I haven’t heard from you since you left for the station this morning.” Vladimir’s voice is cool and even, not betraying anything he might be thinking in the slightest. “Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine. No issues here.” I leave out the struggle to convince Lidiya—he doesn’t need to know, and at any rate, I doubt he expected the conversation to go perfectly smoothly. The outcome is what’s important.

“The girl has agreed to the arrangement with Grisha?”

“Yes. There was a slight snag, but—” I hesitate, thinking of how to explain it. “I’ve come to terms with her.”

“What snag? What terms?” Irritation starts to color Vladimir’s voice. “I know you prefer more—gentle techniques with the women, Levin, but if your sensibilities start to get in the way of accomplishing your work—"

“She broke up with him this morning,” I say flatly, cutting him off. “Before I got to her. She’d discovered that he was married.”

“So she didn’t know?”

“Apparently not.” I rub a hand over my mouth, feeling more and more in need of that drink. “His wife showed up at his Moscow apartment while Lidiya was there. She reacted—poorly.”

“But she’s agreed to go back?”

“After some convincing, yes.”

“And you believe that she’ll stay the course?”

“Yes.” I let out a sigh. “I let her know we had the power to freeze her accounts, if she refused. She has a—”

“A sick grandmother. Yes, I know. This grandmother is the best way to keep her in line? Loyal?”

I instantly regret telling Vladimir, but it doesn’t much matter, in the end. He would have figured it out one way or another—there’s no information I have that he’s not privy to, for the most part. There’s a reason that Vladimir’s reputation is feared far beyond our own syndicate.

“Yes, but it’s a careful line to tread. She’s not a woman who is easily frightened. She’s tough, and she strikes a hard bargain—”

“Careful, Volkov. I’ll start to think you like this Lidiya. Too much, perhaps, for a job that you’re meant to handle with impartiality.”

“It’s not that.”

“What ‘bargain’ did you strike with her? I hadn’t authorized—”

Fuck. I’d known Vladimir would be less than happy with this part of the situation. “I agreed to transfer ten thousand to her account, for her cooperation. She wants to send it to her grandmother.”

“The girl bargained for ten thousand rubles? Maybe she’s less intelligent than you seem to think, Volkov—”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

There’s a long moment of silence on the other end that has even my heart doing a quick stutter in my chest. I’m fully aware of the power that my boss has. If he decides I’m handling this poorly, or that someone else would be better suited to it, he could pull me off of this mission in an instant. He could have me killed and replaced, or taken back to headquarters—which in some ways, could be the worse of the two options. I’ve seen what Vladimir’s enforcers can get up to, and there’s no universe in which I want their tools applied to me.

That odd, deep-seated need to protect Lidiya rears its head again, and reminds me of an entirely different reason to restrain my desire for her. If I lose sight of the big picture, allow any feelings I might have to cloud my judgement, I could be putting her in danger as well as myself. She’s best protected if I’m the one handling her. Anyone else isn’t likely to be as gentle, or as understanding. They certainly wouldn’t be so circumspect about their desire for her.

Men in my line of work tend to have certain feelings about women like Lidiya, women used to tempt and ensnare our marks. As far as most of my associates are concerned, they’re one step above whores. And to them, whores are meant to be used.

I respect Lidiya, more so now than ever. They might not.

“I hope you don’t come to regret that decision, Volkov.” Vladimir’s voice crackles over the line again, terse and cold. “You do good work for us. I’d hate to see that change, on account of one woman.”

The warning, while not said in so many words, is clear. And as the line hangs up abruptly, I’m reminded, just as abruptly, that my position is not without its own pitfalls and dangers.

I’m one of the best, but that doesn’t make me irreplaceable. It certainly doesn’t make me invincible.

If I mean to protect Lidiya from Vladimir when this is over, it may very well mean protecting her from myself, too.

I get to my feet a touch unsteadily, shoving my phone into my pocket and turning back towards the bar.

I need that fucking drink.

Lidiya

The moment Levin steps out of the room, I feel at least half the tension drain out of me. I flop backwards on the bed, pressing one hand over my eyes as I will my heart to stop racing. It feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, and I hadn’t realized just how tense every single one of the muscles in my body was until he was gone, and I managed to relax.

I feel like I’ve fallen down a flight of stairs and run a marathon, all in one day. I’m fucking exhausted, and it’s all I can do to force myself out of the bed and into the bathroom to take that bath that I’d told him I was going to. Even as tired as I am, though, the allure of the hot water and luxurious bath is too much.

And luxurious it certainly is. The tiles of the floor are heated for fuck’s sake, something that feels incredibly ostentatious, especially when compared to the apartment that I thought I’d be going back to tonight when I left Grisha’s this morning. I curl my toes against them, enjoying it as I turn the hot water on in the huge soaking tub, stripping off my sweater.

The entire room is huge, as big as half my studio probably, with one of those separate showers that has dual showerheads and an actual bench inside of it, the toilet tucked away in its own separate cubby, and a twin sink countertop that appears to be made of marble or something like it, with gilded hardware and a gilt-edged mirror above it. When I close the double doors that lead into the bathroom, I feel like I’m tucked away in some private retreat, warm and cozy.

It’s a nice feeling, even if I’m here under duress. I let the rest of the clothes fall to the floor, hesitating slightly as I go to take off my bra and panties, but I don’t think Levin is the type to burst in on me. If he was going to force me, he could have back when he’d had me pinned against the door. He could have easily picked me up and tossed me back onto the bed, followed me there and had his way with me—but he hadn’t. He’d actually made a point of keeping his distance—and he’d offered not to share the bed with me. That adds up to a man who at least doesn’t have intents for my body, even if he is designating where it’s going to be shared elsewhere.

A shudder runs through me, and I’m not sure if it’s a shiver of desire at the memory of Levin pinning me up against the door, or a shiver of disgust at the reminder that I’m going to have to go to bed with Grisha again. There’s really no way around it—if I’m going to convince him to get back into a relationship with me again, we’re going to sleep together, particularly if I’m going to get close enough to find whatever these secrets are that he’s supposedly hiding. It’s not as if I was chaste with him before—that cat is long out of the bag. He’ll expect us to pick up where we left off, and while I can definitely fault him for a whole hell of a lot, I can’t really fault him for that.

Which means, since I’ve agreed to all of this, it’s going to be up to me to figure out how to deal with that.

I bite my lower lip as I uncork one of the little glass bottles on the side of the tub, pouring some oil that smells like fragrant orange blossoms and vanilla into the already-steaming water. I need to figure out some way to want him again, or at least not hate him—or at the very least hide how I feel about him. I’ve never been a particularly good actress, or—as I’m sure his wife could attest—particularly good about hiding my feelings. But it seems that I’m going to have to learn.

Normally I’d pile my hair on top of my head, but it aches too much to even think about putting my hair up. Instead, I let it fall loosely around my shoulders as I step into the bath, floating around me as I sink into the almost too-hot water. I groan with audible pleasure as the steaming, silky bath closes in over my aching muscles, my skin instantly flushing.

A hot bath is my favorite thing in the world. It always has been. I used to spend hours in the jacuzzi soaking tub at Grisha’s. He called me his little mermaid, and when I pointed out that Ariel had red hair, he used to teasingly call me his blonde Ariel instead, alternating the two. It’s one of the good memories—and, if I’m being fair, there’s a lot of good ones. Enough that I’d legitimately thought I was falling in love with him until I figured out he was married, which is why it hurts so fucking bad to know now that all of it was lies.

And why I don’t want to go back to him, for almost anything.

Unfortunately, Levin has hung the one thing I’d go back to him for over my head, and that means I have to figure out how to do this.

I try to imagine the good times with Grisha, before I found out. I trail my fingers over my slick, flushed, damp skin, over the slight swell of my breast as I recall the first time he took me to bed. I hadn’t made him wait long—in fact, it had been slightly embarrassing, in retrospect, how quickly I’d fallen into bed with him. He’d taken me out to dinner and the ballet that night, our second date. He’d only kissed me after our first, hadn’t even tried to do more than that when he’d had his driver drop me off at my apartment. That first kiss had been sweet and slow, his hand sliding into my hair, tugging my lips to his as he’d kissed me as unhurriedly and tenderly as any girl could ever hope to be kissed, without demands or expectation—and then he’d told me goodnight. He hadn’t asked to come up, hadn’t suggested that perhaps I owed him something for the admittedly lavish dinner he’d taken me out to for our first date, with drinks at a fancy lounge afterwards. He’d simply dropped me off.

And, in hindsight, he’d known what he was doing. I’d respected him for that, been intrigued by it. In the days between our first date and our second, when we’d texted each other at any possible opportunity, he’d talked about how much he wanted me, how hard it had been to let me go. But, he’d told me, he wanted me to feel I had influence in the relationship. Power, even. He wanted me to choose when it happened, no matter how desperately he wanted my body, and had since the moment he laid eyes on me.

As a result, by the time we went back out to his car after the ballet, half-tipsy on wine and giggling like teenagers, I’d declined his suggestion to go out for more drinks. Instead, I’d suggested we go back to his place.

I hadn’t had to suggest it twice.

There in the bath, I trace my fingers around my nipple, trying to recall every bit of it, to rouse that old desire that I’d felt for him. It hadn’t been fake or calculated, that was the worst part. If I’d been using him for his money or connections, faking my desire, it would have felt less awful to discover that he was married. We would have been using each other, then. But while Grisha had been using me, I’d been completely, entirely too trusting. I’d been falling head over heels, even before I’d fallen into his bed. He’d been everything I’d never thought I’d find in a lover—devastatingly handsome, intelligent, polished, and that night, I’d found out something else, too.

He hadn’t been selfish in bed, either. He’d undressed me slowly, I recall, as I trace a path over and around my nipples with my fingers, spreading the oil-slick water over them as they stiffen under my touch, desire starting to bloom across my skin. He’d stripped every inch of my clothing off before he’d let me touch him, kissing me in between each piece, until he’d finally backed me against the side of his huge king four-poster bed and knelt down, spreading my legs so that he could have full access to my already drenched pussy.

Something deep within me tightens at that memory, my body clenching with renewed desire. He’d eaten me out for what had felt like forever—compared to other men I’d been with, at least—licking me expertly as he’d started to learn what I liked best. He’d been intent on making me come first, something else I hadn’t experienced before, and when I’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to keep going until I came, he’d shushed me, pushed my thighs wider apart, and continued.

I swallow hard at the memory, sliding my hand lower, over my abdomen until my fingers are just above my folds. Even without touching myself, I know I’m not all that wet. The memory is a good one—Grisha had refused to let me go down on him that first night, insisting he wanted our first time to be all about my pleasure. He’d used a condom without my asking him to, undressed while I still lay trembling on the bed after my first orgasm, and then slowly slid into me, fucking me with a slow rhythm that had made me come again before he finally had his own climax some time later.

It had been good. Sex with him had always been good, progressively better as we’d learned each other’s bodies. But all of it is so tainted now with the knowledge of what he’d done, that he’d been married the whole time, that he’d been fucking other women the whole time, that for him none of it had ever been as real as it had been for me, that I can’t find the desire that I’m trying to summon. I can’t make myself want him again, not really.

Unbidden, my thoughts flick back to earlier, to the way I’d felt when Levin had pinned me to the door, when I’d squirmed against him and realized he was hard. So fucking hard, like iron straining against his jeans, and fucking huge. I try to imagine what he might look like naked, and it’s so much easier than it should be. Far too easy to imagine him coming back too soon, striding in here to find me naked and wet and flushed in the bath, my fingers trailing down to the apex of my thighs. Too easy to imagine him stripping off his shirt, the dark hair that might cover his broad, muscled chest, trailing down over his rippling abs to where I could see that thick, ridged cock in all its glory, hard and aching for me.

Without meaning to, my fantasies run away from me. I imagine him standing there, those piercing blue eyes fixed on my body, greedily taking in every inch of my naked flesh as his hand wraps around himself, starting to stroke slowly.

When my fingers slide further down, between my folds, I find that I am wet, from more than just the water. Wet and swollen, my clit pulsing lightly beneath my touch as I start to rub it, picturing Levin standing there, imagining that he’s watching me, that we’re getting off on each other. I imagine him threatening to tie me up again, telling me that if I try to run, he’ll tie me to the bed, that I won’t be able to escape. That if I don’t come for him, he’ll tie me up and make me come.

It shouldn’t send a flush of desire through me, shouldn’t make me reach down with my other hand, sliding two fingers into myself as I rub my clit more furiously, imagining that it’s his thick fingers, that the wet sloshing of water over my clit as I rub faster, harder, is his tongue instead.

The thought of him standing there, ordering me to come for him, shouldn’t make every muscle in my body tighten with a sudden, delicious pleasure that rockets through me, bringing me to the very edge of bliss as I arch my back, my head falling backward against the rim of the tub. I thrust my fingers into myself, feeling my pussy clench around them, rubbing my clit frantically as I spread my thighs in the water, imagining him standing over me, ordering me to come again in that thickly accented voice as he strokes harder too.

“Oh god!” I cry out as the orgasm hits me, water splashing over my skin as I imagine that it’s his cum, flying from his cock over my breasts and belly and thighs as he comes too, and I clench my thighs around my hands, grinding down onto my own fingers as the orgasm ripples and shudders through me, pleasure overtaking every last bit of sense I have until I’m gasping and moaning aloud with no real sense of where I am.

And then, half-dazed, I come back to myself as the pleasure recedes, and shrink into the bath, my face flaming red with the realization of what I’ve just done. The hotel room is still quiet, with no indication that he’s back, but Levin could have returned any time to hear me shrieking in pleasure in the bathtub, and what kind of ideas would he have gotten then?

What on earth was I thinking?

I have to get ahold of myself. I’m in danger, a good deal more than I’d realized at first, and this is not the way I should be handling it. Not in the slightest.

I can’t afford to want Levin Volkov.

Not even for a second more.

Levin

After the talk with Vladimir there’s nothing I need more than a stiff drink—other than maybe a woman, but that’s hardly an option right now. I sit down at the bar, order a top-shelf vodka on the rocks, and accept it gratefully when the bartender brings it over as I consider my options.

The only thing there is to do right now is press forward with Lidiya and the attempt to get information on Grisha. She seems amenable for now—the threat to her grandmother is keeping her in line, though I feel like shit every time I think about it. I’m not a soft man by any means, but I don’t relish the idea of starving little old ladies or putting them out on the street to achieve our ends.

I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, though. Lidiya seems to understand the gravity of the situation, enough that I felt comfortable leaving her upstairs for a little while—albeit with the door locked from the outside. And if she tries to fight again, I’ll have to use firmer methods, though I’m still adamant that I won’t hurt her.

Vladimir would disagree with me. And he’s not far—his compound isn’t more than half a day’s drive from Moscow. If he thinks I’m losing control of the situation, he’ll send other men, and then if that doesn’t work—he’ll come himself, with some of his brigadiers.

At that point, it’ll be out of my hands.

I’ve been working for Vladimir for nearly a decade now—more really. I was a grunt cleaning blood off of tiles long before I ever took the Syndicate’s oath and spilled blood for the induction. My father worked for Vladimir’s father, and his father before him for Vladimir’s father before him, and I’m sure it would go even further back, if I cared to look into it.

I don’t, though. I choose to look forward, because if I look behind me there’s far too much blood and far too many sins that would weigh on me if I let them. One day, I know they’ll catch up to me.

But not today.

Not yet.

And it’s not going to be fucking Vladimir who ends me because I let Grisha slip through my fingers. I just have to find a way to make this work while still doing it my way.

I finish a second vodka, a third and then a fourth before I finally tell the bartender to charge it to my room. By now, Lidiya should be finished with her bath, and I shouldn’t leave her alone for too long. I have a pleasant buzz going, just short of being actually drunk, and it makes the prospect of getting through the rest of this night seem less daunting.

When I make my way back up to the room, unlocking it and stepping inside, I’m startled to hear the sound of the television. Lidiya is curled up on the bed in one of the fluffy hotel robes, her legs tucked under her and her wet hair thrown over her shoulder, a slightly darker shade of blonde. Her face is scrubbed clean, pale and slightly pink at her cheekbones and nose, and even like this I can’t help but think that she looks stunningly beautiful, delicate as a fairy, her blue eyes fixed on whatever she’s turned the tv to.

She doesn’t see me at first, which gives me a moment to just look at her. She looks incredibly innocent sitting there, sweet and simple, and I have the sudden urge to leave the room, find Grisha, and throttle the life out of him myself.

It’s because of him that she’s in this position. If he hadn’t seduced her into a relationship with him, there would be some other girl in this hotel room right now, being blackmailed and manipulated into his bed. She deserves better than this, I think, and it’s a ridiculous thought, because I don’t know that. I don’t know her. But looking at her pretty, slightly flushed face with her bright blue eyes, pale eyelashes and wet hair tumbling over her shoulder, all I can think is that Grisha doesn’t deserve her, and she doesn’t deserve what’s being done to her right now.

She looks up then, as if she’s caught a shift in the air telling her someone else is in the room, and her eyes go momentarily wide with an expression that’s half fear, half something else that I don’t dare put a name to—and can’t, because it’s entirely unlikely that she would feel that way about me, and that I’m not just projecting my own desire onto her.

“Levin.” She says my name flatly, but the sound of it on her lips goes through me like a jolt of electricity anyway—and I would know. There was that time in El Salvador—

“You smell like vodka.” Her voice is faintly disapproving, pulling me out of past unpleasant memories involving drug gangs and car batteries. She narrows her eyes, and I smirk at her, just buzzed enough not to think through what I’m saying clearly.

“What are you, my zhena? If I want to come back to my hotel room that I pay for smelling like vodka, I will.”

She laughs, and the sound of it surprises me, clear like spring water, rippling over my skin in a way that feels distinctly refreshing. I’m not sure I’ve heard someone laugh so genuinely in a long time, and it surprises me that even in this situation, she can laugh like that at all.

“Are you paying for the room? Or is your boss paying for it?” She smirks at me, and my eyes widen slightly.

“I haven’t forgotten my threat to tie you to the bed, kotenok. I could gag you as well, if you don’t watch that mouth.” With my cock. The thought springs into my head, the image that follows it all too clear for my own sanity, and I force it down as quickly as possible. That’s not what either of us are here for, and the more I allow myself to fantasize about it, the more difficult this will be.

I hadn’t meant to call her the pet name, either. It had just slipped out, and I wish I could bite it back, but it’s too late now. Lidiya ignores it, though, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Her robe parts as she does so, giving me a glimpse of her toned calves and pale, slender thighs. The sight sends another jolt through me, and I can easily picture myself stepping forward between her slightly parted legs, pushing them wider, kneeling down beside the bed and sliding my hands up to the still-hidden, soft flesh of her inner thighs, spreading them so that I can see what she looks like between them—

She would be soft and pink, flushed just like those spots high on her cheekbones. Are there soft blonde curls between her thighs, or is she bare and smooth? Is she wearing panties underneath that robe? She doesn’t have anything clean, and after a bath—

Bladya. I grit my teeth, feeling my cock start to harden for the—I’ve lost track of how many times she’s gotten me hard today. And I can’t just go back to my room and take care of it, either, because she’s in my room. For the foreseeable future.

I don’t know what she’s doing to me. It’s not like it’s been that long since I got laid—by women more exotic-looking and sensual than this university grad student. But something about her—

“Levin? Are you alright?” Lidiya is looking at me, her full lips crooked up on one side, mingled amusement and slight concern on her face. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

No, mentally, I’m a foot in front of me, between your legs. But that might as well be a million miles for how accessible it is to me. I can’t touch Lidiya Petrovna. Not in the way I want to, anyway.

If I wanted to hurt her to make headway on the mission? That would be fine—even encouraged. But to touch her for my pleasure, and hers? That’s asking for censure.

“I’m fine,” I manage, and Lidiya laughs.

“You’re drunk, is what you are.” She picks up the phone, and I take a few steps forward, frowning.

“What are you doing? I told you, if you try to find some way out of this—”

“Relax.” She laughs again. “I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’m stuck here for now. But I’m not going to starve, and it’s clear you need some food to soak up some of that vodka. You said you were ordering us dinner, but it looks like you forgot. And since you’re paying, I’m ordering room service. And it’s going to be expensive.” She smirks at me. “It’s the least you can do.”

“Lidiya—”

“Hi! Yes, I’ll have—two Wagyu burgers with the tomato bacon jam, Gruyere cheese and a side of lemon truffle fries, the honey butter sriracha chicken tenders with a side of blue cheese, umm…caprese salad and…the mango cheesecake. And if you can have the bar send up some vodka and mixers? Yeah, that’s fine. Charge it to the room, please. Levin Volkov, that’s right.” She pauses. “Me? Oh, I’m Mrs. Volkov. Natalia Volkovna. Yes, that’s right. He didn’t say? Well, I surprised him. Thanks so much.”

By the time Lidiya hangs up the phone, I’m staring at her. “What the fuck was that?” I manage.

“Well, since you’re keeping me cooped up here, and forcing me to go back to my kusok der’ma of an ex boyfriend, I figured the least you could do was buy me a gourmet dinner—”

“Not that,” I almost choke. “The part about being Mrs. Volkov.”

“Oh. Well, they seemed a little suspicious about me placing that order, so I thought it was the easiest way to get them off my back. Don’t worry, you can still sleep on the couch. Honestly, that’s probably the most marital thing we could do.” Her eyes flicker with mischief, and I can see exactly what’s happening.

She’s making fun of me, pushing my buttons to see if any of them will make me snap. Honestly, I don’t care all that much. The expensive dinner will eat at my pay for this job—Vladimir certainly isn’t going to cover that, but it’s not as if I don’t have a hefty bank account already. I just choose not to spend it on things like gourmet burgers. And though I’ll certainly get shit from Vladimir and anyone else who hears about her calling herself my wife to the front desk, I don’t really care about that either. It’s hardly the first time I’ve taken a ribbing over a woman.

It’s the fact that her mischievous attitude, her ability to find a way to poke fun in the situation even though I know deep down she’s miserable, only makes me want her more. There are layers to this girl, plenty of them, and I want to peel all of them away. It’s not just sexual, either, which makes it that much worse.

I can think of more marital things that we could do than me sleeping on the couch. And afterward–

Never, in all my adult life, have I ever felt the urge to lie next to a woman after sex, exchanging pillow talk in the darkness, curled in each other’s lingering warmth as we whisper to one another, learning more about each other. I’ve never wanted anything more than the intense pleasure of a good lay, and then the peace of my hotel room or apartment once the woman in question is gone. My days are full of violence and blood, and I crave peace and silence in the hours when I’m not working.

But I don’t just have the urge to fuck Lidiya, though that’s certainly there in spades. I can picture what comes after, too, her blonde hair spilling over her pillow and onto mine, her head on my chest, her hand on my hip and mine on her waist as her blue eyes shimmer through the darkness and I whisper things to her that I’ve never said to any woman.

It all adds up to one very clear thing—Lidiya is dangerous. More dangerous than any mark I’ve ever chased—because I can feel that she poses a danger to a part of me that I’ve never paid much attention to.

Lidiya Petrovna is a danger that I can feel down to my very soul. Which is why I say the next words, even though I know they’re cruel, even though I know they’ll hurt her.

“And who the fuck is Natalia, to make you pick that name?”

Lidiya

I go very still, setting the phone receiver down and looking at the handsome man standing a foot away from me, clearly a little drunk, but that does nothing to detract from his good looks.

“You know everything about me, from what you’ve said,” I say quietly, my hands gripping the sides of the bed. “You know who Natalia is.”

“Maybe I’ve forgotten.”

My jaw clenches. “If you didn’t want me to order room service, you could have stopped me.”

“I don’t care about the room service.”

His eyes meet mine, and I see something almost pained in them. I get the sense that there’s something deeper going on than I’m aware of.

“Natalia was my sister’s name,” I say quietly. “She died when she was young, in the same car accident that killed my parents. But of course, you knew that, because you looked into me. I don’t know why you’re asking that question, unless it’s just to be needlessly cruel.”

A beat of silence passes between us, Levin’s icy blue gaze holding mine, but I don’t flinch or look away.

He has all the power over me right now, I know that. My life, my babushka’s life, he holds all that in his hands. But deep down, I don’t think he’s a truly cruel man. I don’t think he’s taking pleasure in causing hurt—or potential hurt—to either of us. Which makes his comment all the more confusing.

But I’m not about to let him think that he can get away with being cruel. That he can say something just to say it, and watch me shrink back. I have to maintain whatever power I can here, and I won’t let him think that he can cow me, or just say whatever he wants.

But as another beat of silence passes, and then another, I see him take a step back instead, and to my absolute shock, he actually apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “You’re right, that was out of line. I knew the answer, and I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Why did you?” I’m genuinely curious now. I’d expected him to double down, to tell me to shut my mouth or threaten me in some way, but instead he’d said he was sorry.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me—”

“Enough, Lidiya.” His tone hardens slightly, and I back down. There it is. “I said I was sorry. Let’s not drag this conversation out any further than it needs to be—”

I’m tempted to retort something else, but there’s a knock at the door then, and Levin goes to open it, rolling in the room service cart. I can smell the food from here, and my stomach rumbles so loudly that I know he can hear it. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast—and that ended up on Grisha’s wife’s shoes.

“Well?” Levin looks sideways at me. “Are you going to come and eat?”

He’s standing next to on the lacquered coffee table in front of the uncomfortable-looking couch, and I inwardly balk at the idea of sitting next to him, eating dinner like two normal people sharing a hotel room—a normal couple, even.

“Oh, you’re right.” Levin straightens, looking over at me. “We’d probably be more comfortable eating in bed, in front of the tv.”

“That’s not what I—” I start to protest, but he’s already moving the cart near the bed, picking one of the silver trays up and setting it atop the soft white duvet like that’s a perfectly ordinary thing to do. I walked right into that trap, and I can see that Levin is doing exactly what I tried to do a little while ago with the room service and the quip about being his wife—make me purposefully uncomfortable to see if he can get under my skin.

Under other circumstances, it could have been playful—fun, even. These aren’t those circumstances, but it makes me wonder what Levin is actually like, as a person. Is there a side of him apart from the scary man who scoops women up out of train stations and abducts them back to hotel rooms? Who blackmails people, tracks them down, probably kills them or worse? The idea of a man working for some shadowy organization out for Grisha’s blood doesn’t match up with the man climbing tipsily onto the bed next to me, trays of gourmet food arranged in front of us as he reaches for the remote.

“Hey.” I snatch it away from him. “I picked this show because I like it.”

“This is practically a soap opera.” He rolls his eyes. “Give that here.”

I try to pull it away from him, but he’s too quick. He snatches the remote out of my hand, flipping through channels.

“Here. This is a good movie.” He keeps the remote just out of reach long enough for me to see that he’s settled on John Wick.

I glare at him. “Isn’t that a little on the nose? I don’t want to watch this.”

“It has Keanu Reeves in it. All women love Keanu Reeves.” Levin narrows his eyes at me. “Are you telling me you don’t find him attractive?”

I let out a sharp breath. “Of course I do. But I don’t want to watch a movie about a Russian assassin while I’m trapped in a hotel room with a—well—” I wave my hand in Levin’s general direction.

“John Wick is Belarusian, not Russian. And I never said I was an assassin.”

I stare at him. “Seriously?”

Levin smirks. “Seriously.”

“About the John Wick part or the assassin part? Or both?”

He shrugs. “Take your pick.”

I’m not sure I believe him about the assassin part. I’ve been thinking for as long as he was gone about who he could really be, and what, and I don’t think he’s working for the government. I could be wrong–he could be KGB, after Grisha for money laundering or because he has dirt on some politician, or some shit like that. But I don’t get that feeling from him. I don’t have any proof, of course—just a feeling.

“Let’s compromise.” I stop grabbing for the remote, but I pin him with a pointed look. “No romantic shows, no John Wick. Something in the middle.” I reach for one of the dish covers, my stomach rumbling all over again. “You scroll, because I’m starving.”

“I know.” Levin smirks. “I could hear your stomach from the other side of the room.”

I swat him on the shoulder, and it’s like hitting a brick wall. “Jesus,” I mutter, shaking out my hand. “You’re built like a fucking bull.”

Levin raises an eyebrow, and I glare at him. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He starts scrolling through the channels again, finally landing on a comedy special as I reach for a truffle fry.

I realize, with a strange feeling in my stomach, that for a moment I’d almost forgotten that he’s keeping me here against my will. In the last fifteen minutes or so, I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in a while, even with Grisha.

Grisha pampered me and spoiled me, and I enjoyed spending time with him—he’s articulate and intelligent, easy to carry on a conversation with, and interested in my field of study…or pretended to be, anyway. But Levin is different.

For a man whose hands would probably drip red if I could see all the blood he’s spilled with them, he feels refreshingly—normal. Almost fun.

When I’d woken up earlier, I hadn’t pictured myself eating room service in bed with him, laughing at a popular comedian while we dug into the food.

“This is excellent,” Levin says, taking a bite of his burger. “I can’t fault your choices.”

“Don’t you eat?” I glance at him. “I know this isn’t your first night here.”

“Usually at the bar. And never food like this.” Levin reaches for one of the sticky chicken tenders, glancing sideways at me. “I’m sure Grisha kept you well-fed, though.”

“He did.” I take a bite of my own burger, stifling an involuntary moan. It’s one of the best I’ve ever had, the rich flavor of it bursting over my tongue, the cheese sharp against the sweetness of the jam and the meaty flavor of the burger, and the bun is fresh. The fries are equally good—thin and crisp, my favorite, with parmesan cheese clinging to the truffle oil and lemon juice on the outside. “This is some of the best hotel food I’ve ever had, though.”

“This is the best hotel in Moscow.” Levin takes another bite of the chicken tender. “I almost like these better than the burger. Just spicy enough.”

“I haven’t tried them yet.” I reach for another fry, and look up just in time to see Levin directing the last bite of the honey sriracha tender towards my lips, his fork extended.

Automatically, before I realize what I’m doing, I take it. My lips close over the sticky bite, hot and sweet flavors filling my mouth all at once, and my eyes lock with Levin’s as I lick a drop of honey off of my lips.

“Delicious,” Levin says, his voice suddenly dropping an octave, and something throbs deep inside of me.

I jerk back, grabbing a napkin and wiping my lips. “It’s really good,” I manage to choke out, refusing to look at him again. I can feel my face flushing for reasons that have nothing to do with the spiciness of the food, and I can feel my breath catching in my throat.

I don’t think he did it on purpose. I can’t imagine that he did, it makes no sense. Levin seductively feeding me a bite of chicken is about the furthest thing from reality that I can imagine.

But I can’t deny that there’s a tension in the air now that wasn’t there before. And I can feel it wafting off of him, too, as he studiously goes back to eating his burger, his eyes fixed on the television screen in front of us.

I can’t help but think that he’s thinking the same thing I am—that for a few minutes, we weren’t a kidnapped girl and her captor, eating dinner in the room he’s holding her prisoner in. We were just two people having fun, eating stupidly expensive food in a soft white bed, watching tv and laughing together. If we were a normal couple, we’d clear away the dishes after and Levin would kiss the honey off my lips himself, tumbling me back into the thick, soft white comforter, undoing the belt of my robe before—

I shove that thought down as hard as I can. I can’t keep thinking of him like this—I’d told myself that earlier. He’s handsome, it’s true. He seems to have more depth to him than he lets on, and he seems to be—or want to be—a decent man at his core. But that doesn’t change our circumstances even a little. And it doesn’t make him any less of a danger to me and the only person I have left that I truly love.

Levin gets off the bed, setting his empty plate on the cart and reaching for the expensive bottle of vodka. He drops two ice cubes into one of the glasses, pouring the vodka over it and lifting the glass to his lips as he takes a deep drink,.

He looks over, catching the expression on my face, and smirks. “You just said I needed food to soak it up, not that I needed to stop drinking altogether. And besides, zhena, you ordered the vodka.”

I go very still, looking at him. Zhena. Wife. I’d told the front desk I was exactly that as a joke, trying to get under his skin, but it feels different hearing it roll off of his lips now, slightly fuzzed with drink, especially after he fed me that bite of food a moment ago.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” I tell him, pushing my plate away. I’m full, and even if I hadn’t been, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

He shrugs, taking another drink. “You called yourself that, earlier.” He reaches over, alternating sips of his drink with taking the plates off the bed, piling them onto the cart and pushing it outside into the hall. When he walks back in, he’s holding the bottle of vodka and another glass.

He holds it out towards me, and I shake my head.

“No, I think I should probably stay sober.” I reach for the remote, flicking off the tv. “And we should probably both get some sleep. I think my head feels okay enough for me to sleep again.”

I push back the duvet, arranging a few of the pillows, and when I look up again, I see Levin’s ice blue eyes on me, watching me.

“You’re not at all what I expected, Lidiya Petrovna,” he says quietly. And then, without another word, he flips off the main light in the room, leaving only the faint glow of the lamp by the bed as he walks to the couch, stretching out on it still fully clothed with his glass of vodka balanced on his chest.

I climb into bed too and flick off the light, my heart beating far too hard for me to fall asleep immediately. Instead I just lie there, looking at Levin’s shape on the couch in the darkness, faintly illuminated by the outside light coming in through the window.

I’m not worried about him trying to get into bed with me in the middle of the night or touching me while I’m asleep. I probably should be, honestly, and I would be—if it were anyone else. But something about Levin tells me that even if I can’t exactly trust him entirely, I can at least trust him not to hurt me physically. I can sleep without one eye open.

I wonder, watching him as he lies perfectly still, without a single sign as to whether he’s asleep or awake, if he can say the same.

Levin

I didn’t sleep well. I’d made sure to stay very still on the couch, behaving as if I were sleeping so as not to alarm Lidiya, but in reality I’d stared up at the ceiling for a long time, fighting off the thoughts of how close she was, just a few feet away in that big soft bed, and how easily I could be next to her.

I could hear the sound of her breathing, soft and even as she fell asleep, and it wasn’t just arousal that I had to battle. It was the thought of lying in bed with her, feeling her warm breath on my skin, her soft hair tickling my cheek and shoulder. It was the recent memories of how we’d laughed together over dinner, and how surprising it was.

It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed with a woman like that. And with Lidiya it felt easy. It felt as if we’d slipped past the boundaries of who we are to each other, into a normalcy that I’ve never experienced with a woman. I’m not the dating type, not the type to have breakfast together or share meals. A drink at a bar or club or lounge is usually the best I can do, with sex as the end goal. I’ve never had any complaints—I make sure to make it mutually pleasurable for both of us, and in the end, everyone walks away happy.

But with Lidiya tonight, it felt different. It felt like early memories I had of my parents laughing together, joking and kissing and touching, the epitome of what a loving relationship ought to be—or so I’d thought, before it all fell apart.

Before my father cheated on my mother and she shot him and his lover, before she too ended up dead in an alleyway, victim of the woman’s brothers who came to avenge her, and left me an orphan at fifteen, taken in by my father’s boss and put to work cleaning blood off of the basement floor for Vladimir until I could be trained properly to take over the job my father used to have. It had been a formative lesson for me—that love isn’t always what it seems, and that it’s better not to involve yourself with a woman than risk scorning her. My father had hurt my mother and she’d hurt him in return, and the cycle had continued.

I’d always wondered how it had happened, how my father had gone from enamored with my mother to sleeping with another woman. Now, lying on the uncomfortable couch with Lidiya lightly snoring in the bed, I wonder if he’d ever found himself in a hotel room like this, watching over some woman who sparked something different in him, who made him feel something that he perhaps didn’t feel with my mother, who filled in some missing space in him. If he’d been taken off guard, surprised with a depth of feeling that shouldn’t have existed.

The difference, of course, is that even if that had been the case, he should never have been unfaithful to her. He should have left, rather than hurt and shame her in such a way. They would both be alive still, if so—or at least my father wouldn’t have died by her hand. He might be dead anyway, after all, he’d lived the same dangerous life that I do now, and I—

I wonder what I would be doing, if that had been how it all played out. Would I still have followed in my father’s footsteps? Would I still be in this hotel room, half-hard listening to a woman breathe who is as off-limits to me as that other woman should have been to my father? Or would I be someone different, a banker or a professor or an engineer, someone who comes home at night to a wife and children, who learned how to show love and kept believing that it was a real thing?

I close my eyes, letting out a breath. There’s no point in thinking about it. I don’t usually, for the most part. I’ve never found that there’s any reason for looking backward, only forward. The past is full of blood and pain and tears, and it’s only the future that I can still shape.

But right now, the only shape that I can think about is the shape of Lidiya in that bed, and how good it would feel to drag my hands over her, to feel all of her in my palms and hold her as I thrust—

Good god, man. I force the thought out of my head, but sleep won’t come. I sit up, pouring myself another glass of vodka and drinking it down quickly as I look away from the bed, studiously avoiding looking at the shape of her underneath the blankets. When that glass is finished I down another, and then stretch out on the stiff couch again—as stiff as my cock still stubbornly is, pushing against the fly of the jeans I haven’t changed out of. I don’t trust myself to go into the bathroom and change into anything more comfortable to sleep in—I’ll either wind up jerking off again and risk waking Lidiya up and spooking her, or wind up in bed with her, convincing her to take her clothes off too. And whether she was willing or not, that wouldn’t end well.

I already hate the idea of her with Grisha. And since my attraction to her seems to be more than purely physical, how do I think that’s going to go if I fuck her? It certainly won’t lessen the odd, possessive jealousy that she seems to arouse in me, that no other woman ever has.

The second glass of vodka stills my whirling thoughts enough for me to finally fall asleep. When I wake up again, the early morning light is starting to shine in, and Lidiya is still asleep, her face buried adorably in the pillow with her blonde hair tangled around it, still softly snoring with the sound muffled by the down underneath her face. I unfold myself uncomfortably from the couch, feeling my muscles ache in places that no twenty-six year old man’s back should ache, especially not one in good shape, and cross the room to the bed, gently reaching for her shoulder to shake her awake.

“Lidiya.” I say her name softly, once and then twice, and on the second time her eyes flutter open lightly, a small smile curving her lips as she looks up at me sleepily—in the moment before she remembers who I am and where she is. I can see the exact instant when it all comes back to her, because she pulls back, her brow wrinkling with annoyance as she pushes herself up sleepily on the pillows, a grumpy expression marring her pretty face.

It’s clear that Lidiya Petrovna is not a morning person.

“What?” she mumbles as I reach for the phone to order breakfast up to the room.

“It’s time to get up.”

“No, s’not.” She slides back down against the pillow, her blue eyes fluttering closed. “No class, no reason to get up this early.”

“Other than the fact that we need to go collect your things from your apartment, and go over the details of what you’ll be trying to find out while you’re with Grisha. And then—”

“Can I at least eat something first?” Lidiya’s eyes open again, just slightly, two blue slits in her pretty face.

“That’s why I’m calling room service now,” I inform her.

I’ve never even really been one to eat breakfast, and like I’d told Lidiya last night, my meals have tended to be eaten at the bar—or a bar, out somewhere in Moscow. I have to admit though, once breakfast arrives, that Lidiya might have been on to something with ordering from the hotel menu. I haven’t had a breakfast like the one they send up to us courtesy of the hotel breakfast buffet in ages—crispy waffles, fluffy eggs topped with crème fraiche, chives and smoked salmon, real maple syrup for the waffles, juicy sausage links, fresh squeezed orange juice accompanied by a complimentary bottle of champagne.

“What is this for?” Lidiya picks up the bottle of champagne, wrinkling her nose at it. “I like a good mimosa as much as the next person, but it’s a Tuesday morning.”

“They think we’re married,” I remind her, taking a sip of my champagne-less orange juice. “They probably think we’re staying here on some anniversary trip or second honeymoon, or something.”

I know that’s not strictly accurate. The hotel is very aware of who I am and who I work for—that’s how I’m able to get away with the things I do here so easily, like carting unconscious women up to my room. But since Lidiya told them that she’s my wife, they’ve probably assumed she actually is, come to visit me—or chastise me—and sent up the complimentary extras as a result.

“Do you want some?” Lidiya holds out the bottle by its neck from where she’s sitting on the bed, her robe modestly tucked around her legs. I’m on the sofa, keeping my distance for this meal. As fun as it was sharing the fancy dinner with her last night, I can’t afford to keep doing things that stir up these feelings for her in me. I can’t afford to have these feelings at all, really.

“No, that’s fine,” I tell her, stabbing my eggs with my fork. A pale pink sliver of salmon slithers off the tines, and I stab it again, maybe with more force than strictly necessary. “You enjoy, though.”

“Thanks. I think I will.” Lidiya eyes me from the bed as she pours a couple glugs of the champagne into her orange juice. There’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before, and I can feel both of us tiptoeing around it. We finish our breakfast in silence, and then Lidiya gathers up her clothes from the day before.

Her outer coat and stockings are a bit too dirty to wear after her tumble down the stairs, but the sweater and skirt she had on before are fine. When she comes out of the bathroom, opting to change in there while I dress in the main bedroom, I hold up my spare coat for her.

“Here, so you don’t have to wear the dirty one,” I tell her, and Lidiya slowly takes it from me with an expression of mingled gratitude and suspicion in her face. She doesn’t entirely trust me still, which is wise of her. I’m not someone she should trust, and she isn’t someone I should care about. We’ll be better off if she remains a job for me and I remain a dangerous stranger to her, someone that she should extricate herself from as soon as possible.

Lidiya gathers up the remainder of her dirtied clothes, folding them so she can carry them back to her apartment, and I catch a glimpse of her underwear, tucked in between her stockings and her coat—which gives me a piece of information that I absolutely did not need to know, for my own sanity.

Under that long, demure black skirt, Lidiya isn’t wearing any panties.

That particular knowledge goes straight to my cock, a throbbing jolt that pulses through me and gets me hard in an instant, leaving me straining painfully against my zipper and gritting my teeth under the sudden onslaught of arousal.

This is fucking ridiculous. I should be past the point in life where just the thought of a woman not wearing any panties gives me an instant hard-on, particularly when the woman in question is wearing a skirt down below her knees. There’s nothing remotely sexy about Lidiya’s outfit, or at least there shouldn’t be—but all I can see is the way the fitted sweater clings to the curves of her breasts, the way the skirt skims over her slender hips, and it makes my mouth go dry as we walk out of the hotel room, with me doing my best to conceal the situation my cock currently has me in.

I feel like I’m losing my mind.

The cold, at least, helps stem the tide as we step outside. It’s the usual bitter cold of January in Moscow, and the way it slaps me in the face as we step out onto the street is enough to take my mind off of my arousal and ease it a bit. “Don’t get any ideas,” I warn Lidiya as we start to walk. “I’m a faster runner than I look, and I will find you, even if I don’t catch you at first.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s a hint of sullenness in her voice as she faces forward, head bent against the wind as she pointedly refuses to look at me. “I told you, I’ve already resigned myself to this. I’m not going to try to run off.”

“Good.” I shove my gloved hands in my coat pockets for added warmth, and we walk in silence after that, all the way to the part of town where Lidiya’s apartment building is located.

Her neighborhood, while I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a slum, could politely be referred to as recuperating. There are a few new shops that look more polished than the other run-down buildings around them, but it’s obvious that only time will tell whether they bring the rest of the neighborhood up with them or fall into disrepair with everything surrounding them. Looking at the rest of the shops and apartments we walk past, my money would be on the latter.

Lidiya’s building is a shabby walkup made of beige brick, the lower edges of the walls covered in a blackish-green substance that could be moss or mold, it’s impossible to say. The stairs have seen better days, and the fire escape going up the side of the building is rusted in places—it looks as if you’d be taking a considerable gamble trying to get out using it, particularly if you lived on one of the upper floors.

Her apartment is on the tenth floor and looks exactly like what I would have expected from the outer façade of the building. It’s only slightly bigger than my hotel room with yellowish tile that is clearly stained from age, not dirt—the kind of tile that once was white but now can’t be made white again no matter how much bleach is applied. The apartment itself is sparkling clean and tidy, which fits with what I’ve seen of Lidiya’s personality so far, but the rest of it is in equally shabby condition that no amount of cleaning can fix.

The counters are the same yellowish Formica, the appliances are from the last century, and the tiny table and chair next to the slim window are clearly not only secondhand, but probably fourth or fifth-hand. The only other furniture is a pull-down bed from an equally flimsy-looking faux wood drywall, neatly made with a pile of threadbare quilts, and a tall wooden dresser in similar shape to the table and chair in the “kitchen.” The only other room is a bathroom the size of a tiny supply closet, with a small shower, the kind with only a curtain and a lip at the edge of it to prevent the water flowing out, and a toilet with a yellowed pedestal sink.

It’s also so fucking cold that it feels worse than being outside, almost.

“My radiator is broken,” Lidiya says apologetically as we walk in. “It has been for a while, they won’t bother coming to fix it.”

“How the fuck do you not freeze to death?” My hands are in fleece-lined leather gloves, jammed into the pockets of my wool coat, and I still have to fight the urge to pull them out and blow on them.

“Bundled up and all of those quilts.” Lidiya points to the bed. “But it’s still cold.”

“Why don’t you move?” I realize as the question comes out of my mouth that it’s none of my business, and probably a dick thing to ask considering she likely has considered it a hundred times, but I can’t help it. It’s clear she does her best to keep this place habitable, and for all that I have a well-padded bank account I’ve slept in some grimy places on jobs out of necessity—but everything about this apartment feels miserable.

Lidiya fixes me with a pointed glare that tells me exactly that—that it’s none of my business. But she answers anyway. “There’s not much vacancy open in apartments I can afford,” she says, striding across the tiny space to yank open one of the dresser drawers. “And a lot of them don’t care to rent to students. Besides, anything more expensive than this, and it would cut into what I could send to my babushka every month. And, if you haven’t figured it out,” she adds, dropping a pile of clothes onto the bed and giving me that same pointed look, “my babushka is the most important person in the world to me. She’s all I have left, and I don’t know for how long. What you’re doing, keeping me in your hotel, means less time that I get to see her. But I’m doing it to protect her. To make sure you don’t keep me from caring for her in whatever way I can. So yes, I live in this shitty apartment, with no heat, and I don’t move. And that’s why.”

She looks back down at the bed, pressing her hands into the pile of clothes. “You don’t have to understand me, Levin Volkov. But hopefully you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing a little better, now.”

Lidiya

I was embarrassed, bringing him back here.

I still don’t know exactly what Levin does, or who he works for, or how rich he might be. But it’s clear that he has some wealth. His clothes and coat and gloves are all finely made, his short hair is well-cut, the vodka on his breath last night smelled expensive—sharp and clean, not sour like cheap vodka. He didn’t flinch at the room service, which means either he or his boss can easily afford it, and if he works for a man who could afford it then likely he’s paid well enough that he could, too. He moves around the fancy hotel we’re staying in with ease, not like a man unaccustomed to fine things. Before Grisha, the hotel room and food would have been a shock to me—even after months of dating Grisha, I’m still not used to it. But I didn’t see any of that faint discomfort in Levin.

There’s no telling where he normally lives, or what that place is like, or even if he maybe just lives out of hotels, going from job to job. But I would bet the money I don’t have that wherever he lives or stays, it doesn’t look like this.

I hate him seeing the yellowed surfaces that don’t ever look clean no matter how hard I try, the ratty quilts, the bathroom that even I can barely fit in to shower. I hate seeing him standing there shivering, feeling sorry for me that I live here, because if there’s one thing I hate it’s anyone pitying me. I’ve chosen this, so I can help support my grandmother, and if it’s miserable at times I can at least feel confident that it’s for a good reason. But seeing it through Levin’s eyes, I feel ashamed, and I hate it. I never brought Grisha here for that reason, but somehow it feels even worse, coming from Levin.

“I’m just going to get some things together,” I mutter, pulling clothes out of my dresser drawers and stacking them on the bed. My suitcase is underneath it, also worse for wear, and I studiously avoid looking at Levin as I grab a pair of jeans and a sweater and duck into the bathroom to change and get my toiletries and makeup.

It’s a process that feels familiar, after the past months dating Grisha. Once we started sleeping together I spent more time at his apartment than mine, so grabbing clothes and things from my place after class and schlepping it over to his was a regular occurrence, one that felt exciting, anticipatory. Like going on vacation most days of the week. And then the weekends would roll around and I’d do quick laundry at the sketchy laundromat and pack up again, this time to take the train to see my babushka.

Now, though, all the anticipation is gone, replaced by dread and sadness. I’d been falling in love with Grisha, maybe even in love with him, and I’d barely even begun to process that loss and feeling of betrayal before Levin had broken the news to me that I was being thrust right back into the relationship. So now all I can think about is that the blue sweater I’m pulling on, softer and better quality than some of my others because my babushka had knitted it for my last birthday out of angora yarn, was Grisha’s favorite—or at least he’d said it was. He’d said it was exactly the color of my eyes, and of course I’d believed him, because I’d believed everything he’d said to me.

I walk out of the tiny bathroom, clutching a bag filled with my makeup and not much else—the hotel provides pretty much everything I could need in the way of toiletries—and I see Levin’s eyes skim over me. It’s a quick glance, as if he’s trying to stop himself but can’t, and it gives me a strange flutter deep in my stomach to see it.

“That’s a nice sweater,” he says gruffly. “Same color as your eyes.”

I freeze halfway to the bed, my heart suddenly pounding for no reason at all. “Grisha said that too,” I mumble, and I see a look flicker across Levin’s face that I don’t entirely understand. It might be irritation, or it could be something deeper than that—it almost looks like anger, though that doesn’t make sense either. Levin wants me to reconnect with Grisha, so he should be pleased if I say anything positive about him at all, but every time he comes up there’s that odd look on Levin’s face, as if he secretly hates the man.

Maybe he does. Whatever Grisha’s done, it must be serious, so maybe Levin has personal feelings about it as well. I try to put it out of my head, focusing on quickly packing up my nicer clothes and tossing my makeup bag and a few books into the suitcase, something to pass my time in the hotel room besides watching tv.

“If you need anything else,” Levin clears his throat. “I can fetch it for you. Books, anything you might want. Just let me know.”

It’s implied he’d be paying for it, which makes me less likely to take him up on the offer. I don’t want to owe Levin Volkov anything. When this business with Grisha is done, I want to walk away and put him in my rear view, a necessary evil that I can forget about.

Whatever it takes to keep us from getting closer to each other in the meantime, that’s what I need to do. No more nights like last night where we sit on the bed laughing, no more accidental moments like Levin feeding me that bite of food. I need to keep my distance.

I zip up the suitcase with more force than necessary, dragging it off the bed. Levin steps forward instantly, extending his hand to take it from me like a gentleman, but I shake my head stubbornly.

“I can manage.” My grip on the handle tightens, and Levin looks at me dubiously.

“You’re going to carry that all the way back to the hotel?”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, and he sighs.

“Have it your way, then.” He inclines his head towards the door. “Is there anything else you need, or can we go? I’m pretty sure it’s warmer outside.”

He isn’t wrong. Even the bitter chill of the outdoors feels more tolerable compared to my apartment. The suitcase does get heavy as we walk back to the hotel, but I refuse to relinquish it, not wanting to give myself another reason to like him.

“You can take whatever space in the dresser you want,” Levin says affably once we’re back in the hotel room. “I’ll order us some lunch.”

The silence between us feels awkward as I fold my clothes into the top drawer of the dresser. For all intents and purposes, I’ve just moved in here, with a man I’ve known for less than two days and who is forcing me into a relationship with my ex that I don’t want. I’ve never actually lived with a man—the amount of time I spent at Grisha’s apartment was the closest I’ve ever gotten, and this feels uncomfortably intimate. We might not be dating, or sharing a bed, but we’re both living in this hotel room.

I gingerly set my stack of books on the side table next to the bed, aware that I’m making myself at home here, leaving physical reminders of my presence in the room. When I put my makeup away in the bathroom, it feels like the final nail in the coffin in accepting that for the foreseeable future, this is my home—this luxury room with this dangerous, handsome man who frightens and confuses me all at once.

“I should explain more about Grisha,” Levin says when our food comes. We’re perched the way we were this morning again, him on the sofa and me on the bed, the space of the room between us. It feels intentional, as if we’re both wary of one another, although I can’t imagine what reason he has to be wary of me.

“Please do.” I poke at the sandwich he ordered me, a grilled chicken and avocado with a mustardy dressing on some kind of pillowy bread, with a pile of those lemon truffle fries next to it. They look crisp, the cheese clinging to them, and the food smells amazing, but just the mention of Grisha is enough to steal my appetite.

“I can’t give you all the details,” Levin says. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Give me as much as you can.” I bite into a fry, salt and citrus bursting across my tongue, delicious enough to make someone cry. But I’m too anxious to even really notice, my pulse speeding up in my throat.

“You’re looking for financial statements, listening for him to mention a cartel, dealings in drugs or fronts for significant amounts of money.” Levin pauses, taking a bite out of the steak sandwich he ordered, and I stare at him, the fry I just picked up dropping back onto my plate.

“The cartel? As in like—Mexico? Mexican cartels?” I feel faintly nauseous. “You’ve got to be kidding me, they’re—that’s really dangerous, Levin.”

“I know,” he says dryly. “I’ve worked with them before, and come up against others, and some South American gangs, in the past.” He turns his arm so that I can see a long scar that runs along his forearm, knotted with scar tissue and purple against his skin. “A souvenir from a particularly touchy one, in El Salvador.”

I swallow hard, but my mouth has gone so dry that it’s nothing but my throat convulsing. It hadn’t hit me until right this second just how bad, how dangerous, this could really be. I’ve grown up in a country where people disappear sometimes, where the government has agents who hunt and torture and kill spies and dissidents, where opinions voiced too loudly can be dangerous. But I’ve never been one of those people. I grew up quietly, first with my parents and then with my babushka, after they died. I went to graduate school for archeology.

“This isn’t normal for me,” I blurt out. “I’m not an activist, or a protestor, or someone who has loud opinions. I keep to myself. I’m someone who goes out of her way to stay out of danger, not walk into it. This isn’t, I can’t—”

“You can, Lidiya, because you have to,” Levin says bluntly. “I’ll do all I can to keep you safe. All you’re doing is keeping up the pretense of a real relationship with Grisha—that you love him, that you forgive him, that you want to be with him, and listening and looking as much as you’re able to in the meantime. You can do this—I know you can.” He smiles encouragingly at me, but it doesn’t do much to quell the nausea in my stomach. “I’ve put women less savvy and intelligent than you on jobs like this. You’re going to be just fine, Lidiya.”

“I don’t know—” I bite my lower lip. I want to run. I want to bail. Cartels, drugs, gangs, money laundering, it all sounds so far beyond anything I’d ever imagined myself adjacent to. But from the look on Levin’s face, I know there’s no out. We’ve gone too far—not that there ever really was an out, in the first place.

“Make the call.” Levin nods to the black burner phone on the nightstand next to me. “Call Grisha and set up a date.”

I swallow convulsively. I feel frozen to the spot, like I can’t move.

“Lidiya. Now. Put it on speaker.”

Something in Levin’s voice, the commanding note in his tone, thaws my blood, turning it from ice to something warm and pumping again. I feel myself flushing, a tingling racing over my skin at the sound of his orders, not unlike yesterday when he held me up against that door.

Slowly, I reach for the phone, if only to have something to do other than think about that, the one thing that I know more than anything I shouldn’t be remembering.

I dial Grisha’s number, wanting with every second that passes, every ring, to hang up.

“Hello?” His voice, smooth and elegantly accented, comes over the line.

“Hi. Um—Grisha. It’s Lidiya. I—”

“Lidiya?” He sounds surprised, but not upset. “This isn’t your number.”

“I got a new phone. I um—I dropped mine, yesterday, getting off the train. I was too upset, in too much of a hurry. They couldn’t transfer my number so—this is mine now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” There’s a moment of silence on the line. “Why are you calling? If it’s about your things, they’re being sent back to you today, my assistant—”

“No, it’s not that.” I take a deep breath, clutching the phone so hard I can feel my knuckles turning white. I don’t want to say this aloud, don’t want to take this step, but I have to. All of my choices have been taken away, and now there’s only one way forward.

“I wanted to talk to you. What happened yesterday morning—I was shocked, Grisha. And hurt. But I think I acted rashly—”

“I should have told you.” His voice sounds almost apologetic, and though I know better than to believe him, even now it’s hard not to. “I’m sorry, Lidiya. I was afraid if you knew the truth that you would leave me. I never meant to meet anyone else. I didn’t see myself as the kind of man who cheats. But my marriage has been cold and loveless for so long and when I met you, you captivated me. I couldn’t keep myself from you.”

My stomach roils at that. It’s nothing new, the same lines every unfaithful man gives his mistress. I refuse to be so weak as to believe it, to let it make me really feel anything for Grisha again. I glance up at Levin as Grisha speaks, and he rolls his eyes so plainly that I have to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

“I—that’s why I called you.” I lick my overly dry lips. “It was just such a shock, Grisha. I wish you’d told me before, so I could have been prepared. So you could have told me all that in person—”

“I will.” His voice sounds almost desperate. “I’d hoped you would call. I tried calling you, but there was no answer. Of course now I know why, but I thought I’d never hear from you again. You were so hurt, so angry, and rightfully so. But if you’ll agree to meet with me, Lidiya, I’ll say it all over again, to your face. The feelings I had for you were real. I was unfaithful not because that’s who I am as a person, but because I couldn’t stay away from you. Because you, and only you, made me feel alive again. Please, Lidyia, meet up with me so I can make this up to you—”

I know what he’s saying is a lie. Levin told me that Grisha was sleeping with plenty of other girls, that they’d chosen me to blackmail because I was the only one he was having a ‘real’ relationship with. Unless—

There’s always a possibility that Levin is lying to me. That I really was the only one. My heart races in my chest, anxiety sweeping over me. How am I supposed to know who to trust, who to believe?

This was already easier than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t expected Grisha to want to mend things so badly. After all, I’d been horribly rude to his wife, cursed him out, and fled the apartment in angry tears. I’d expected him to wash his hands of me, and for me to have to beg for him to take me back. But that doesn’t seem to be the case at all.

Were his feelings more real than I thought? I can’t go down that road, especially not now—

“Lidiya?”

“I—I was just thinking. I was so hurt, Grisha. I was falling for you—”

“I was falling for you too, Lidiya. Just give me a chance. Dinner, at Bistro L’flor. Our favorite place. And if you still feel too hurt and angry after we talk, we’ll go our separate ways. Surely what we shared deserves closure, if nothing else.”

It’s easy. Too easy. Either he suspects something, or nothing at all.

“Yes,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. The word is bitter on my tongue as it slips out. “I’ll meet you there. Tomorrow at eight.”

“Tomorrow at eight,” Grisha confirms. “I—I’ve missed you, Lidiya. I’ll see you then.”

The line goes dead, and as I look down at the phone in my hand, I realize I’m shaking.

“It’s sent.”

Levin’s voice drifts towards me, and my head snaps up. I don’t realize at first what he’s saying.

“The ten thousand,” he clarifies. “I transferred it as soon as I heard you make the date. It was ready and waiting, to show you that if you keep your word, Lidiya, I will keep mine. You can check your bank.”

Numbly, I reach for my purse, pulling out my bank card. A quick call and the punch of a few numbers takes me to the menu for my balance, and my heart flips in my chest as the robotic feminine voice on the other end tells me that my balance is now over 900,000 rubles. $10,259 dollars in US money.

“You can transfer it to your grandmother at any time,” Levin says quietly. His expression is drawn, tense, as if he’s unhappy about something. “It’s yours. I trust you’ll do your best with Grisha.”

“I will.” I look at him with faint confusion. “What’s wrong? I did what you asked. You should be happy.”

“I am.” Levin gives me a terse smile. “I’m going to go get a drink.” He pushes himself up from the couch, and then, without another word, stalks out of the room and slams the door hard behind him, the sound of the lock clicking the only remaining noise.

I stare after him in shock, wondering what just happened.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Levin

I don’t know how to put a name to the emotion boiling in my veins right now, as I head for the elevator.

If I had to guess, if someone had a gun to my head and demanded I verbalize it, I’d call it jealousy. Which makes not the slightest bit of fucking sense.

Lidiya is my job. A task to complete that, if I fuck it up, will result in so very many things going wrong for me. Vladimir isn’t a man to tolerate failure, not even once. Especially not when it comes to a job like this–a job meant to prove that I can follow through on the things that I’ve said I could be trusted to do. That I can be depended on to deliver a man like Grisha.

The man is a fucking liar. I keep hearing the conversation he had with Lidiya over and over in my head, him telling her that he’s never believed himself to be the sort of man to be unfaithful, that it was all her, as if she were some temptress that seduced him out of his cold yet faithful marital bed.

Doesn’t she tempt you, though?

It’s not the same thing. I grit my teeth, stalking out of the elevator and towards the too-familiar hotel bar. The bartender is the same one from last night, and he has a glass of vodka pushed towards me before I’ve barely sat down.

“Thanks,” I mutter as I tip it back, wondering how much vodka it will take to get that fucker’s voice out of my head. I was falling for you too, Lidiya. I missed you.

Fucking liar.

I shouldn’t give a single shit. I never have before when I’ve supervised women sent to do jobs like this. My job puts me in danger just about every day–so why shouldn’t it be the same for others? Everyone is given a choice, even if it’s not a good one. I, at least, don’t hold a gun to any of their heads.

You know good and damn well that what you threatened her with is just as bad. Maybe even fucking worse.

Now I want to drink more to get my own voice out of my head. I toss back the second vodka the bartender brings and start on a third, trying not to think of Lidiya upstairs, trying not to wonder what she’s doing–if she’s okay. If she’s upset. If she’s sleeping or sitting curled up in the bed, fretting over having to see Grisha again.

Maybe you should go up to see her, just to make sure she’s not completely unraveling. She has to be in a good enough state of mind to actually go through with the job.

I’ve just about talked myself into charging my tab to the room and going up to check on Lidiya, regardless of whether I have myself back under control or not, when a musical voice next to my ear keeps me from standing up.

“It’s a little early to be cashing out, isn’t it?”

I take in the woman sitting next to me in an instant, with the long practice of someone who is always aware of those around him. She’s tall and willowy and blonde, with green eyes and poured into a dress to match. She waves a hand at the bartender, who brings her a drink with the same aplomb that he brought mine, as if he knows equally as well what she wants.

“You’re not from here.” I raise an eyebrow at her, pivoting slightly in her seat. Her accent is crisp and British, with that edge of posh sharpness that tells me she’s someone from money, likely with a high-level job and connections or a husband with the same. One flick of a glance towards her hand and I see that there’s no ring, so either there’s no husband, or she came down here with the intention of pretending that there isn’t one.

Either way, I don’t really care. I’m more interested in the potential to blow off some steam, and return to Lidiya with a clearer head.

“What was your first inclination?” She tosses her hair back with a laugh, reaching for the glass of what looks like expensive scotch that the bartender pushes her way. “It’s the accent, isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t run into many who sound like they’re a few steps removed from the royal family, no,” I tell her with a smirk. “Can I try to guess your name?”

“By all means. If you get it right, I might even give you a prize.” She winks at me, taking a sip of the scotch, her lipstick leaving the faintest red mark on the glass.

“Something posh. Vanessa, Veronica, Diana–”

“Wrong on all counts. But if you buy me my second drink, I’ll be inclined to forgive you.”

I nod to the bartender, who sets about getting another round for us both, and then glance back at her. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

“My name? Maybe. You go first.” She leans back in the chair, clearly enjoying the banter. I am too–to an extent, though I’d prefer to finish the drinks and continue this upstairs.

“Levin Volkov.” I smile at her. “Here on business, as I assume you are?”

“I am. Government business. I’m Elizabeth.” She holds out a pale, neatly manicured hand, and I take it, feeling the warmth of her skin sink into mine. “Are you here with anyone else?”

A woman who gets to the point. I like that. “Not at all,” I tell her smoothly, forcing thoughts of Lidiya out of my head. I’m not here ‘with’ Lidiya–if anything, she’s here with me. And there’s nothing stopping me from enjoying the company of this woman, who is clearly interested.

“Well–” she lowers her voice, leaning in a little closer with a conspiratorial expression, “I’m not either. So maybe we finish these drinks, and go upstairs?”

“Do you want to have dinner first?” I smirk at her. It’s early evening by now, and I find myself wondering if Lidiya has ordered room service again, if she’s sitting in the middle of that big bed, watching tv, trying to keep her mind off Grisha.

“I was thinking you might have me as an appetizer.” She flicks a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling with devious intent. “And then, if you’re still hungry, we could have dinner—and then go back upstairs for dessert.”

I’ve never been the kind of man to turn down that sort of offer. And just now, I know it’s what I need to take the edge off. Lidiya is safely in her room and I know she’s not going anywhere—there’s no purpose in her leaving. She knows what happens if she does.

“I’m always partial to a multi-course meal.” I grin at her, and she returns the smile, sliding off the barstool as she waits for me expectantly.

“Well, we shouldn’t let it get cold, then.”

As we walk to the elevator, though, I feel a knot of apprehension in my gut—something that almost feels like guilt. It’s not the sweet, stirring anticipation that I’m used to, when I’m headed upstairs with a beautiful woman.

I know what she wants, when we get into the elevator. As it climbs, she glances over at me, as if expecting me to step forward and pin her to the wall, tangle my hand in her perfectly styled blonde hair and drag her mouth to mine. I should be doing that. I can see it in my mind’s eye, what that would look like.

But I can also see Lidiya.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Volkov? She’s a job. It doesn’t matter if you fuck one woman or a dozen while she’s here.

I tell myself that the guilt is from allowing myself to be distracted. I can tell that Elizabeth is a touch peeved that I didn’t try to make out with her in the elevator, but she steps out as the elevator doors open, her room key already in her hand as she walks crisply down the hall, her high heels sinking slightly into the carpet.

“Well? Are you coming in?” She taps her key against the door, pushing it open. “Or are you going to stand out there in the hallway? I can always go downstairs and find someone who’s more interested.”

I know it’s meant to bait me, to get me to show exactly how interested I am. I’m surprised at myself for not taking the bait. I like beautiful women, and I like beautiful, mouthy women, and Elizabeth is proving herself to be both. But I can’t stop thinking about Lidiya.

Worse, I can’t stop worrying about her.

“I think I’ve changed my mind.” I take a step back, giving her an apologetic half-smile. “Best of luck with finding the more interested party, though.”

I catch the expression on her face that tells me she’s more than a little pissed off, but I’m already heading back to the elevator. I head straight up to the room, tapping my key against the door and cracking it open slightly as I peer inside, not wanting to wake Lidiya by bursting in if she’s sleeping.

She is. The room is dark other than the light from the television, flickering across the rumpled bed. There’s a room service cart next to it, a napkin flung over a plate with the remnants of some French fries on it, and a half-drunk glass of champagne. When I look a little more closely, I see that there’s an empty bottle, and I feel a flicker of guilt as I look at Lidiya, curled on her side facing away from me. She’d undoubtedly gotten drunk up here alone, trying not to think about what she was going to have to do very soon.

That’s the job. That’s not your concern. Haven’t you had to do plenty of things that you haven’t wanted to?

I reach out, nudging the room service cart aside as I reach out to tug the blankets up over her. She stirs briefly, and for a moment I think she’s going to wake and see what I’m doing. It almost makes me pull back, because the last thing I need is for there to be any closeness between us. I’m still kicking myself for that night sitting in the bed eating room service and watching tv together. Lidiya can’t think that I’m her friend, that I’m here to help her. She has to understand the danger she’s in, or this could all go badly very quickly.

Gently, I nudge the covers around her and step back, glancing at the tray to see if there’s any food left. All I see are the fries, and I don’t want to wake her by calling for more, so I swipe a handful as I retreat to the couch, carefully opening the minibar on my way to grab a couple of shots of vodka.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m sleeping on the uncomfortable couch in my own hotel room, drinking vodka straight from the minibar and snacking on cold fries, while my mark is sleeping comfortably in the bed drunk on expensive champagne. But I can’t find it in myself to be angry about it.

What she has to do tomorrow night isn’t an easy thing. I won’t pretend that it is, even if I also know that she has no choice. And that, above all, is the reason she needs me with her.

Other men wouldn’t have that same sympathy for her. And she needs all the sympathy she can get right now.

I grit my teeth against another wave of jealousy as I think of where she’ll be tomorrow night, forcing myself to stop thinking of it. It will do neither of us any good. The job is clear, and she needs me to be the one to push her forward, so that she has no other way out.

And then, when it’s over?

I’ll never see her again.

Lidiya

I don’t know if I’ve ever hated anything quite as much as I hate getting ready for my date with Grisha. Levin is downstairs at the bar while I do, citing giving me some privacy, but deep down I think he just doesn’t like me going out with Grisha. He’s been tense and irritable since I set the date yesterday, which is totally at odds with what makes sense—he’s the one forcing me into this, and yet he’s acting like an aggrieved boyfriend.

Whatever. I don’t have it in me right now to figure out what stick my captor has up his—excessively nice and well muscled—ass. I’m about to have to go eat dinner and make conversation with a man I’d gone from loving to hating in the space of a day, possibly sleep with him, and try to strike up a relationship with him again, all while trying to covertly pick up information about his potential involvement with money laundering, drugs, and a Mexican cartel.

It’s enough to make me sick with nerves. I try to just focus on getting ready, but that doesn’t really help. Everything is carefully curated to attract Grisha and make him want to get back together with me as much as possible—which might be easier than I thought after the conversation we had yesterday. He seemed eager to mend things, which is either how he really feels, or a trap because he knows I’ve been compromised.

I’m terrified it’s the latter.

I take a shower, enjoying the luxurious hotel bath products to their fullest, washing my hair and shaving until there’s not a speck of body hair left on me. Once I’m finished, I run mousse through my hair, throw it up in a towel and slather myself in the jasmine-scented lotion Grisha bought for me. He said he loved the scent, and I loved the product itself—it feels heavenly going on, thick and rich and turning my skin that the cold weather always makes feel dry to silk instantly. Now I resent every swipe of it over my body. I’d rather use the honey and almond scented hotel lotion, but I don’t dare. I don’t personally have money for things like scented lotion and perfume, and Grisha might notice I smell different.

These are the things I have to worry about now—any small slip, no matter how inconsequential it might seem, might give away that I’m no longer freezing to death in my shabby apartment but living in a five-star hotel room with some kind of Russian operative intent on finding dirt on Grisha.

The clothes I put on are things Grisha gave me too—a lingerie set he bought for me after we first started sleeping together, black satin panties with a lace edge and a tiny velvet bow at the top, and a matching black lace bra with the same tiny velvet bow between the cups. It looks gorgeous against my pale skin, pushing my breasts up to their best effect, and it’s only magnified by the dress I slip into—also a gift from Grisha. It’s a tight black dress that goes down to my knees with a slit on one side up to mid-thigh, a bustier neckline and spaghetti straps. I have a black herringbone coat he gave me as part of the complete outfit, along with black pumps and a pair of sapphire earrings that he said matched my eyes.

I’d been surprised by all the gifts—they came nearly every time we met up, and sometimes in between. At first I’d thought about selling some of them for more money to send to my babushka, but Grisha made it clear that he liked seeing me in the things he bought for me, and I couldn’t admit to him that I needed money or tell him about my grandmother. It made me too uncomfortable—he would have just tried to give me money outright, and that would have made me feel too much like an escort instead of a girlfriend. The gifts were bad enough, but I could at least chalk that up to him wanting to spoil me, which felt strange but not awful. I could appreciate that, at least, even if it made me feel sometimes like he wanted someone other than the real me.

The real Lidiya is someone who wears sweaters and jeans and boots, comfy practical clothes meant for hours of research and sitting in grad school libraries, not what I see in the mirror right now. With the tight black dress on and my blonde hair carefully curled and swept to one side, the sapphire teardrop earrings dangling from my lobes and my makeup impeccably done with a smoky eye and nude lip, the heels adding five inches to my height, I look like some other person, someone I don’t even recognize.

Maybe that will make it easier. I can just pretend I’m someone else, some alter ego who is brave, who can go out to dinner with a man she hates, who hurt her terribly, and seduce him back into a relationship. Someone who can spy on him and relay that information back without fucking it all up, someone who won’t be terrified the entire time.

Grisha had offered to have his driver come pick me up, but I told him I’d make it there on my own. It worked this time since I’m supposed to be angry with him, but I’ll have to figure out some other way to make excuses in the future, since I can’t exactly come up with an explanation for why he’d be picking me up from the hotel.

Instead, I’m taking a cab to a block away and then walking, which isn’t ideal but is the best I can come up with. A few minutes before I’m supposed to leave, right on time, Levin comes back up to the room, probably to make sure he’s pleased with my appearance for the night.

When he steps inside, I move to the center of the bedroom, doing a spin in the black dress and high heels. “What do you think?” I ask sarcastically, but when I stop and face Levin again, the look on his face makes me go very still.

“You look stunning,” he says, his eyes trailing over me from my carefully done hair and makeup all the way down to my black pumps and back up again, and I feel myself flush under the weight of his gaze. There’s something odd in his tone, something I can’t quite pinpoint. It sounds almost regretful, jealous even, but that makes as little sense as his irritable behavior the last twenty-four hours or so.

Still, the way he says it makes my heart flutter in my chest a little, and it’s an effort to quell it.

“I should get going.” I look at the time on my phone, that flutter in my chest replaced with a tightening anxiety. “Wouldn’t want to be late for my date.”

Levin frowns. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“Thanks.” I pick up my purse off the bed, the only part of the outfit that’s actually mine. It’s a little shabby compared to the rest of the outfit, a black faux-leather bag that’s seen better days, but it feels oddly good to hold onto, as if it reminds me of who I really am deep down—a normal graduate student, with an archeology degree and a sick grandmother, a person who reads books and goes to bed somewhat early and likes romantic comedies, not this person who’s been sucked into an affair and some kind of convoluted espionage situation on top of that.

It’s a lot of weight to place onto one cheap handbag, but I cling to it anyway, as if it can get me through this.

“I’ll walk you down,” Levin says, checking his phone. “The car should be here any minute.”

“I’ll be fine—” I start to say, but he pins me with a stern look.

“I’ll walk you down,” he repeats, and I let out a sigh. I don’t want him to follow me down to the lobby, but I suppose he has his reasons—probably that he doesn’t want me to make a break for it, now that the ten thousand is in my account. As if I would—I’m smart enough to know if he has the ability to freeze my accounts, he has the ability to take that money back, and worse probably.

“I’m not going to run,” I say tightly as we stand in the elevator. Whatever tension there was between us before has dissipated—we’re on opposite sides of it, both of us staring straight ahead. When I dare a sideways glance at him, I can see that his jaw and shoulders are tense, as if he’s upset about something, but I don’t have it in me to try to figure out why. The truth is that I want to run. The closer I get to seeing Grisha again, the more I want to throw in the towel altogether, but I can’t. If it was just me, I might. But it’s not.

“I have to be sure,” is all Levin says, still staring at the elevator doors.

“If you’re that worried, why don’t you ride with me all the way to the drop off point?” I glare at him. “I keep my word and you keep yours, remember? At some point you’re going to have to trust me.”

“It’s my ass on the line too, Lidiya.” Levin still won’t look at me. “And don’t think I haven’t considered going with you there,” he adds. “But the risk of him seeing is too great. So yes, I am trusting you. Once you walk out of those doors.”

I let out a breath as the elevator doors open. Levin stays by my side all the way to the rotating front doors at the front of the hotel, where I can see a car idling at the curb. I pause, glancing back at him as I pull on my gloves, the only other element of my outfit that I bought myself. Like the purse, they’re well worn—real leather this time, but hand-me-downs from my mother, with a fur lining that once was thick and plush and is now worn thin. I feel slightly comforted when I put them on, and I look at Levin, tilting my chin up with a resolve I don’t quite feel.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” I say simply, and turn towards the revolving door.

“Good luck,” Levin says, and it’s the last thing I hear before I step out into the bitter Moscow cold.

Lidiya

The entire way to the restaurant, I feel sick.

Once I’m in the car, it feels less like there’s a way out—as if there ever was—and more like this is real. The events of just a couple days ago come rushing back—waking up in Grisha’s bed like a normal morning, his hands on my body, both of us naked and languid and not wanting to get up. His attempts to get me to skip class and stay in bed with him all day, my refusal, getting dressed while he made us a quick breakfast—and then opening the door only to find his wife outside, her hand poised to knock, and the realization, after a few minutes of heated conversation, of who she really was.

After that—well, I don’t want to think about that again. The puking, the crying, the shouted curses. I hadn’t handled it all that maturely, but then again, Grisha was the first man I’d ever really seen a future with. I’d been slowly coming around to it, allowing myself to believe that his romantic gestures and gifts and sweet words weren’t just a way of getting me into his bed but rather something real that could be a foundation for us, and then it had all come crashing down.

I don’t even understand why he cheats on her. His wife is beautiful, elegant and lovely and curvaceous, with thick blonde hair that she’d had in an elegant twist. She’d been well-dressed in expensive-looking cigarette trousers, a silk blouse in pale pink and a heavy wool coat in a darker purple, and those expensive pumps that I’d ruined. She’d looked rich without being tacky, elegant instead of gauche, poised even as she found out that her husband was cheating on her. She’d been rude to me, of course—but I couldn’t exactly blame her.

All men get tired of what they’ve had plenty of. The thought worms its way into my head, even though I don’t want to believe it. My father didn’t, as far as I know—he loved my mother, right up until they died. They gave me high expectations of love and marriage, which is part of why I’d never found anyone who could even come close to living up to them—until Grisha started to make me think otherwise. I don’t have any reason to think of all men as cheating assholes, really, outside of the experience of other girls I know, but now Grisha has made me wonder. Do all men just get bored over time, even if they have a wife who is beautiful and elegant and intelligent?

Would a man like Levin?

The thought shocks me back into reality. I have absolutely no reason to wonder something like that about Levin, of all men, and just thinking it is dangerous. Getting close to him, wondering things about him, letting myself have any thoughts that aren’t how I can bring all of this to as swift an end as possible, is dangerous.

I have to focus on the task at hand, not wondering what Levin is like as a romantic partner.

Bistro L’Flor was one of Grisha’s and my favorite spots when we first started dating, a French restaurant that’s designed to look like a small, rustic café while actually serving some of the finest food in Moscow. Grisha liked it because of his expensive taste, I liked it because of how small and quaint and cozy it felt. The building exterior is rough-hewn stone, with a dark shingle roof, and café tables out front with a wrought-iron fence around the patio. Both Grisha and I always preferred to eat inside, though, so I know that’s where I’ll find him.

By the time I walk the block from where the cab dropped me off, I’m cold down to my bones, enough for the relief of the warm restaurant to help overshadow my nerves. Inside it’s fairly busy, with the chatter of guests at the round wooden tables filling the space. The hostess sees me immediately, and to my surprise, recognizes me. Although I shouldn’t be that surprised, I suppose—Grisha and I had a standing weekly reservation here, and sometimes came more often than that.

“Ms. Petrovna.” She smiles pleasantly at me. “Your table is ready, I’ll take you there.”

It’s our usual table, one of the ones closest to the roaring stone fireplace. Part of the rustic “charm” of the furnishings in Bistro L’Flor is that none of the velvet-cushioned chairs are the same color. The ones at “our” table are a deep blue, the reason Grisha claimed he chose this table specifically when he first brought me here, that and because the proximity to the fire was romantic. Right now, the fire feels life-saving, I’m actually almost able to feel my fingers again.

I don’t think I could ever get used to being treated like this—even if Grisha and I had dated for years, married, grown old together. Not that that was a possibility, ever—I know that now. But it still feels so strange to have a hostess recognize me, to have a dedicated table at a restaurant, the same way it felt strange to have a driver take us everywhere, a maid cleaning up after my things, and a dozen other small things that reminded me on a daily basis that Grisha and I came from very different lives.

“Lidiya! Dorogoy!” Darling. Grisha stands up the second he sees me, coming around the side of the table and clutching his gloved hands around mine instantly. It seems as if he’s almost going to go in for a kiss before he stops himself, pulling back and clearing his throat. “I’m so glad you came,” he says, and his voice sounds sincere enough that I might almost believe him, if I didn’t know so much now. “I’ve missed you, dorogoy.”

“We have a lot to talk about, Grisha,” I say carefully. “I didn’t want to leave things the way we did, though.”

“Neither did I.” He looks almost earnest, standing there in front of me. He’s as handsome as ever, dressed in charcoal suit trousers and a soft dark green sweater, his dark blonde hair freshly cut short and his blue-grey eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes me want to take a step back. His face is shaved smooth, and I remember all too well what it felt like under the palm of my hand, touching his cheek as he kissed me in a dozen different places all over Moscow, two dozen even, three.

We’d had a whirlwind romance, Grisha and I, and it should have ended the moment I found out he was married. But here I am.

He pulls out the chair for me and I sink into it. “I took the liberty of ordering our usual bottle of wine,” he tells me. “I hope that’s alright. I just—I wanted it to feel like before. Like—”

“Why?” The word slips out of my mouth with more honesty than I’d meant it to—deep down, I really do want to know why. Why Grisha would do this to me, why he would do it to his wife, what made him think this was okay.

Grisha looks up at me as he pours our wine, his mouth opening as if to answer, but before he can the waiter appears, fresh-faced and eager to take our order.

“Can I start you off with some appetizers?” He looks between the two of us, his smile fading slightly as he senses the tension.

“The Gruyere onion soup for me,” Grisha says, “and escargot. Lidiya?”

“Um—pickled shallot salad.” I’d meant to order something different from my usual, but it’s the first thing I blurt out.

“Very good.” The waiter gives us a bright smile, leaving quickly as Grisha swirls the wine in his glass, looking at me.

“I wish I had a simple answer for you, Lidiya. It’s complex. My wife and I haven’t been on good terms for many years, but I’ve stayed because we have children. There’s still affection there, of course, but not the kind of love we once had. We’re very different people, she and I. It’s part of why we live separately now, for the most part. During the week the children are in school, and I can stay in the city where I prefer to be, while she can stay out at the country house where she’s happiest. On the weekends we go back to the family home, and pretend that everything is alright, for their sake. It’s our arrangement, until they’re old enough to leave home, and then—”

“And then what? You divorce? She doesn’t seem to understand there’s an arrangement, or want a divorce. She definitely didn’t seem to think you had some kind of open marriage—”

“Well, no,” Grisha hedges. “She doesn’t want to divorce, not even when the children are older. She thinks that the marriage can still be fixed.”

“She still loves you.” Even as hurt and angry as I am, even with how I feel about Grisha now, it still hurts to say out loud. “Of course she wants to fix it.”

“Love has to go both ways. And I don’t love her any longer. But Lidiya—” Grisha looks at me, his eyes full of emotion. “I’d resigned myself to a loveless, cold marriage. I didn’t dare hope for more. But then I met you—and I couldn’t help myself. You were so vibrant, alive—at that museum function where we met, so passionate about your work. So beautiful. I felt as if I loved you instantly, and I couldn’t bear not to be with you. You felt like a second chance, a breath of fresh air, and I—”

I hold up my hand, feeling my chest tighten. Luckily the waiter arrives at just that moment with our appetizers, setting them down with a flourish.

“Are monsieur and madame ready to order?” he asks, and Grisha frowns.

“Lidiya?”

I haven’t even looked at the menu, but it doesn’t matter. I know it by heart, I’ve read it a dozen times. “I’ll have the duck with blueberry sauce,” I tell him, forcing my voice not to crack. My usual, again.

“I’ll have the lamb,” Grisha says. “But no rush on the entrees.”

“Of course.”

When the waiter is gone again, Grisha looks at me, reaching out to touch my hand. It takes everything in me not to snatch it back. “Lidiya—”

“So I was an outlier. An anomaly. You hadn’t cheated before—”

“Of course not!” Grisha sounds aghast, which makes me hate him more, if what Levin told me about all of the other girls is true. “Lidiya, I always meant to be a faithful husband to my wife. I have never been a man who cheats. But you—you made me feel alive again. Just a few moments of conversation with you, and I felt like I could breathe—”

“And you swept me off my feet.” I stare dully down at my salad. I’m supposed to be begging Grisha to take me back, but it’s the other way around. And I know I’m supposed to make him feel as if I want it, too, but this is far harder than I’d expected it to be. I want to throw my wine in his face and tell him to go fuck himself.

“Lidiya, I’m just asking for another chance. We were so good together. Surely you saw that too. I hadn’t said that I loved you yet—we hadn’t said the words, I didn’t want to rush you, but it’s true. I did, I do—”

I hold up a hand again, reaching for my wine to buy time. I don’t want to hear him say that he loves me, not right now. I’m not sure if I can bear it. “So what?” I say sharply, when I’ve swallowed the sip of wine. “Do you get a divorce? Keep seeing me behind your wife’s back? What future do we have, Grisha?”

I know I’m protesting too much for what I’m supposed to be doing here. But surely it would seem suspicious, too, if I gave in too quickly.

“I—” Grisha hesitates. “I can’t divorce her yet, Lidiya. The children—and she’s angry. She could ruin me.”

Ruin me. Before Levin, before what I know, I would have thought he just meant taking half his money, forcing him to pay for an expensive lawyer, keeping him from his children. But now those two words mean something else. They mean she might know something about his other dealings. Something that could be useful to Levin, to me. Something that could hurt Grisha, if he hurt her.

I hate that I know this. I hate that these are things I now think. I hate that my brain, that has never had a machination like that in my life before, now has come to that kind of conclusion. It feels like a path towards being paranoid, towards never trusting anyone fully again, towards looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

“Grisha—”

“Please, Lidiya. She just needs time.”

“Time for what?”

His hand is on mine again, stroking, squeezing. Our appetizers are still sitting in front of us. His soup has stopped steaming. I haven’t touched my salad. I can feel his touch trying to pull me back in, to make me forget why I’m here, what I know.

“Time to understand that we’re not good together any longer. She’ll see it in time, I know it. She’ll understand that divorce is best for both of us, even now when the children are younger. And then I’ll be free.”

“And until then?”

He looks at me almost pleadingly. “I know what you’re thinking, Lidiya. You’re thinking we shouldn’t be together until then, that we should stay apart until I’m free, that you don’t want to be the woman on the side. And I understand that, but—”

No, I’m thinking that you’re a liar. That I don’t know how I’m going to get through this, that every word out of your mouth hurts me more, makes me hate you more. I’m thinking that I can’t believe I ever fell for any of this.

Forcing the next words out of my mouth is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

“This really hurt me, Grisha. I wish you’d been honest with me from the beginning. But these past days—I’ve missed you too. It’s been so lonely without you—”

Actually, it hasn’t, because of the Russian assassin I’m rooming with. The one who’s making me do this.

His face lights up with hope. “Lidiya, are you saying—”

“Do you promise me you’ll divorce her, if we’re together?” The words burn on my tongue. I hate pretending to be the kind of fool who would fall for lies like these, who would even consider going back to a man who’s married, who would believe he ever loved her.

“Of course, dorogoy. Lidiya, my love—”

“How can I be sure?” I pull my hand back, feeling a sudden cold sweep over me, as if every cell in my body is rejecting what I’m doing. “Grisha, what if things change? Or she can’t be convinced? I don’t want to wait years—”

“She will. I’ll make sure of it,” he insists. “She can’t want to be with a man who is unhappy, who doesn’t love her, once she sees that there is no change—”

“I can’t do this. I need air.” I feel as if I’m suffocating suddenly, as if the room that formerly felt so warm and pleasant is now far too hot. “I need to go outside—”

“Lidiya, it’s freezing.” Grisha protests, and in this of course he’s right, but I’m already getting up, pushing past the other tables towards the door. My heart is pounding in my chest, making me feel dizzy, and when I step outside the cold almost feels like a relief.

“Lidiya.”

I jump at Grisha’s voice behind me—he must have followed me out. I turn to see him, pink-cheeked in the cold, reaching for me. “Let’s go back to my apartment, Lidiya. We can have a drink, talk there. Just give me a chance to convince you that this can work, Lidiya, please—”

You have to do this. I want more than anything to run, to get as far away from him as I can, but I don’t have that choice. I have to go with him.

I look at his handsome face, a face that I’d once woken up to and thought that I loved, and I feel as if I’m being split apart. I don’t want to go, don’t want him to touch me, don’t want to live this lie.

But I have to.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll go back to your place. Just for a drink. To talk. We’ll try to see how this can work, but I don’t know—”

The bitter cold is seeping in. Grisha is already calling his driver, telling me that he has to go in and pay our bill. I stand there, frozen to the sidewalk, feeling numb. I think he tries to get me to come back into the warmth of the restaurant, but I can’t seem to move.

I know what comes next. I can see the path unfurling in front of me, full of hurt and danger, but I can’t see where it’s going to lead. And I’m terrified.

Grisha comes back out as the car pulls up to the curb, our food packed up and in a thick plastic bag with the restaurant logo on the front. He opens the door for me and I slide inside, feeling my heart sink as I do. I’m back here, in the warm leather interior of his fancy car, and as he slides in next to me and shuts the door, it sounds like the slam of a jail cell.

He takes my hand, and it takes everything in me not to pull it back.

“Ivan, take us home.”

Lidiya

It only takes a moment before Grisha holding my hand isn’t just that anymore. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, rubbing over the soft skin, and then his fingers slide up to my wrist, caressing me there. I feel my jaw tightening as his hand slides up my arm, my heartbeat ratcheting up a notch, but not the way it used to.

There was a time when Grisha’s caresses would have made my heart race for an entirely different reason, but that’s over now. Now it’s just fear and anxiety, worry that I won’t be able to go through with this, having to force myself not to yank my arm away. I know the way back to his apartment from L’Flor. I’ve been there so many times, headed back from a date on this same route, and with each minute that we get closer, I can feel the knot in my stomach tightening, making me feel more and more as if I’m going to panic.

Somehow, I make it out of the car when we arrive though, stepping out as Grisha opens the door for me, and up the stairs to his luxurious, minimalistic apartment. Despite the many, many times we’ve fooled around in his car on the ride to or from a date, he didn’t try to go further than putting his hand on my thigh, which helped. I hadn’t been prepared for him to try to do more, and even the weight and warmth of his palm pressing against my leg had been enough to make me cringe inwardly, wanting to pull away.

Now, as we step into the apartment that I haven’t been back to since our big fight, I feel the urge to run welling up again. Grisha lets me walk in first, closing the door behind us, and I can feel myself flinch at the sound of it shutting. I feel trapped, like a small animal unable to flee, and I have to take several deep breaths to quell the rising panic.

“Are you okay, Lidiya?” Grisha touches my arm as he walks past, and I can hear what sounds like genuine concern in his voice. His hand lingers for just a moment, and then he continues on into the kitchen. “Follow me,” he adds. “We can eat at the island and share a bottle of wine and talk—here, where it’s more private.”

It wasn’t just the lack of privacy in the restaurant that had made me need to go out for air, but I’m happy to let Grisha think that’s the case. Better that than him picking up on the fact that I’m not here of my own will, that someone else is using me to set him up.

Slowly, I follow him into the kitchen, giving myself enough space to pull myself together. As I sit down at the white quartz island, Grisha immediately busies himself pulling a bottle of wine out of the temperature-controlled case, his favorite red that I became partial to as well, while we were dating. He moves around the kitchen easily, pulling out plates for our leftover food, pouring the wine into two of the softly rounded, long-stemmed glasses he prefers.

Everything in Grisha’s apartment is sleek and modern, done in lacquered blacks and smooth whites and greys, right down to the rugs and curtains and textiles. He’d had an interior decorator come in—a man like Grisha doesn’t spend time picking out the things for his own apartment, I know that much. He has his wife do it, or in Grisha’s case, he hires someone.

“Why didn’t your wife just decorate?” I blurt out suddenly, looking at the white-and-glass cabinets that I can see Grisha’s dishware through. It’s all black stoneware, neatly lined up in stark rows. “Why spend money on an interior decorator?”

Grisha turns to face me, wine glasses in hand, and sets one down in front of me. “She hates this place,” he says simply, as if he were telling me some everyday fact. “She hates the style of it, the monochromatic color palette I wanted, the fact that it’s here in the city. She hates Moscow, she hates crowds and traffic and noise. This place felt cold to her, she said, the one time she visited. Before the other day,” he adds, almost apologetically as he sets a black stoneware plate with my dinner on it in front of me, the duck still warm.

“Is there anything she doesn’t hate?” I glance up at him, stabbing my fork into a piece of the duck, but I don’t actually eat it. I’m not sure I can stomach food right now.

“The countryside. Horseback riding. Our children.” Grisha shrugs. “Once, I would have said that she didn’t hate me, but I’m not so certain of that now.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” I swirl the wine in my glass, take a sip. “That you think your wife hates you?”

Grisha lets out a sigh, tapping his fingers against the edge of his glass. “Once upon a time it would have,” he admits. “When we were first married, the first few years. I did love her then. But now—” he shrugs, looking up at me. His eyes are a deeper grey-blue in this lighting, looking at me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “We were wrong for each other,” he says simply. “And she refuses to admit it. But when I met you, Lidiya—”

“I know what you said earlier. A breath of fresh air.” I lick my lips nervously, poking at the food on my plate, though I haven’t taken a bite. I wish suddenly that we were back at the restaurant, where at least I had the benefit of having other people around. Something keeping Grisha from touching me too intimately, from going further than that. I can feel from the way his eyes are on me that he’s thinking about the things we used to do together, about what happens after dinner, after we’re done talking.

“You were everything I thought I’d never have again,” Grisha murmurs, touching my hand. “Beautiful, full of life, passionate.”

“Your wife is beautiful.” God, Lidiya, what is wrong with you? I’m supposed to be encouraging him, pushing us back together, not pulling away. Not trying to change his mind. But I can’t seem to make the words coming out of my mouth reflect that.

“In a certain way, I suppose. But she’s—different now, from when we met. When she was a student. She has become a different woman since becoming a mother.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. I stare at Grisha, wishing I could slap him in the face on his wife’s behalf and mine. “How so?” I force myself to ask instead, trying to keep him talking until I can calm down enough to play my part.

“She kept her figure of course, but she has become more—elegant. Mature. Sophisticated.”

“Isn’t that what a man like you needs out of a wife?”

Grisha hesitates, and I can see that he’s trying to figure out how to work through an answer to that. Of course I’m right—a rich, influential man needs a trophy wife on his arm, not a free-spirited, passionate student with ideas. He, like so many other men in his position, can’t reconcile their desires within the marriage bed, and so they go outside of it.

But Grisha wants me to believe he’s different, so he can get me to agree to a relationship again. So he can have what he desires.

“It’s what’s expected out of my wife, yes,” he hedges. “But that doesn’t mean she needs to be so proper and cold in public. It’s only with our children that she shows any warmth anymore. None for me.”

Maybe because she sensed you were being unfaithful. It takes everything in me to swallow down what I want to say, and curl my fingers around the hand touching mine instead, stroking the back of it.

“If she could accept your marriage was over, none of this would have happened,” I say quietly. It’s objectively true, and it’s the only thing I can force out right now, but the look of relief on Grisha’s face is palpable.

“See? You understand me.” He stands up, coming around the side of the island and reaching out to turn my seat towards him. The leather-topped stools on either side of the island are the kind that swivel, and suddenly I’m facing him, looking up as his hands find my knees, sliding up to my thighs. “How I’ve missed you, Lidiya. These two days have felt like two months. Like two years.”

He’s laying it on thick. This might have worked on me once, I’m sorry to say, before I knew about his wife and his business dealings and the other women, if he’d just fucked up in some more normal way. After all, I was falling in love with him not all that long ago. He’s still the same handsome man who made my heart race and my body shiver with pleasure. Even now, his hands sliding up my inner thighs make my skin tingle with remembered enjoyment, the memories of all the mornings and afternoons and nights spent together coming back here, in this place, that was his but so often felt like ours.

“I’ve dreamed about you,” he whispers, leaning forward as he spreads my legs apart, his breath warm on my neck. “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

I think it’s the panic that makes me feel as if I need to choke back a laugh. I want to tell him that it’s been two days, that he can’t possibly be that horny or that in love, that even if I believed him, we’ve spent two or three days apart every week that we were together, while I was visiting my babushka.

If I’m being fair, though, I do remember every time I came back we ended up instantly in bed, sometimes not even making it to the bed, instead ending up against his wall or on his sofa or once—

Once on this quartz island, the top of it cool and then warm under my thighs as my body heat sank into it, his mouth between my legs.

“Say yes, Lidiya,” he whispers against my ear, his hands higher still. Any moment now, his fingers will find the edge of the lace panties I put on for him against my will, and slip beneath them. Any second now, he’ll discover that I’m not as aroused as I usually am, and then what?

That’s one thing I hadn’t considered, how to fake arousal when Grisha knows me, knows my body’s responses to him, specifically.

He’ll know that something is off. He’ll know—

“Stop.” I push him away, my hands harder against his chest than they need to be, and he stumbles back a little. “Stop, Grisha—”

I repeat it, because he’s already coming back in, inserting himself between my knees that I hadn’t yet closed, his hands on my waist as if to keep me there long enough to convince me otherwise.

“Lidiya, please,” he murmurs. “Please, I want you so badly. You’ll remember how good it was between us, how much pleasure we brought each other—”

His hand is on mine, dragging it down, against his bulging fly. “Feel how hard you make me,” he groans against my ear, and I feel a physical revulsion so strong that I know in that instant that I can’t.

I can’t do it.

“I just need a minute, Grisha!” I gasp out the words, scrambling with my free hand for my purse on the counter, and I manage to wriggle out from beneath him, sliding ungracefully down from the stool. He tries to grab my wrist and pull me back, but I dart away, feeling a new type of fear fill me that I’ve never experienced before.

I’ve been lucky enough in my life to never have a man try to take advantage of me. To never have said “no,” and had it be ignored. But it’s clear that Grisha is convinced that if I leave this room, this apartment, he’ll lose me—and it’s also clear that he’s not prepared to deal with that.

“I just need a minute,” I repeat, backing towards the kitchen entrance. “I’ll be back, I just need—air.”

“You’re not even wearing a coat—” Grisha calls after me, but this time it’s me who ignores him. I make a beeline for the front door, already digging in my clutch for the burner phone that Levin gave me.

Only use it in an emergency. If your life is in danger. Not just because you’ve changed your mind—

He was very clear about how this phone was to be used. But in this particular moment, I don’t care. I am in danger, as far as I’m concerned, and I can’t do this.

I can’t.

I hit the button to dial his number, the only one in the phone, as I burst out of the front door onto the steps, into the frigid cold, tears springing to my eyes from the cold or fear or desperation, I don’t know which.

I don’t even wait to hear him answer before I start talking. “Levin, come get me. Please. I can’t—you have to come get me. I’m scared. I—”

And then he says the words I was terrified I wouldn’t hear.

“I’m on my way, Lidiya. Leave the call going, I’ll track you. Just get away from there.”

For the first time, I obey him without question. My coat and gloves are still inside Grisha’s apartment, but there’s no chance of me going back for them. I start walking down the street, phone clutched to my ear.

I don’t look back.

Levin

Levin, come get me. Please.

You have to come get me.

I’m scared.

What I felt when I heard Lidiya’s tremulous, shaking voice on the other end of the line was a dark fury, an all-encompassing rage like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He’s hurt her, was my first thought, and in that moment, I felt certain that Grisha would never get to face his day of judgment for his machinations.

I’d kill him myself first.

Deep down, I know that sort of visceral reaction is out of line. Lidiya isn’t mine to protect, avenge, or feel jealous over. She’s a useful tool, a means of completing this job to Vladimir’s satisfaction. I should have asked questions, made sure that she wasn’t just panicking, that she wasn’t bailing. But the pure, raw fear in her voice had caused me to make a snap decision, and now I’m on my way towards the signal of her phone, driving along the Moscow streets with a keen eye on the sidewalks.

It’s dark now, not as busy as it might have been earlier but harder to see. Still, as I draw closer to the tracking signal on her phone, I catch a glimpse of a young woman with blonde hair bright under the streetlamps, in a thin black dress and nothing else, her shoulders bare. No coat, no gloves, only the dress and heels, shivering so hard in the Moscow cold that I can see it from here.

“Goddamn it, Lidiya!” I hiss under my breath, pulling the car to the curb. It’s an illegal parking spot, but I don’t care—another mistake. Not drawing attention to myself through breaking unnecessary small rules is one of the first tenets of the job. No parking tickets, no speeding tickets, no jaywalking. Nothing to get you on the wrong side of the law without good reason, nothing to give you a paper trail of petty crimes they can track you with later.

In the shadows, I’m death. In the light of day, I’m a good upstanding citizen.

I leap out of the car, leaving it running as I hurry towards the sidewalk. “Lidiya!” I call out her name, not loudly but sharply enough to get her attention, and she looks over, her eyes widening with such palpable relief that I feel a twisting ache in my chest that I can’t remember having experienced before. I’d never imagined that I’d see Lidiya Petrovna look at me that way, like I’m her savior, like I’m the one person on Earth she wanted to see more than any other.

I like it far more than I should.

“You’re going to freeze to death.” I grab her by the shoulders, hustling her towards the car. “Your coat? Gloves?”

“At Grisha’s,” she says thickly, through lips that are probably numb by now. She feels cold to the touch, and I get her into the car as quickly as possible, opening the door and helping her into the passenger’s seat. The moment I’m back in the driver’s, I look over at her, assessing her with a keen eye. There are no visible injuries that I can see, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“What happened?” I ask, pulling back out into traffic and turning back towards the hotel. “What did he do to you, Lidiya? How badly hurt are you?”

“I’m not—” she shivers, reaching over to turn the heat up. Her teeth are still chattering. “He didn’t do anything to me. Well, he tried to, but—”

I glance over at her, confused. “What do you mean? What did he try to do? Was he armed? Did he pick up on something?”

“No, he—he started to come on to me. He was sliding his hands up my legs, kissing my neck, my ear, and I—”

It takes more effort than I’d like to ignore the white-hot bolt of jealousy that shoots through me at the idea of Grisha between Lidiya’s legs, his hands on her thighs, his mouth on her neck—not that I should feel jealous at all. There’s no reason for it.

But beyond the jealousy is a flash of anger, too—this time towards Lidiya.

“I don’t understand,” I say tersely. “You were meant to rekindle your relationship. You know that meant sex, too. You were fucking him before, right?”

Lidiya is silent as we pull up in front of the hotel. I put the car into park as I wait for the valet, glaring at her. “Right?”

She bites her lower lip. “Yes,” she murmurs quietly, and there it is again, that hot pulse of jealousy in my veins.

I want to cut his fingers off for ever touching her. Feed him his own balls for—

Get it together, Volkov.

“And you enjoyed it, before?” Fuck, I don’t want to know this. The image of Grisha touching her, fucking her, is bad enough, but the image of Lidiya enjoying it, her head tipped back in pleasure, mouth open, moans spilling out to fill the air—

It makes me murderous.

She swallows hard, and there’s a knock at my window. It’s the valet, and I force a pleasant smile to my face, getting out of the car.

“Let me just help my wife out,” I say through gritted teeth. “And it’s all yours.”

“I regret ever saying we were married,” Lidiya hisses as I grab her elbow and yank her out of the car, now reasonably sure she’s uninjured.

“You’re going to regret a lot more before tonight is over,” I assure her. “Don’t say a fucking word until we’re upstairs.”

To her credit, she’s silent until we reach the elevator. We’re the only ones inside, and I can feel the tension go up a notch as Lidiya turns to face me, her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s still cold. “I tried, Levin,” she says in a shaky voice, and something about hearing my name spoken in that tone cuts right through me.

But I ignore it, because I have to.

“You didn’t answer my question in the car. Did you enjoy it? Grisha fucking you, before?” I glare at her. “Answer me, Lidiya.”

Her cheeks are burning red, but she tips her chin up anyway, glaring at me. “Yes,” she says finally. “I did enjoy it. There’s nothing wrong with that, he was my boyfriend, and I didn’t know—so if you’re going to slut-shame me for enjoying sex, don’t bother.”

“I would never,” I assure her, as the elevator doors open and I grab her elbow again, escorting her towards my—our—room. “I promise you, I’m a huge supporter of women who love sex. I love women who love sex. I find it to be an admirable personality trait. But if you enjoyed it with Grisha before, I see no reason why—”

We’re back in the room, the door firmly shut and locked behind me, and Lidiya gapes at me, her eyes wide. “Before,” she says sharply, “I was falling in love with him. Before, I didn’t know he was married.”

“So think about that, while he does it.”

“Ah yes, the old lie back and think of England.” Lidiya glares at me. “I know maybe you’re used to forcing women to do what you want, but I’ve enjoyed a healthy sex life up until now, and being coerced into fucking a man I don’t want isn’t—”

I round on her in an instant, and suddenly we’re back in the position we were in that first afternoon, Lidiya’s back against the door with both my hands planted firmly on either side of her, glaring down at her as I fight for control of my temper. “I’ve never forced a woman in my life,” I tell her silkily, my gaze fixed on hers. “I assure you, every woman who has ever been in my bed has been begging for it.”

“Begging for it to be over quickly, maybe.” Lidiya narrows her eyes at me. “You hardly seem like the giving type.”

“Would you like to find out?” I snap, and I see her eyes go wide just as quickly, her breath hitching in her chest. Once again, I’m rock hard in an instant, my cock throbbing madly with a deep need to rip that black dress away from her and finish what Grisha started.

I’d meant for it to be a threat, but it hadn’t come out quite like that. And now—

“I told you that phone was for emergencies.”

“And I told you I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t, Levin.” Her voice has switched back to almost pleading, now. “He was touching me, and I felt like I was going to be sick. Like I couldn’t sit there for another minute, and it was just his hands and his mouth, just my legs and my throat, and I thought if he went further—”

The words catch in her throat, and I feel a flash of sympathy for her that I don’t dare nurture. If I do, it could mean the end of us both. It could take us down a path that will only end in pain, for both of us.

“He put my hand on him,” she whispers. “On his—” Lidiya licks her dry lips, and the sight of her tongue running over her full lower lip makes my cock throb painfully. “I couldn’t let him keep going. I know I panicked—I just can’t, Levin. I can’t sleep with him again—”

“You have to.” I feel like shit, saying it. I can see that she’s frightened and angry, and I want in that moment, both to let her go and keep her here—but not to send her back to Grisha. “You have to call him and tell him you panicked, but that you’re sorry. If he’s offended, beg for a second chance. If he’s angry, apologize. Make him believe that you want him, but that your emotions about his marriage got the better of you. Make a second date, and fix this, Lidiya.”

She looks at me, and for a long moment, neither of us move. I can see her chest rising and falling in the tight dress, hear her breathing, and I feel as if my cock is going to burst out of my jeans, I’m so hard. I want to rip that dress to shreds, touch every inch of her body, pin her against the door and fuck her until she forgets that anyone else in her entire life ever touched her.

But I have a job to do.

And so does she.

“I’m going to step away,” I say carefully. “And then you’re going to call Grisha, and apologize. Make a second date. If you do, we can go on as before, and I’ll forget this little slip-up. If not—”

Lidiya looks up at me, her blue eyes wide, and then very slowly, she shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just can’t.”

Levin

I just can’t.

I close my eyes, struggling for control. I don’t know how to express to her the danger that we’re both in, not without telling her things about who I am and what I do that I don’t want her to know.

“I’ll have to take the money back, Lidiya, if you back out,” I say tersely, looking down at her. “And then I’ll be pulled off this job, and it won’t end for you there, but whoever comes next after me—they won’t offer you ten thousand dollars to do this. They’ll just force you, and I can see you gearing up to say that no one can force you to do anything, but I promise you Lidiya, they have ways that you can’t even imagine to force you to do things you never thought you’d agree to.”

Lidiya’s eyes widen. “Levin, who do you—”

I can’t let her ask the question, because if I do, I’ll have to lie, or evade it, and I don’t trust myself right now. I feel as if I’m hanging on a knife’s edge of emotion, lust and anger and frustration churning through me and burning through my veins, and I don’t understand any of it. No one has ever gotten under my skin like this, no one has ever made me feel so frustrated and aroused all at once, possessive to the point that I’m almost willing to face Vladimir’s wrath if it means not having to send her back into another man’s arms.

Volkov, you’re a fucking fool.

All these years, and a woman is going to be your undoing after all.

But fuck, I can’t stop myself.

She’s staring up at me with those wide blue eyes, her fists clenched at her sides, terrified but defying me anyway. Her mouth is parted as if to fire off the rest of that question, but I don’t want her to ask it. What I want from that mouth is something else altogether.

I’ve rarely wanted a woman, and not had her. And no woman, in all my adult life, has ever made me feel like this.

My hands drop from either side of her head, cupping her delicate face, feeling the warmth of her soft skin, and before she can finish that question, my lips come crashing down onto hers.

I feel her gasp. That soft intake of breath reverberates through the rest of her body, and I can feel her stiffen under my touch, her hands fly up to my chest as if to push me off of her. For a moment I think that’s what she’s going to do, and I know I’ll have to stop. I’m not going to force her to kiss me, but fuck if I don’t want to stop.

Her mouth is soft and full and warm, her tongue hot and wet as I plunge mine into her mouth, desperate to taste her, to drink her down like the sweet wine that she tastes like. I lean into her, and I feel her hands press against my chest, almost pushing me away—and then her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and she moans as she pulls me closer.

Oh god. Oh holy fuck. I’m in fucking trouble. I know it from the second she pulls me into her and my cock throbs with a jolt of near-painful need that’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, when her moan sends my blood surging through my veins and I realize that I don’t know how I’m going to stop.

She tastes so fucking good, kisses better than anyone I’ve ever kissed in my life, as if our mouths were made to fit together. Hers is small but full, fitting perfectly against my broader mouth, her tongue flicking out to tangle against mine, and I groan as I let one of my hands drift down, my fingertips stroking down the column of her throat, across the sharp line of her collarbone. I feel the shiver that goes through her, her fingers pressing into the muscles of my chest, and I know I need to stop, but I can’t.

Just a little more, I convince myself. Just her breasts. I won’t touch lower than that. I just want to feel them, to know—

But then, as I cup her breast through the tight black fabric, feeling the wire beneath pushing the full mounds up so that I can slide my hand under the curve of it, Lidiya moans, arching into my touch. She kisses me back harder, more deeply, her tongue tangling with mine as she sucks at my lower lip, and the sensation of it feels as if it shoots straight down to my cock.

“Bladya, Lidiya,” I groan in Russian, forgetting how to speak English for a moment at the feeling of her arching into my hand, my cock grinding against her thigh, her hands sliding down my stomach and abs until she’s pushing up my shirt, her fingers grazing against the strip of skin beneath it just above the belt of my jeans. She isn’t pushing me away, isn’t fighting—if anything she’s trying to pull me closer, gasping against my mouth as her fingers curl into the edge of my belt, pulling my hips into hers as my thumb brushes over her nipple. It’s so hard and stiff that I can feel it pushing through the fabric of her bra and the material of her dress, and I want all over again to rip the dress off of her, to find out what she’s wearing underneath it, what she looks like in only her bra and panties, and then to strip them off too so that I can see every inch of her flesh, pale and rosy—

“More,” she gasps against my mouth, and I groan aloud, because I shouldn’t give her more, I should stop, for both our sakes. But I can’t. I fucking can’t. It feels as if my body is out of my control, my hand sliding down her ribcage, down to the curve of her waist where I squeeze her, and her moan vibrates against my mouth and all the way down to my cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I gasp, and as my hand slides over her hip her fingers are at my belt, undoing it. Push her away, my mind screams at me, but I can’t stop. My hand is fisting her skirt, pulling up the tight material as she feverishly undoes my zipper, and when her small hand slips inside of my jeans and boxers and her fingers curl around the throbbing length of my cock, I think I’m going to lose my mind with the pleasure that tears through me.

“So do you,” she pants. She fumbles inside of my jeans in the same second that I get her skirt up to her hips, my tongue plunging into her mouth again as my fingers curl under the edge of her panties and she pulls my cock free, both of us groping the other with a desperate need that feels entirely out of our control.

“Lidiya.” I groan her name again, tearing my mouth away from hers and dragging my lips along her jaw, up to the lobe of her ear as my fingers slide beneath the lace of her panties, over her swollen, silky folds. She’s shaved bare, and that revelation makes my cock throb against her palm.

“You’re so fucking big,” she gasps, her hand wrapping around me, sliding along the length up to my tip, slick with pre-cum.

“Just what every man wants to hear,” I murmur teasingly, my lips brushing over the shell of her ear. “You’re just flattering me—fuck.” I groan against her ear as my fingers slip between her folds and I find how wet she is, fucking drenched for me, her arousal coating my fingers as I circle her entrance and feel her shudder and gasp against me, her thumb brushing over the head of my cock.

“No,” she assures me, her fingers dragging my slick arousal down the shaft of my cock as she starts to stroke me in earnest. “You’re the biggest I’ve ever felt—oh god, Levin!”

My fingers find her clit, that small tight bundle of nerves, and I start to rub, wanting to find out what she likes best. It takes only seconds to discover that her hips jerk with pleasure when I circle it and then press directly against it, and I repeat it over and over, my lips sliding to her neck. I can’t leave a mark, I think to myself, desperately trying to hang on to some semblance of control. She feels so good, soft and wet and hot, and when I thrust two fingers into her as she starts to stroke my cock faster and feel her clench around me, it takes the last shred that I have to keep myself from picking her up and thrusting into her against the door.

It would be so fucking easy. My cock is out, her skirt shoved up—all I would have to do is wrap her legs around my waist and push her panties to the side, and I could be inside of her. The thought of having her velvet heat wrapped around my length is almost dizzying, and in this moment, both of us frenzied with desire, I almost think she would let me.

Don’t do it, Volkov. Don’t—

“Oh, god!” Lidiya gasps, her head falling back against the door as her hips grind against my hand. “Don’t stop, Levin, please, I’m going to come, don’t stop—”

Thank fuck. That’s what I needed to keep me from fucking her, her begging me not to stop fingering her to the climax that she’s on the brink of, because I’m so fucking close too. I can feel myself throbbing in her palm, my balls tight and my cock hard to the point of pain, my body trembling with the need to hold back my cum a few seconds longer, and I know when I feel her clench around my fingers with her orgasm, I won’t be able to stop it.

“I am too,” I groan. “Fuck, Lidiya, I’m going to come all over, if I don’t stop—”

“I don’t care,” she breathes against my ear, and that’s fucking it.

I pump my fingers into her hard and fast, curling them against the spot deep inside of her that I’m almost certain will get her there, my thumb rubbing against her pulsing clit. I feel her body stiffen under my touch, her breath catching against my ear, and then I feel her arch against me and a shudder of pure pleasure ripples through her, her pussy squeezing hard around my fingers as I swell and erupt in her fist.

“Oh fuck, Lidiya!” I cry out her name at the same time that she moans mine, shuddering against me as her fist jerks madly up and down my throbbing shaft, my cum spurting out in a hot rush that coats her skirt and thighs and my hand and hers, and it feels better than any fucking hand job I’ve ever had, like the orgasm is coming up from my very toes and tingling through my entire body.

“Levin, Levin—” she gasps, shuddering against me, her back arching as I surge forward so that we’re pressed tightly together, and her hand drops away, my still-hard cock pressed between us as my cum spurts again, shooting over her stomach as I grind against her, my fingers buried as deeply inside of her as they can be. In that moment, I think I’d give almost anything to have her naked, so that I could see her pale skin coated with my cum, marking her as mine.

Mine.

But she’s not. And as I slowly come back to my senses, Lidiya fluttering around my fingers as my hand goes still against her, I realize what I’ve done.

She can’t be mine. Or rather, she’s my responsibility, my job, not my girlfriend or my lover or even my one-night stand. I’m not supposed to finger her or fuck her or do anything else with her, or her to me. I’ve risked everything, up to and including both of our lives, because I couldn’t keep control of my lust.

I’ve got to get this mission over with. I don’t know why she makes me feel like this, but it has to stop—

I step back, still breathless, and I take in the sight of her, her hair tangled around her face and her pale cheeks flushed with pleasure, bright pink spots high on her cheekbones, the flush carrying down her neck and chest. Her lips are pink and swollen from kisses, her throat thankfully unmarked—I’d managed to stop myself from doing that at least—and her skirt is still pushed up her hips, her panties pulled to one side, the black fabric of her dress stained with my cum.

She looks well-pleasured, wanton, and fucking gorgeous.

My cock, still half-hard outside of my jeans, twitches as if it wants to go for a second round, and I grit my teeth, shoving myself back into my pants as Lidiya looks at me, her eyes wide.

“What did we—” she breathes, and I shake my head.

“We can’t do it again.” I turn away, needing to put space between us before I go back on what I just said, pick her up and toss her onto the bed so that I can fuck her properly.

What the fuck, Volkov?

I’ve met a few women in my travels gorgeous enough and skilled enough to get me hard again almost immediately, to keep me lustful enough to fuck all night, but this isn’t that. Lidiya is beautiful, and I can tell just from her kisses and her body’s responses that she’s one hell of a lay, but it’s not skilled or artful like those women. Lidiya was good precisely because she was lost in her desire as much as I was, not because she was trying to turn me on.

And there’s never been any woman, no matter how into me she was, that could make me want to fuck her seconds after orgasming simply because of her enthusiasm.

“You need to call Grisha,” I say harshly, refusing to look at her. “I’ll replace your dress, or we’ll have it cleaned. We’ll do whatever we need to, but you have to go back, and do what you need to do. Or else I’ll take the money back, and I’m not responsible for what happens after that. It won’t be in my hands any longer. And don’t ask questions, Lidiya,” I add, hating every word as it comes out of my mouth, but knowing that I need to put an end to this.

I need to put distance between us.

“You won’t like the answers.”

Lidiya

I make the call.

I do it after a shower, the black cum-stained dress discarded on the floor, my hands trembling as I step under the hot water. I tell myself that it’s to wash away Levin’s touch, but the truth is that I don’t want that. He didn’t force me to do anything. I’ve been fighting my attraction to him since I woke up in the hotel bed, since he pinned me against the door that first time, and I know it as well as he does. Tonight was just a culmination of that, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m surprised it didn’t go farther than it did.

It was Levin who kept it from going that far, and I’m sure he knows that, too. I feel ashamed admitting it—not because I’m ashamed of enjoying myself, but because I know I shouldn’t want him. He’s practically my captor, for fuck’s sake, and though he’s been kind to me and hasn’t hurt me in any way, he’s blackmailing me into a situation I don’t want to be in.

He doesn’t particularly seem to want to be in it either, though, I think as I scrub away any lingering traces of him, closing my eyes under the hot water. I can’t let myself think too hard about that, though—about who he really might be or might be working for, about what other things he might have done in the past. I need to be out of this situation. Away from him, before this goes any further.

There’s only one way to accomplish that, though.

I make the call.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Grisha when he picks up, as Levin quietly collects my dress from the bathroom floor to send it down to be dry-cleaned. “I panicked—I still have all these feelings for you, and I feel so guilty…your wife–”

“She means nothing to me anymore, Lidiya,” he insists. “But you—you mean everything.”

“So you’ll forgive me?” I sniff back tears that have nothing to do with him—or rather nothing to do with wanting him to forgive me, but he believes them to be what he wants them to be.

“Of course, dorogoy,” Grisha says, clearly enjoying his ability to be on the other side of the conversation for the first time since our fight, the one forgiving instead of begging forgiveness. “Let’s have a night in, night after tomorrow. Like we used to—takeout, a movie, snuggling on the couch. It will be as if things never changed.”

I know what that means. I know what I’ll have to do. But I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I can’t wait,” I tell him, and I glance at Levin as I hang up the phone.

“It’s done,” I tell him numbly, setting the phone on top of the nightstand. “Not tomorrow night, but the night after. I’ll see him again.”

“Good,” Levin says, but his expression suggests it’s anything but. “Get some sleep, Lidiya,” he adds tersely, grabbing his sweatpants out of his duffel bag. “I’m sure you need it.”

By the time he comes out of the bathroom again I have the light turned off, snuggled deeply under the covers as he goes to the couch, but I’m far from asleep. I feel intensely aware of him, of the muscled size of him stretching out across the room from me, remembering how he felt against me earlier. He felt better than I could have imagined he would, huge and broad and powerful, turning me on more than any man ever has, even Grisha before I knew better.

I close my eyes, trying to force myself not to think of what it would feel like to have him in bed next to me, all of that warm, muscled bulk curled around me, keeping me safe. I know it’s ridiculous to think of him in terms of safety, a man who could be dangerous, a killer, any number of things that I don’t know about, but somehow I feel that if he were in bed with me right now, his arms wrapped around me and his warm breath on the back of my neck, I would feel less afraid.

And when I do fall asleep, he’s in my dreams, too.

He’s in bed with me, his lips against the back of my neck, his hand on my hip, pulling me back into him, into the hard bulge against my ass, grinding against me. “I want you, Lidiya,” he whispers, and I gasp as I feel him press into me, his fingers pulling down the soft cotton of my pajama pants, skimming over my hip, nudging my thighs open.

Before I know what’s happening, my t-shirt is up too, his hand palming my breast, squeezing it, fingers pinching my nipple and rolling it pleasurably between them as he nudges inside of me.

He feels so fucking good, hard and thick and huge, filling me until I wonder if I’ll be able to take all of him. I whimper, grinding back against him as the hand not toying with my nipple slides between my thighs, seeking out my aching clit, rubbing me there as he thrusts into me, fucking me with long slow strokes that push me higher inch by inch, closer to a climax.

“More,” I whimper breathlessly as he fucks me. “More, Levin, more,” and I feel him stiffen, grabbing me suddenly and tossing me onto my back on the bed. He rears over me, his hands squeezing my waist almost painfully as he shoves his cock into me again. The forcefulness of it tips me over the edge, sending my body rippling with the first shudders of my orgasm, and I cry out as I hear his voice rumble over me.

“Who the fuck is Levin?” he snarls, and my eyes fly open just as I start to come, gasping with shock as I see the man leaning over me, his grey-blue eyes glittering with anger as he fucks me hard and fast.

Grisha.

My eyes fly open for real, blinking wide into the darkness of the room, and I clap a hand over my mouth, wondering if I cried out in my sleep. Levin is very still on the couch, across the room, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. That doesn’t mean he’s asleep, that he didn’t hear me cry out, or—

I reach between my legs, gasping softly when I feel how wet I am, drenched with arousal from the dream of Levin fucking me. My fingertip grazes over my clit, so oversensitive that I know I came in my sleep, something that’s only ever happened to me once before, when I’d gone nearly a year without sleeping with anyone.

This is too much. I can’t do this. I can’t. I swallow hard against the panic fluttering in my chest at the thought of going back to Grisha’s, of letting him touch me, of sleeping with him again. It’s even worse now, because not only do I not want him, there’s someone I do want, someone who should be completely off limits to me.

I close my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, fighting against the thoughts that threaten to crowd out anything else, thoughts of escape.

But I know it’s going to be a long time before sleep returns.

---

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I wake up to the light filtering through the curtains and the sound of Levin showering in the bathroom. I sit bolt upright in bed, realizing that I’m completely alone for the moment, dangerous thoughts running through my head. Reckless thoughts.

Thoughts that I can’t push back any longer.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I can’t.

Run.

Run away.

You’ll figure something out. Just go, while you have the chance!

I’m too off-balance from last night and the dream, my lingering fear and tangled emotions, to fight off the urge the way I know I should. I scramble up from the bed before I can stop myself, feeling unhinged as I drag on a pair of jeans with shaking hands, listening keenly for the sound of the shower turning off as I pull on a sweater, grabbing my clutch as I make a mad dash for the door. I half expect to feel Levin’s hand on my arm as I turn the knob, dragging me back as he materializes out of nowhere, but instead the door simply opens and I’m out in the hall, my heart pounding so hard that it hurts.

I’ve gotten this far. I have to keep going. There’s not much of an excuse now if he catches me, he’ll take one look at my haphazard clothes and tangled hair and flushed face and know what I’m doing. And then—

Maybe then he takes the money, and abandons me to whoever comes after him. The cruel men he keeps mentioning.

I make a dash for the elevator, thinking with every step that he’s going to be behind me, but he must have just gotten into the shower when I woke up, because I make it down to the lobby and then out to the street, flagging down a cab.

I give them my apartment address without thinking. I have a little money hidden there, I think frantically to myself. I’ll get that, and some clothes to replace the ones I left at the hotel, and get the ten thousand out before Levin can freeze my accounts. I’ll go get my babushka, and we’ll get out of town. There has to be somewhere they can’t follow us, somewhere—

I grip the edge of my seat, willing the cab driver to go faster. To get me to my apartment before Levin can realize I’m gone, so I can take this last chance to get away, and keep from having to do the one thing I so desperately want to avoid.

My very last chance.

Lidiya

I feel so sick with nerves by the time the taxi gets to my apartment that I could faint. I scramble out as fast as I can, handing him a crumpled up bill that’s far too much for the ride, but I don’t dare wait for change.

He speeds off without a question, and I hurry across the street to the one ATM that I know is in this neighborhood, intending to pull all the cash out of my bank that I can. It’s always full of sketchier types, and my heart is pounding in my chest at the thought of pulling out so much money near so many other people, but I don’t have much of a choice.

Fuck. There’s a transaction limit. Of course. I pull out the maximum amount that it will let me at once, stuffing the bills into the shabby purse I’d been using that first day Levin had snatched me at the train station, and wait a few minutes, feeling like every second that ticks by is an hour.

I try again, but it won’t let me do another transaction.

Shit.

I lick my lips nervously, approaching the burly-looking man behind the counter. “Excuse me,” I say as politely as I can. “Could you tell me where there’s another ATM nearby?” I try to keep my voice low, so as not to draw attention, but I’m fairly sure everything about me screams desperate girl on the run.

“There’s one a few miles from here. Other side of town. Five miles maybe?”

Fuck.

My brain feels like a constant litany of curse words at this point. Five miles is too far. I could take a taxi—but any second now, Levin will be on his way to find me, if he’s not already.

And my apartment is going to be the first place he looks.

“Thanks!” I manage, leaving as quickly as I can and hurrying across the street to my building. I hang back a little, doing a quick scan of the front. I don’t see Levin, but that doesn’t mean anything—he could be waiting for me in the stairwell, outside my door, he might have broken in already and be waiting for me inside.

All I can do is either choose to run now, or go up and take my chances.

I go up.

No boogeyman jumps out to grab me. I unlock my door with shaking fingers, slamming it behind me as I dart into the frigid apartment, looking around as I lean against the door with my heart pounding and lock it behind me.

The apartment, which I’d hated for so long, suddenly feels like a place I don’t want to leave. Yes, I’m freezing as soon as I go in, and yes, it’s shabby and never looks nice no matter how much I clean it, but it’s mine. Mine as long as I pay the rent, anyway, not some luxurious place owned by a man who turned out to be married or a hotel room occupied by a man who’s blackmailing me.

It’s not a nice place by any stretch of the word, but it suddenly feels like home, and I don’t want to leave. I want to barricade myself in here and hide, but of course that won’t work.

I have to get out of here, get my babushka, and we have to run.

I don’t know how I’m going to convince her of it, but that’s something I’ll worry about later.

There’s one duffel bag underneath my bed, and I grab it, throwing whatever clothes I have left here into it, a few books, and the stack of bills that I had hidden in a box deep in my closet. Everything else I own is back at the hotel with Levin, and there’s no chance I’m going back there—

“Going somewhere?”

I freeze in place, my shaking hands the only part of me that moves. I know who it is from the voice before I even turn around.

He’s found me.

The boogeyman.

Of course, never in any fairy tale was the boogeyman as sinfully hot as the man standing in my apartment, his gloved hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as he looks at me almost disappointedly from the kitchen.

“I really didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to run, Lidiya.”

Levin strides across the room towards me, and I try to dart away from him but he catches me, his hands on my upper arms as he pulls me towards him.

“What are you doing?” he almost shouts it as he shakes me, hard enough that my teeth chatter, his blue eyes blazing with a fury that I haven’t seen before. “I should put you over my lap right now and spank you. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Something about the way he says that, though it’s not meant to be sexual, sends a shiver of desire through me. Every time he touches me it feels like that, too, and it makes me feel like I’m going insane.

You would have the best chemistry of your life with your fucking kidnapper.

“I—” I don’t know what to say. I can’t do this sounds like a broken record, the same thing I’ve been saying over and over and yet it doesn’t seem to matter. Whether or not I feel like I can do it, it seems like I won’t get a choice, whether I try to run or not. Every time I try to escape, it feels like he’s right there, one step ahead of me all of the time.

“We’re going back to the hotel.” Levin shakes his head in disgust. “And this time, you’re not getting away from me.”

“I hate him,” I whisper. It feels childish to say it out loud, but it’s the truth, and Levin looks at me suddenly, the anger in his eyes dimming ever so slightly.

“Grisha.” The way he says it isn’t a question. He knows who I mean. And here in the cold quiet of my apartment, it feels like maybe the only place where I can truly be honest with how I feel. In my place, however rundown and embarrassing and frigid it might be.

“Yes.” The word comes out on a puff of air that I can see. It’s so freaking cold in here that I’m almost glad for Levin’s gloved hands on my arms, offering a spot of warmth, his big body so close to mine that it offers a little respite from the cold. “What he did to me—”

“You said he didn’t hurt you.” Levin’s voice is harsh, but his face doesn’t look as angry as his voice. “Did you lie to me about that? Is that why you ran?”

“No.” I swallow hard, looking up at him. “There are other kinds of pain that aren’t physical, Levin. I thought Grisha loved me. I thought I was falling in love with him. And now he’s just another disgusting, creepy rich man looking to fuck a woman still in her twenties because he’s bored with his wife. Everything he says and does repulses me, when just a few days ago it turned me on. That kind of emotional whiplash—”

“I know about emotional pain, Lidiya.” Levin’s tone sounds like a whip cracking through the freezing air. “Worse than finding out a lover is married, in fact.”

Anger and resentment flare up in me instantly. “I lost my parents years ago. I know this isn’t the worst emotional pain a person can feel, but this doesn’t have to be a pissing contest, Levin! I just don’t want to fuck a man who makes my skin crawl just because you’re trying to make me, especially when—”

I break off, thinking better of what was about to come spilling out of my mouth. Especially when it’s you I want instead. Nothing good could come of saying that. Nothing. Especially when the man himself is currently holding me in a vice grip, looking at me like he wants to end me here and now.

“Enough!” Levin shakes me again, not as hard this time, but it doesn’t matter. My teeth are already chattering from the cold. “I’m sick of this, Lidiya. How many times do I have to tell you how much danger you’re in? I didn’t choose this job. I don’t get to pick and choose, just like you don’t get to choose whether you cooperate or not. I’ve said this already, but I’ll say it one more fucking time, just to see if it can get through your head. If you don’t cooperate with me, someone else will take over, and they’ll feed me my fucking balls for screwing this up before making you do what they want. You’re putting both our asses on the line with this childish behavior.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He keeps his death grip on one of my upper arms, hauling me bodily towards the front door. “Wait!” I gasp, trying to stop him. “My money—” My purse is still on the bed, full of what I’d managed to pull out of the ATM and what I’d squirreled away in my apartment.

Levin looks at me with barely concealed fury. “Fine,” he grinds out, letting go of my arm. “Get it, but if you try any more funny business—” he glances at the window across from my bed, as if I might try to go out of it. “And hurry up. I’m tired of freezing in this shithole.”

That last part stings, but I don’t say anything. It is a shithole, even if I’m feeling more attached to it than I might have before, and I can tell Levin is completely out of patience. I snatch my purse off the bed, clinging to it, before returning to Levin who hustles me out into the hallway.

“You’re going to take the rest back, aren’t you?” I ask in a small voice. “Or all of it.” He could easily just take the contents of my purse, before freezing my accounts.

“No,” Levin says gruffly. “You’re going to finish this job, Lidiya. After that, as far as I’m concerned, we can never see each other again. We can forget this shit ever happened. You can keep the fucking money, but you’re not leaving the room again, I’m going to make sure of that.”

“What are you—” I trail off as he gives me a look clearly meant to silence me, and swallow hard.

“Just be silent until we get back to the hotel. Do you think you can do that?”

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry and my heart pounding in my chest.

“Good.” Levin guides me towards the stairs, hustling us both down the stairwell until we reach the street. He waves down a cab and lets me get into it first, less to be a gentleman and more to give me no chance of running away, I’m sure.

The ride back is tense and silent. Levin’s hand is on mine, but there’s nothing romantic or sexual about his touch. It’s just a way of keeping hold of me without setting off red flags with the cab driver, not that I think he would really give a shit anyway. They see worse in this city every day.

I feel numb as we make our way back up to the hotel room, which feels more like a jail cell at this point than anything else, Levin my jailer, and me the escaped prisoner being dragged back in.

He rounds on me once we’re on the elevator, his blue eyes piercing mine. “I will not let you continue putting either one of us in danger, Lidiya. I swear to god, I’ve done this job for a number of years and seen it done for more, and I’ve never run into a woman as uncompromising as you when it comes to—”

“Maybe they were just spineless,” I spit out, looking away from him. I can’t look at him, because the combination of anger and frustration and attraction is all becoming too much. I keep asking myself if he’s someone I’d look twice at if I passed him on the street, and I can’t answer that. He’s beyond handsome, with his chiseled features and bright eyes and muscular body, but I can’t say for sure if I’d notice him more than any other handsome man. I pass plenty of them every day and write them off instantly. I’m sure he feels the same about me—I can admit that I’m not ugly, but I’m not a supermodel. I have average blonde hair that frizzes in the cold and the heat, blue eyes like a thousand other girls in this city, and a nice figure with average sized breasts. I’ve never thought of myself as a stunning woman, just someone who can clean up nice.

But when Levin and I are in a room together, something else seems to happen—some chemistry, some magnetism that makes me want to rip his heart out through his nose and also pull him down on top of me in bed all at once—and I can tell that I do the same to him.

It’s making me want to explode in a number of different ways, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I don’t know if I can at all—I ran away today for precisely that reason.

The bell for our floor chimes as I’m lost in thought—to keep myself from going insane if nothing else—and Levin promptly grabs my upper arm and hauls me out, hustling me towards his—our—room.

“You’re going to leave bruises,” I complain. “Grisha will wonder what happened if I have bruises—“’

“Oh, now you’re worried about Grisha.” Levin gives me an absolutely scathing look as he drags me into the room and slams the door behind us, locking it. “You’ll come up with an excuse if you have them, bright girl that you are, but I don’t think you will. I’m quite good at not leaving marks.”

He’s gotten me almost to the bed at this point, swiveling me around to face him as he says that last, and I feel a pulse jolt through me as his eyes meet mine. I hate it, but I can’t stop my reaction to him. He’s so close, holding me roughly but not rough enough to hurt, telling me about how he keeps from leaving marks, and my pulse is hammering in my throat for reasons besides just fear.

“If you move, Lidiya—” he lets go of my upper arm with that warning, and it takes me a moment to even register what he’s said, let alone move or try to run again. Before I can process it fully, he’s reached into a drawer next to the bed and grabbed something, and I don’t have time to make a break for it.

He moves faster than a man of his size ought to be able to. In what feels like the space of a second, cold metal clamps around my wrist, and then he closes the other end around the bedpost.

I blink at it, trying to fathom what I’m seeing.

Handcuffs. He’s handcuffed me. And there’s another pair in his other hand.

“Levin!” I screech his name, unable to fully process what’s happening. “What are you—you can’t—”

“Oh I certainly can,” he assures me. “Get on the bed.”

“I—”

Fuck. Hearing Levin Volkov, my captor, tell me to get on the bed in that tone while one of my wrists is handcuffed to the bed turns me on more than it should. It sends a shiver through me, freezing me in place long enough for him to let out a grunt of frustration.

“Fine.” He grabs me bodily around the waist, tossing me onto the bed unceremoniously and grabbing my other wrist before I can squirm away, locking the other cuff onto it and then half-leaping, half-climbing over me to lock the other end around the bedpost on my other side.

“I told you that very first afternoon when you woke up, that I would tie you to the bed if I had to,” Levin says sharply, standing at the foot of the bed as he looks at me. “And after today, I told you that I’d make sure you didn’t leave this room again.”

“What—how am I supposed to pee? Or eat?” I look at him incredulously, horrified. “Levin—”

He smirks. “Hearing you say my name like that, begging, while handcuffed to my bed—”

Fuck. He’s aroused. I can see it from here, the thick bulge in his jeans that he so often sports around me, just like my panties are all too frequently damp because of him. But not right now. Right now I’m pissed. I’m handcuffed to a bed, and I am not aroused. I’m angry. Spitting mad.

Right?

Right?

Levin

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more aroused in my entire fucking life, and it’s all Lidiya Petrovna’s fault.

Sex, especially with her, was the last thing on my mind when I came out of the bathroom earlier to find her gone. Interesting, since just the night before I’d fingered her to an orgasm and then come all over her dress. But I’d been so angry in that moment at having been outplayed by her again, that I hadn’t even been thinking what I had been in the shower any longer—that I wanted to join her in bed, run my hands over her until she sleepily awoke, and then do any number of things to her relaxed, pliable body.

I was fucking furious.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out where she’d go first. She’d take out as much money as she could at the ATM she was most familiar with—the one across from her apartment—and then go up to collect whatever other things she thought she couldn’t live without. After that she’d go to the nearest train station that would take her to her babushka’s.

I’d known where she was going, I was just glad I’d caught her at her apartment, before having to chase her down at the train station or follow her to some other town. I might have actually lost my temper then.

But now—

I clench my teeth, fighting back waves of arousal. I’d known what I planned to do, but I hadn’t been prepared for just how gorgeous she would look handcuffed to my bed—for just how easily a number of scenarios would fill my mind, all the things I could do to her there, while she lay mostly helpless and restrained.

She’s spitting mad, her blonde hair a tangle around her face, her blue eyes fiery, her body absolute perfection even under the thick clothing she’s wearing, and I want to fuck her so badly it hurts.

I’ve never taken advantage of a woman, and I’m not about to start now. But I have to physically pull myself away from Lidiya, stalking away into the bathroom as she squirms and curses at me from where she’s restrained, my jaw clenched the entire way.

What does she do to me? I feel almost physically unhinged around her, like I’m not in control of my emotions and definitely not in control of my body’s reactions. I’m legitimately pissed at her for putting us both in so much danger, and yet I’m rock-fucking-hard right now, my cock about to burst through the fly of my jeans like I didn’t just spurt my cum all over her last night because I’d lost control of my arousal.

I’d do almost anything to get her out of my hotel room, so I could stop feeling this way, except the one thing that actually would—calling Vladimir and telling him that I can’t finish the job. Not only would that mean a demotion or worse for me, it would hand her over to whoever takes my place—someone bound to be much less gentle and forgiving.

The thought of someone else’s hands on her in any way makes me feel murderous. I don’t want any other man touching her, not even Grisha, who is supposed to in order for us to get this job done. The idea of someone hurting her makes me want to flay the skin from their body, just thinking about it.

This jealousy that I feel, this possessiveness, is out of control. I’ve never felt it for anyone, and it’s impossible that I’m starting now—except I am. I feel like she’s driving me mad.

I turn on the taps in the bathroom, splashing ice cold water on my face. It sends enough of a shock to my system to lessen my arousal for a moment, and I stare into the mirror still dripping, glaring at myself.

“Pull it together, Volkov. She’s a girl. There’s a hundred other girls like her in Moscow, more probably. When this is done, find one, find two, hell find five if you want, and fuck them all at once until you get your fill. But don’t get yourself killed over a—”

I can hear her whimpering faintly from the bedroom.

Goddamn it.

I’m calmed down enough to not lose my temper at her, but my arousal is stubbornly refusing to subside. I feel like I’ve been in a state of being half-hard or more since she woke up in this room, and it’s frankly exhausting.

I give myself a few more minutes to breathe, splashing more cold water onto my face and drying it off with a towel before walking back out into the bedroom.

The sight of Lidiya handcuffed to my bed is every bit as arousing as it was before.

Fuck.

She’s not exactly fighting the handcuffs—probably because she’s smart enough to know there’s no way she’s getting out of them. But she is squirming slightly atop the duvet, wriggling a little with her head turned away so that I can’t see her face.

My first thought is that she’s faking needing to go to the bathroom so that she can get out of them already. “Lidiya?” I say her name, hoping she’ll look at me, but she keeps looking away, her fists clenched above the cuffs.

“Lidiya, look at me.” I frown, a tiny bit of worry creeping in, wanting to make sure she’s okay—at least as okay as anyone could be, under the circumstances.

She still refuses to obey. She’s pissed at me. Well, I can understand that, but I have a reason for what I’ve done, and it’s to keep us both safe. I circle around the bed, fighting back my own frustration as I make an attempt to talk to her—and then I see her face, and I realize all at once what’s going on and why she won’t look at me.

Her jaw is clenched, her gaze still stubbornly refusing to meet mine even with me standing right in front of her, and her lips are pressed tightly together—as tightly together as her thighs are.

“Lidiya.” I lower my voice, saying her name differently this time, the way I want to say it. Rich and smooth like chocolate, silky over her skin, the kind of seduction I wish to god I could actually use on her.

Her eyes snap up to mine, and a jolt of pure, unfiltered lust goes through me as I recognize the look in them.

She’s pissed, alright, but that’s not why she won’t look at me or why she’s squirming. Her face is flushed, her cheeks pink, and her eyes have that glassy look to them that I know so well.

I remember, all at once, the way she reacted when I had her pinned up against the door that first day, the way it had turned me on. She’s reacting very much like that now, and I’d be willing to bet it’s pissing her off every bit as much as I have today.

Lidiya Petrovna, whether she knows it or would admit it or not, has a kinky side.

And one of those is definitely being tied up.

Levin

For a moment it’s like every thought I have flees all at once, except the one focused on the pink-cheeked, subtly squirming girl on the bed in front of me.

This is ridiculous. It’s insane. I grit my teeth, trying to stop looking at her, stop thinking the cascade of inappropriate thoughts pouring through my head, but I can’t.

I’ve had women tied up in my bed before, but never under circumstances like these, and never her. I don’t know what it is about her, but she looks so incredibly beautiful, more so than ever, despite the fact that nothing she’s wearing is remotely sexy. She’s flushed, makeup-less, angry and her hair is wild around her face. She looks for all the world like a feral cat, and by god, I want to let her bury her claws in me.

“Levin.” She almost growls at me, the first word that’s come out of her mouth since she tried to convince me not to cuff her to the bed, and the sound of my name on her lips jolts through me, adding to the torrent of desire currently driving me insane.

I’m so fucking hard, and jerking off is the last thing I want to do right now. What I want is to bury my aching cock between her lips, between her legs, sink into her heat and feel the blissful relief of her warm soft tongue or tight pussy stroking me to orgasm.

“Please, let me go,” she whimpers, and my attention snaps back to her. She’s looking up at me, wide-eyed and flushed, and that, along with my lingering frustration over her behavior, is the only excuse I have for what comes out of my mouth next.

A half-smirk curls my lips as I look down at her. “Why? You certainly look as if you’re enjoying it.”

Lidiya’s eyes fly wider than ever, taking up a huge portion of her delicate face as she stares up at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses, and I laugh shortly.

“Are you telling me that you’re squirming on the bed like that because you’re trying to get loose? You know that won’t get you out of those cuffs. Are you going to tell me you’re so pink and blushing because you’re mad?” I move closer to the bed, and her quick intake of breath, the way her thighs squeeze together, tells me everything I need to know.

“You’re turned on, Lidiya.” I look down at her, aching to touch her breasts, the curve of her waist, to slide my hands up underneath her sweater and caress her soft skin. “You might be pissed at how you ended up here, but you like being cuffed like this. I bet you didn’t even know until right now. Is that right?”

The mingled arousal and shame in her eyes that she can’t seem to hide no matter how she tries tells me the answer, but I wait for hers anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tips her chin up defiantly, tugging on the cuffs, as if they might give. “No one would be turned on by—by this—”

“Oh, I assure you, plenty of women would.” I smirk, and I see her eyes flick downwards towards the bulge in my jeans and back up, almost too fast for me to notice, but it’s there. Her back arches ever so slightly when she sees it, her hips squirming into the mattress, and just that small motion makes me feel as if I’m going to explode. “Did Grisha ever tie you up?”

“Of course not!” Lidiya snaps. “He, he—”

“He what? You’re very mouthy for a girl cuffed to my bed. Now tell me Lidiya, if this is your first time being tied—or cuffed—up like this, you’re going to tell me honestly that this isn’t turning you on? That if I were to slip your jeans and panties off right now and touch your pussy, you wouldn’t be soaking wet?”

Volkov, what the fuck are you doing? It’s as if my mouth is speaking without my permission, headed off in a direction that I hadn’t expected this to go. I should leave the room, hell, with her cuffed and unable to run away, I should request a second room for myself, and just check in on her to feed her and let her go to the bathroom, and uncuff her when it’s time for her to go see Grisha.

The thought of keeping her in that kind of captivity repulses me and turns me on all at once. I don’t want to actually keep her handcuffed every moment that she doesn’t have to be free to serve the mission’s endgame, that’s not my style and frankly, I find it off-putting. But the idea of keeping her cuffed to that bed until I’ve had my fill of pleasure with her, having her bound to the bed to service me—that fantasy makes my cock swell and lurch in my jeans until I think I might come on the spot, like some teenager who hasn’t even been inside a woman yet.

This woman, out of all of them that I’ve ever met, undoes me in a way that I could never have foreseen. And I know, deep down, that unless she tells me flat out not to touch her, I’m not leaving this room until I’ve tasted her.

“Levin—”

“Answer me.” My voice is commanding, coming from some part of me that’s completely gone off-script. “Are you wet, little kotenok? Wet for me, chained to my bed?”

Lidiya’s face burns red, but she looks up at me defiantly. “No.”

“Are you sure? Should I tell you what I do to bad girls who lie to me?”

Lidiya swallows hard, but she doesn’t lose an ounce of her rebellion, and that only arouses me all the more. “Let me guess,” she says sarcastically. “You’re going to flip me over and spank me until I beg for mercy? With your hand, or your belt? Or do I get to pick?”

Fuck. Every muscle in my body tenses at that, my cock so hard it could snap in two, my boxers soaked with pre-cum from how much this infuriating woman is turning me on. I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind, and all because of her. The vision of her naked and face-down on the bed, her ass burning red from my palm striking it to punish her, has me throbbing. But that’s not the fantasy foremost in my mind right now.

“No, little kotenok,” I tell her in a low voice. “That’s not the punishment I had in mind if you’ve lied to me.”

“Oh?” Lidiya raises a brow archly. “What are you going to do, then?”

“I’m going to lick that wet pussy until you come, and then I’m going to do it over and over again, until you can’t take anymore and you’re begging me to stop.”

Lidiya’s mouth drops open. She looks at me as if she’s never seen me before, her eyes round as saucers in her face, and the way her hips arch up from the bed tells me exactly what I’ll find if I touch her between her silky thighs.

“You should tell me to stop now, if you’re going to,” I warn her. “Because I’m about to touch you, Lidiya, and once I get my fingers and my mouth on your pussy, I won’t be able to stop.”

She’s speechless, I can see that, but I take it as a yes. I’m already on the verge of being unable to stop myself. She’s so beautiful, so aroused, flushed and writhing in my bed, and I want her so badly it’s painful. I can’t remember ever wanting a woman so much, ever being so aroused. It’s going to be all I can do not to fuck her, but you cannot cross that line, I tell myself harshly as I climb onto the bed. Lidiya is staring at me frozen as I kneel at the end of it, reaching for her ankles. Whatever else we do, I can’t allow myself to be inside of her. I can’t let it go that far, no matter how badly I want to sink my cock into her to the hilt and fuck her like she’s never been fucked before.

She sucks in a hiss of a breath as I slide my hands up her calves, the denim cool under my palms as I move upwards. “If you thought last night was good,” I murmur, my hands climbing up her thighs as I spread her legs apart and move between them, “it’ll seem like nothing when I’m finished with you now, Lidiya.” Higher still, until my hands are at the edge of her sweater, pushing it up to reveal the creamy flesh of her stomach that I want so badly to see. “I’m going to pleasure you until you scream.”

She gasps as I push her sweater up. I can’t take it off entirely with her hands cuffed, and I’m not so cruel as to cut off an item of her clothing, but I’m determined to see her breasts. I shove the soft fabric higher, until the two soft mounds covered by her black cotton bra are revealed, and then I leave it there bunched under her arms as I reach for the cups and, with my eyes fixed on hers, yank them down to reveal her breasts to me for the first time.

“Levin!” Lidiya squeals, gasping, but I’m barely listening.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I groan, leaning forward to press my face between them, mounding one in my palm as I turn my head to lick her nipple. Her skin is smooth and hot, and I can feel her heart beating wildly like a trapped bird beneath my cheek as I suck softly at the flesh of her breast, reveling in the feel of her. She moans above me, her body twisting as I lift my head to fasten my mouth over her nipple, sucking it into my mouth until I bite lightly, and she gasps.

“Levin, oh god—”

“You’re going to say my name plenty more before I’m finished.” I look up at her, my entire body aching with need as I take in the sight of her flushed and undone, her head tossing on the pillow from the sensation of my mouth on her breast, and I’ve barely touched her. She’s incredibly responsive, shameless in her pleasure, and it only drives my need higher, makes me want to touch her all the more and see what she does.

Her breasts are perfect, slightly more than what fits in my hands, her nipples the size of coins and a dusky pink, reddened by the suction of my mouth by the time I’m finished attending to them both. Her back arches as I lick and suck and nip at her breasts, savoring the softness of them as I enjoy the sensations of her body, knowing I might not get another chance.

This might be the only time I touch Lidiya Petrovna like this, and I intend to enjoy every moment.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” I murmur, sliding downwards as my lips drift over her taut stomach, feeling her skin twitch and shiver beneath my mouth as I go. She gasps with every caress as I slide my hands down her waist, feeling her curves, memorizing the shape of her. It’s not as if I’ve never savored a woman before—I love women, love fucking them, love tasting them, the shape and feel and sight of them, the way each one is different and beautiful in her own way. But Lidiya—something about her makes me want to burn her into my memory, to engrave the shapes of her into my palms, and I know how fucking dangerous that is. This woman, out of all of the women in the world, has gotten under my skin and I can’t seem to shake her.

She’ll leave of her own accord, when this is over, I tell myself, ignoring the pang of disappointment that comes with that thought. And then she can be a bittersweet memory for you to tuck away, as you go on with your life the way it was before.

But for now, I’m going to enjoy every moment that I can.

I slide lower still, down to the waistband of her jeans, biting her hipbone lightly as I start to undo the button and zipper, and for a moment I’m afraid that she’ll stop me, that she won’t let me go this far. But she’s too far gone now, gasping and lifting her hips for me to pull her jeans down, and though I could have taken her panties off too at the same time, I want to savor this as well, the act of undressing her for the first and perhaps only time.

Kneeling between her legs, I throw her jeans aside and look down at her, my cock straining in my jeans at the sight.

She looks wanton and lustful, her full rosy lips parted, her sweater bunched beneath her arms and the cups of her bra pulled down to reveal her breasts, the skin reddened from my mouth and her nipples stiff and hard. And now—my gaze drags down to her panties, and the evidence there I’ve been waiting to see.

Her lavender cotton panties are clinging to her mound, fitted and tight, and there just over her pussy I can see exactly what I’d expected to—a wet spot where the fabric clings damply to her, spreading as her arousal increases from being exposed to me like this.

“What a naughty little kotenok,” I whisper, reaching out to run the tip of one finger over her panties, from where I know her hard little clit is hidden down to the wet spot, pushing them against her entrance, and the shiver that goes through her makes me feel as if I might lose my mind with desire.

I can’t wait a moment longer to taste her, but I want to draw out the teasing, to enjoy every second of this. I push her thighs wider as she gasps, leaning down to press my mouth against the cotton of her panties, and I lick her there, swirling my tongue over the wet spot as I taste Lidiya for the first time.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” I groan, pressing my mouth against her as I suck the fabric into my mouth, curling my tongue under it to caress the edge of her pussy lips, the naked hot flesh driving me wild.

“Levin!” She cries out, arching up and writhing against my mouth. “Please, you’re—please—”

“Please?” I pull back, smiling at her wickedly as I reach for the edge of her panties and start to pull them down. “Please, what, Lidiya? Should I make you ask for it? Should I make you beg?”

“Fuck.” She pants, tossing her head back as I pull her panties off and toss them aside, leaving her bare from the waist down. As I run my hands up her inner thighs, Lidiya glares down at me, her entire body quivering now with need. “You already have me cuffed to your bed, you sadistic asshole.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you really going to make me beg you to eat my pussy, too?”

I wouldn’t have admitted it in the moment, but much later looking back, I’m fairly sure that’s the moment I fell in love with Lidiya Petrovna.

Lidiya

I hate him.

I hate him.

Fuck, I want his mouth on me so badly.

God, I’m going to scream if he doesn’t go down on me right now.

Fucking please!

That could sum up the thoughts running through my head, from the moment Levin starts teasing me about my state of arousal being cuffed to his bed, to right now as he looks at my bare pussy for the first time, taunting me with being forced to beg for him to eat it.

He’s right, I’ve never been cuffed to a bed, never been tied up at all, really. I’ve never dated or slept with anyone with a kinky side. I’d never thought to ask for it either, never fantasized about it or thought it would be something that would turn me on.

I don’t know if I’ve unlocked a new kink, or if it’s just because it’s Levin who has cuffed me to his bed, but from the moment he locked me into them and I realized my predicament, I was both furiously angry and furiously aroused.

There’s no point in denying it now, half naked and on the verge of having my pussy devoured by a man who looks like he’s dying to taste me.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. I’ve slept with some handsome men, even Grisha, damn his soul to hell, is a very good-looking man. But I don’t think I’ve ever had any man as gorgeous or terrifying between my legs as Levin. Even still fully dressed, he looks like living sex, with that dark close-cut hair and strong jaw, sharp nose and piercing blue eyes, the dark stubble on his chin and the muscles that I can see flexing under his shirt as he moves. And that cock—

I remember vividly how big he is, how he felt, huge and hard and throbbing in my hand, the hot rush of his cum over my hand as I’d jerked him off while he’d fingered me up against the door. My mouth waters at the memory, and I wonder how he’d feel in my mouth, thrusting against my tongue, how he’d taste—

My fantasies are spinning out of control, but I can’t stop. I can see how hard he is, straining against his jeans, the denim pulled so tightly over his massive bulge that I can see the outline of him, practically down to the veins. This is like something straight out of a porno, me handcuffed to my hot Russian kidnapper’s bed while he looks hungrily down at my naked body, and the fact that he’s so fiercely aroused by me is even more arousing.

“I’m going to lick you until you scream,” he murmurs, and then he grips the inside of my thighs as he moves between them, looking down at my bare pussy as he forces my thighs wider so that my folds open for him.

My face burns as hot as the lust I see in his eyes. I know he can see everything—my swollen outer folds and my flushed inner ones, my throbbing clit exposed to his eyes, the arousal drenching my pussy and thighs and the blanket below me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet, and I know it’s a product of all of this—the cuffs, the teasing, the exhibitionism. I must be kinkier than I ever realized, I think with another hot flush of arousal and embarrassment, and then Levin’s gorgeous bright blue eyes flick up to mine, and I want to disappear and come all at once.

“You have the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen,” he growls. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

And then he does exactly that.

I’m no fucking virgin, and I like to think I’ve slept with men who have a decent appreciation for female pleasure. I’ve been eaten out before.

But god, I’ve never been eaten out like this.

Levin licks my pussy like he’s worshiping it. He traces my folds with his tongue first, teasing them, sucking them gently into his mouth until I’m squirming and gasping, my clit aching to be touched. He laps my entrance, licking my arousal into his mouth, and he groans aloud, his hands tightening on my thighs. “Fuck, you taste so sweet, kotenok,” he murmurs. “As sweet as I hoped.”

And then he bends his head and starts to go down on me in earnest.

He slides his tongue over my pussy in a series of long, slow licks, from my entrance to my clit and all around, and then his fingers slide higher, reaching to hold my pussy open as he presses his mouth tightly against me and attacks my clit.

By the time his tongue lashes over the tight bundle of nerves and only that, I’m so wound up that I let out a sound that’s something between a whimper and a cry, a high-pitched moan as I buck against his face, the sudden pleasure of it sweeping over me in a burst that an instant later, as he keeps swirling his tongue, turns into a full-fledged orgasm. I’m so turned on from his touching and teasing and the whole erotic fucking scenario that the moment his tongue starts to lick my clit in earnest I’m spasming around his mouth, hands fisting as I yank at the cuffs, bucking against his mouth as I come hard on his face. “Levin—Levin!” I cry out his name, twisting and writhing as he grips me, trying to keep me in place as he laps fiercely at my clit, not stopping for a second. “I—”

He pauses just long enough to look up at me with those burning blue eyes, and a grin spreads over his face, his mouth still brushing against my swollen pussy.

“I told you, Lidiya. I’m going to eat this pussy until you scream, and then I’m going to keep making you come until you beg me to stop.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. My record for coming from fingers or oral is twice in one session, and I usually come once during sex. But as Levin dives back in, his tongue attacking my clit all over again, I can already feel another climax bubbling up, my thighs trembling with pleasure as he devours me.

He keeps going, his fingers stroking my folds, holding them apart so that he has full access to my clit, circling and licking until I feel like I’m going insane with pleasure, and then he rolls his eyes upwards, focusing on my face as he sucks my clit into his mouth—and keeps sucking.

“Levin! Fuck, Levin, I’m coming, I’m—”

The second orgasm crashes over me, making me thrash against his mouth as it ripples through my body, an incomprehensible burst of pleasure as he suckles my clit rhythmically, his tongue rubbing against it as the orgasm keeps going, waves and waves of ecstasy that leave me limp and helplessly moaning—and then he lets go, the sucking turning to gentle licking as he pushes two fingers into me.

“I can’t,” I moan, twitching as the new sensation sends another ripple of pleasure through me. “I can’t come again, Levin, I never do, I—”

“Oh yes, you will,” he growls against my drenched, swollen, oversensitive flesh. “This pussy is going to come as many times as I decide it will.”

And then he starts to thrust.

His fingers feel so fucking good, strong and thick and relentless as he fingers my pussy like he’s fucking it with his cock, long slow thrusts and then faster ones, matching the rhythm of his tongue on my clit as he licks and sucks, until I’m trembling, and to my amazement, I feel another orgasm welling up, shivering across my body as he curls his fingers upwards, and I know I’m lost.

“I’m coming, I’m—”

“Goddamn right you are,” Levin says with satisfaction, and then he thrusts his fingers harder into my clenching pussy, sucking at my clit as I writhe on his face. As I arch against him, gasping and moaning incoherently—he adds a third.

The third finger pushes me over the edge again, no longer so much another orgasm as a continuous tide of pleasure, ebbing and flowing over me, and I do exactly what he said I would—I scream.

The pleasure is so incredible that it’s almost too much. He keeps licking my clit, circling it and then sucking it into his mouth in turns as I writhe and scream and moan, both wanting to beg him to stop and wanting it to never end, and when he adds a fourth, I’m stuffed as full of his fingers as I would be his cock if he fucked me.

And god, I’m so close to begging him to fuck me.

“Once more, Lidiya,” he coaxes, his fingers not so much thrusting as grinding into me now, making me feel so full, so thoroughly pleasured. “One more orgasm for me, my little kotenok, and then if you beg me to stop I will.”

He pushes those fingers into me, caressing that soft spot that makes me feel as if I’m coming apart at the seams, and begins to flick his tongue over my clit, swift and fast, and I snatch my hands against the cuffs as I nearly come off the bed with the intense pleasure of it, the final orgasm.

“Levin, Levin, Levin, Levin!” I screech his name as I twist against his mouth, my thighs squeezing his face as I feel myself come like I never have before, my arousal gushing out, flooding his tongue as he laps at my pussy, his mouth pressed tightly against me as he pleasures me throughout the entire climax, driving my body to a height I never imagined until I finally go limp against the bed, feeling as if I’m made of liquid, more satisfied than I ever thought I could be. “Please,” I whisper, looking down at him dazedly. “No more, please, I can’t—”

Levin grins at me, pulling back, and I can see his lips and mouth and chin glistening with my juices. “You came all over and in my mouth, Lidiya,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free of me, and I feel hollow, my pussy clenching with the desire to feel him fill me again. “Fuck you taste so fucking good. I could eat you all night. I fucking love the taste of your cum.”

And then, as if to prove his point, he raises his hand to his lips, breathing in my scent as he licks his fingers clean.

I can’t speak at first. I feel boneless and so thoroughly pleasured that I can’t move, still cuffed to the bed. Levin moves away from me, still fully dressed, and as he starts to climb off the bed the words come out without my meaning for them to.

“Where are you going?”

Levin looks back at me, startled. “I’ll help you back into your clothes in a moment.” His voice is thick and husky, taut with need. “I have to—” he gestures helplessly towards his straining erection. “Fuck, Lidiya, I can’t wait a second longer. I have to fucking come.”

The words tear through me with a hot jolt of lust that goes straight to my oversensitive, swollen pussy. “No,” I whisper, pulling at the cuffs, feeling as if I’m still out of my mind with need. Surely, I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I were in my right mind. “Please, don’t go.”

Levin swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he turns back towards me. “What do you mean?” he asks thickly, and I can see his cock twitching in his jeans.

“Fuck me. Do whatever you want. Just let me make you come too—I don’t want you to go jerk off after what you just did. Let me—”

Levin runs one hand roughly through his hair, his entire body going tense, as if it’s taking everything in him not to pounce on me this moment. Just that thought sends another electric pulse through me. “I can’t fuck you, Lidiya. I—we—we can’t do that. I’ve already pushed this too far. I can’t—”

“Then let me go down on you. Come in my mouth. Please, Levin—” I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but the idea of him jerking off furiously in the bathroom alone after just giving me—I don’t even know how many of the greatest orgasms of my life makes me feel terrible. I want to give him pleasure too. I can’t fuck him, I shouldn’t have even said that, but surely—

He went down on me, why can’t I do it to him.

I feel like an entirely different person when the next words come out of my mouth. Lidiya Petrovna has certainly never said anything like them—but I do.

“Please, Levin, let me suck your cock,” I whisper, and I can see the bone-deep shudder of need that ripples through him, his eyes closing briefly as his hand goes to the straining bulge in his jeans.

He crosses the room back to the bed in two strides, his hands already yanking his belt open, shoving down his jeans so that he’s only in his button-down and boxers, his cock so hard that it pushes out of the fly the moment his jeans slide over his hips, the tip of it slick and dripping with his arousal.

“Naked,” I whisper, suddenly desperate to see all of him. “Take all your clothes off, Levin, please.”

“Bladya.” He curses in Russian, his jaw tight, but he’s reaching for the buttons of his shirt anyway. “It’s going to be hard to keep from fucking you as it is—”

“Please. I want to see you.”

His jaw clenches rhythmically as he strips off the shirt, and fuck, he’s as gorgeous as I imagined. As he pushes down his boxers and tosses the shirt aside, letting me see every inch of his six-foot-something, muscled frame, the only thing I hate in that moment is that I can’t touch his broad chest, smattered with dark hair, or his rippling 8-pack abs, or trace the hammer and sickle tattoo that I see outlined on his side or any of the others inked across his chiseled body.

Worse still, that I can’t touch his huge cock, jutting out angrily from his taut hips above his powerful thighs, dripping pre-cum and visibly throbbing. My lips part the moment I see him, and I stare up at Levin, so lost in my lust that I’m beyond thinking logically.

“My mouth,” I whisper. “Please.”

He stares down at me, his jaw still working, and then to my shock, he bends down, one hand on the side of my face as he kisses me fiercely.

His lips are full and soft, the tang of me still on his mouth, and I kiss him back, arching upwards as my hands grab uselessly against the cuffs. I’m turned on again, my thighs squeezing together as my tongue tangles with his and I taste myself in his mouth, and I’m gasping with need all over again as Levin breaks the kiss, straddling my chest so that his massive erection is only an inch from my lips.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he growls. “But I’m so fucking hard, Lidiya, and I can’t make promises.”

“I don’t care,” I gasp. “Just put your cock in my mouth before I start begging you to fuck me.”

Levin’s eyes go wide, and then he leans forward, one hand reaching behind my head to fist in my long blonde hair as his other wraps around his shaft, guiding the glistening head towards my lips.

I have to open my mouth as wide as I can to accommodate the tip of him, my tongue sliding out to caress beneath it as Levin pushes the first inch of his cock between my lips. He closes his eyes, his hand in my hair tightening as he sucks in his breath with a hiss. “Bladya, kotenok,” he swears again, his hips rocking as he visibly struggles not to push his entire length into my throat. “Your mouth already feels so good—”

I look up, unable to speak, but I moan around his cock as he pushes it deeper into my mouth, my tongue sliding around the head as I taste him, along the shaft as I feel the texture of him, the veins and ridges of his thick shaft. He tastes good, faintly salty, his skin taut and smooth in my mouth, and the look of utter bliss on his face as he guides his cock deeper makes me want more.

“That’s my good girl,” he moans, his eyes glassy with pleasure as he thrusts another few inches of the thick length between my lips, the head brushing against my throat. “Can you take it all, kotenok? Can you take all of my cock?”

I actually don’t know, but I fucking want it so badly that I nod, my lips and his shaft glistening with saliva as he pulls free, his jaw tightening with the effort, but it’s clear he wants to hear it aloud.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, clearly as lost in desire as I am. “Tell me you want it.”

“Please,” I gasp, already squirming beneath him again. “I want your cock, Levin. Fuck my face if you want, I don’t care. Just give it to me, please. I want to make you come.”

“Fuck,” he swears, his face tightening as he pushes between my parted lips, harder this time. “You’re going to be the death of me, kotenok.”

And then he thrusts his cock into my mouth, the head sliding into my throat as he pulls me up the pillows enough that he can grip my hair and start to fuck my face.

It’s not too rough. He’s clearly aware of his size even if he teased me about it last night. His thrusts are slow, pushing into my throat until he can see I’m struggling, my throat convulsing around him as saliva coats his cock, and then he pulls free to the tip, unwilling to pull all the way free of my mouth. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he pants. “Fuck, your mouth is so good, you suck my cock so well, fuck—”

Levin groans as I take it again, thrusting against my lips as I take him to the hilt, and when I run my tongue over his tight balls, his shaft buried in my mouth and throat, his hand convulses in my hair and his thighs go rock-hard as they flex with pleasure, his mouth opening on a guttural cry.

“Fuck!” he gasps. “Fuck, Lidiya, I’m going to come, I can’t stop it, fuck, fuck, I—”

Pure lust tears through me at the idea that I made him lose control, this powerful, dangerous man, that by deep-throating his cock and running my tongue over his balls I made him come before he meant to. And he does, pushing forward as his head tips back, his entire body shuddering as I feel his cock swell even thicker, throbbing between my strained lips, and then I feel him come, gushing down my throat in a hot rush as I swallow convulsively.

“Oh god,” Levin groans, pulling out of my throat as I choke a little and thrusting himself against my tongue as another rush of cum spurts from his pulsing cock. “Swallow my cum, good girl, my little kotenok, so good, oh fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

His hand loosens in my hair, stroking as I keep sucking, and he moans. “Swallow it all, fuck, you’re such a good girl—”

I feel as if I’m going insane with desire again as he pulls free of my mouth, swallowing the last of his cum, my clit throbbing from the pleasure of sucking him and swallowing his cum and hearing him say those dirty things as I did.

Not all dirty, though. Kotenok. Kitten. He’d called me that, that endearment, and I can’t get it out of my head. Not with him above me, still half-hard and gorgeous, his cock dripping cum onto my chest, and I’m so turned on I think I could die.

“Levin?” I whisper as he slides down my body. “Make me come one more time, please?”

He grins at me, his face slack with pleasure, his eyes glittering. “With pleasure,” he says, and then he moves downwards, his mouth against my drenched pussy once again as he starts to lick my aching clit.

I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Lidiya

Oh my god, I can’t believe we just fucking did that.

When Levin finishes licking me to another shuddering orgasm, he looks up from between my thighs, our eyes meeting. Something passes between us, some crackling of electricity, and I can see the blatant need in his face, despite how hard he just came in my mouth.

For a second, I think he’s going to lose control. I think he’s going to push that massive cock into me as I writhe chained on his bed, and I’m going to let him. Not only that—I’m going to love every fucking second of it.

He doesn’t though. His blue gaze holds mine, and then suddenly he rips himself away from me, climbing off the bed and grabbing his clothes. I can see his cock bobbing between his thighs, already hard again, but Levin ignores it. He shoves himself back into his jeans, drags his t-shirt over his head, and stalks to the door.

He leaves without a word, not even a backward glance. In his rush to get out of the room, he’d forgotten to help me with my clothes, and I squirm uncomfortably on the mattress. With my arousal more than sated, everything else about my situation comes back to me—the way my wrists ache in the cuffs, more than ever now from yanking against them as Levin ate me out, the chill on my still-bare skin, the fact that my jeans are still around my calves and my sweater under my armpits with my bra pulled down, the sticky feeling of my arousal drying on my thighs.

I want a shower. I want to sleep. I want to be out of these godforsaken cuffs.

I’m not entirely sure how long Levin is gone. I think I doze off for a little while, awakened by the sound of him coming back into the now-dark room and the light being switched on. He strides to the bedside without a word, not meeting my eyes, and reaches up to unlock the cuffs.

His eyes look glazed, and he smells like expensive vodka.

When I’m uncuffed, he strides back out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

I’m surprised he left me here alone unrestrained, but maybe he knows that after this latest failed escape attempt, I’m fully aware that there’s no option but to comply. It’s not that I’m staying in hopes of a repeat performance of earlier, either. It would be best for both of us if we never did that again, and we both know it.

I just know I’m not getting away. If it’s not Levin who comes for me next time, it’ll be someone else—probably several someones—and I believe him when he says they won’t be punishing me by making me come over and over.

But he’s given me a secret weapon now. I know I’m going to have to go to bed with Grisha, and the thought disgusts me more than I would have ever thought it could before that fateful morning. But while I’m in bed with Grisha, I’ll be imagining Levin. I can think of a lot of ways to get revenge, but picturing the man who is setting him up between my thighs instead feels like a pretty good one, even if he has no idea about it.

I get off of the bed slowly, feeling stiff after being cuffed for so long, and gently test the skin around my wrists. It doesn’t feel bad—a little chafed maybe, but Levin had made sure not to cuff me too tightly.

He’s a very polite kidnapper. Except when he’s devouring me from between my legs.

I shuck my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor as I retreat to the bathroom and the promise of a hot shower. Levin’s cum is still on my chest where he dripped onto me, and I’m very aware of my thighs brushing together as I walk into the bathroom. Part of me doesn’t want to wash away the evidence of what happened between us, but I know I need a clear head for the conversation that’s doubtless going to come later.

---

Levin still isn’t there when I come out of the shower. I feel a small pang, but order myself a burger from room service and change into my favorite pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a tank top, putting on a movie in the background. Every noise in the hall makes me perk up, more hopefully than I would like to admit considering how I should feel about Levin, but he doesn’t return by the time I’ve finished dinner, or by the time I’ve finished that movie and one more, and I start to feel too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Is he out with another woman? My chest clenches at the thought, even though I know I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter what he’s doing, but my mind is filled with sudden images of him locked in some other gorgeous woman’s arms, her rich blonde curls tumbling around them as she rides him to—

Lidiya, stop. I grit my teeth, switching off the television and turning off the light, rolling over onto my side as I pull the covers up around my chin.

I need to get some sleep.

---

When I wake up, Levin is there. I’d thought I’d heard him stumble in sometime last night, but I was too exhausted and half-asleep to be certain. Now I’m woken by the sound of him ordering room service in a raspy voice, and when I push myself up sleepily to a half-sitting position, he looks at me blearily from where he’s sitting on the couch as he hangs up the phone. He’s still wearing his clothes from the night before.

“Levin, should we—” I haven’t felt so awkward the morning after in a long time. I can’t help wondering if he went out and fucked someone else, can’t stop remembering how hard he was when he left, still needing more than what I could give him or he was willing to take from me. But I can’t ask that.

“Are you going to run again?” he asks bluntly. His hands are hanging between his knees as he leans forward, his bloodshot gaze meeting mine. The question hangs between us, heavy in the air.

“No,” I say quietly. “No, I’m not going to run again.”

“Good.” Levin stands up. “I’m going to shower. You have a date with Grisha tonight. Don’t forget.”

And with that, he disappears into the bathroom.

We say very little to each other for the rest of the day. I eat my breakfast while he’s in the shower, leaving the breakfast sandwich and juice he ordered for himself on the coffee table. He comes out of the bathroom fully dressed, much to my disappointment, and gathers up the food, leaving the room without another word.

He doesn’t come back until a few hours before I’m supposed to meet Grisha. I’m practically clawing the walls with boredom by that point, with nothing to do other than order food and watch television. It’s the least active I’ve ever been, and by the time Levin comes back I’m ready to tear into him for abandoning me all day.

Of course, I don’t, because I shouldn’t want to spend time with him. I should be happy he’s left me alone all day. But all I can do is wonder where he’s been.

When he does come back, he looks mildly annoyed. He strides into the room with a matte black shopping bag in hand, and thrusts it out to me. “Here.”

I blink at him. “You went shopping for me?”

“No,” Levin grinds out. “Your boyfriend did.”

“My—” It dawns on me that he means Grisha. I can’t think of him like a boyfriend anymore, not exactly. He feels like an obligation, something I’m being forced into, because at the end of the day that’s what he is. Not someone I’ve freely chosen a relationship with.

I take the bag out of Levin’s hand and dump the contents onto the bed unceremoniously. “Did you go back to my apartment?” I ask sharply, looking over my shoulder at him as it occurs to me where the clothes must have been sent.

“I needed to see if there was any sign that anyone else followed you yesterday,” Levin replies bluntly. “What is it? Just clothes?”

I wince. It’s not just clothes. On top it is—a smoky grey cashmere wrap dress so soft that it feels like heaven just touching it, but underneath is something much different. Lingerie—a lace and silk balconet bra and matching cheeky panties, and a note.

I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me, Lidiya. And to wear this for me tonight.

--Grisha

Beneath it is the coat that I abandoned at his apartment when I’d run away, and a new pair of black Italian leather gloves. A clear statement—you don’t have to come back, but if you do, this is just a taste of what you can expect. Showered with gifts and affection, just like before.

If I didn’t know the truth, it might have been tempting, for the sex and affection if nothing else. But now—sex with Grisha was good, but it couldn’t compare to what Levin and I did together, and we haven’t even fucked.

Mutely, I hold up the lingerie, partially hoping to get a rise out of him, to see some reaction. I think I see his eyes darken, but for the most part he looks at me blankly, hiding his emotions—if he has any—well.

“Not just clothes, then.”

“No.” I swallow hard. “Don’t worry,” I say tightly. “I won’t run off this time. I won’t call you unless I’m really in danger.”

“Good.” Levin’s voice is clipped as he checks his watch. “You should start getting ready.”

I bite my tongue against an acid response, and gather up the dress and lingerie, retreating into the bathroom.

An hour later, I’m dressed and made up, the soft grey dress clinging to my body alluringly, a hint of pink flashing in the deep neckline if I turn a certain way, my hair curled and my makeup lightly done with a smoky grey eyeshadow that matches the dress and brings out the blue in my eyes. Despite the weather, I slip on a pair of velvet knee-high black boots Grisha bought me, looking in the mirror.

I long to toss out everything Grisha ever gave me, wipe my life clean of him and start over. Unfortunately, that means a lot of the decent part of my wardrobe. He might have turned out to be a lying asshole, but he has good taste in clothes.

Levin doesn’t shutter his expression as well as I thought he might when I walk out, and the thought that perhaps he can’t, that I have so much of an effect on him that he can’t hide the heat in his eyes or the leaping muscle in his clenched jaw, is deeply arousing to me.

“I’ll call a cab.” I pretend not to see it. “Are you going to walk me down this time?”

Levin shakes his head. “I assume I can trust you? You understand the consequences more clearly if you run again?”

“You assume correctly.” I glance back at him as I head for the door. “I won’t run.”

“Good,” is all Levin says as I walk out, shutting it heavily behind me.

My heart is racing the entire cab ride to Grisha’s apartment. He answers the door on the first ring of the doorbell, and I see his face light up as he sees me in the new dress.

“You look beautiful, Lidiya,” he says as he opens the door wider, and I step inside.

There’s a spread of charcuterie and decanted red wine on the coffee table in the living room, the fire in the white marble fireplace already roaring. I slip my velvet boots off at the edge of the living room, my toes sinking into the plush white rug. Grisha is dressed casually for him—black cashmere joggers and a fitted grey v-neck t-shirt, and I know exactly how this night is going to go.

We’re going to chat a little, nibble at the food and drink the wine, and then he’s going to test my boundaries. He’ll get closer and closer, touching more and more, until I have a choice—give in, or run a second time.

I won’t get another chance, from either Levin or Grisha, I know. I have to follow through with this.

I drink a little more than I might otherwise—not so much that I might be drunk and slip up, but enough to take the edge off. It’s not hard. The wine is delicious, rich and fruity on the tongue, pairing well with the rest of the expensive spread. I nibble at it, not able to work up much of an appetite, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What have you been doing, while we’ve been apart?” I ask him casually, pouring a little more wine in his glass from the decanter. “You never used to tell me much about your work. I was always curious.” I nestle a little closer to him, my heart starting to pound from the line of questioning, but if he notices I’m sure he’ll be egotistical enough to think that it’s because of him.

Grisha shrugs. “It’s all terribly boring.”

“I don’t think I could find anything you do boring.” The words burn on my tongue, but I manage them anyway. I reach for a dried cherry from the tray on the coffee table, sliding it between his lips, brushing my fingertip over the edge of one as he takes it. I see the twitch of his cock beneath the fabric of his joggers, which doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t have any doubt I could turn him on. My worry now is whether or not I can make it worthwhile.

“Very flattering, Lidiya, but I promise it would bore you to tears.” His hand slides over my shoulder, fingering the neckline of my dress. “A great deal of math is involved, and I know how much you hate math.”

He leans forward, and my heart stutters in my chest, knowing what’s about to happen.

His lips, cool and damp from the wine, brush over my skin. I shudder in revulsion, but he doesn’t know the difference between that and desire. He’s no Levin, that’s for sure.

Levin. It occurs to me that the memory of what we did yesterday won’t just be revenge. It will be my salvation. Grisha will notice if I don’t get wet, but just the flicker of memory of Levin’s lips sliding up my thigh is enough to make my core clench, the inner folds of my pussy fluttering with the reminder of how his tongue felt on my clit.

Not only will I get wet, I’ll do it remembering Levin’s tongue, his four fingers stretching me like he would with his cock, that same cock I had between my lips as I swallowed his cum.

The same lips Grisha is moving up to kiss, groaning as his cock hardens, setting his wine glass and mine aside as he pulls me closer.

And suddenly, with the ember of revenge warming me, it feels good.

Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.

Levin

I’ve always been told that if the thought of one woman is tormenting you, the quickest remedy is to get a different one in bed.

Not that I’d know. I’ve never let a woman get under my skin to that extent. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything—and for me, Lidiya is apparently that.

The only way I’ve been able to keep myself from tossing her onto the bed and fucking her until she screams my name all over again is by keeping away from her as much as possible. That, and drinking until I’m not sure I could have gotten my cock up anyway.

After eating her out and letting her suck me until I came in her mouth, I’ve had the desperate, driving urge to fuck her so thoroughly before she went to see Grisha that he’d feel the shape of my cock when he got inside her. That possessiveness is precisely why I kept away—and why I’m at a bar tonight while Lidiya is on her date, trying to both drink and fuck away my burning need for her.

She’s just a woman, I tell myself as I order a vodka, neat, and take up my spot at the bar. A beautiful one, but nothing extraordinary. This city is full of them.

The problem is, of course, that she has that certain something that I never expected to find in a woman, that indefinable quality that makes her extraordinary to me. I’ve finally found the woman that’s my Achilles heel, and of course, she’s the one that I should not, under any circumstances, have.

I ignore anyone who comes up to the bar that’s blonde. I don’t want to imagine Lidiya’s face on a woman like her, I want to not think about her at all. But no matter who walks up—brunette, red-head, rich black hair—slender or curvy or athletic, I can’t stop comparing them to her.

“Broken heart?”

I glance next to me to see a gorgeous woman of nearly my height standing there, looking at me with an amused smirk on her face. She’s willowy and flat-chested, with a gold minidress held on by a chain draped over her burnished skin, her thick black hair falling nearly to her ass in a waterfall of silk. I have an instant vision of that hair wrapped around my fist as I push the uneven skirt over her smooth hips and pound into her from behind, and I feel a wave of relief that’s almost orgasmic in and of itself.

At least I can still fantasize about another woman.

“Mute, too?” The woman’s full lips twitch as she takes a martini from the bartender, clear and cool with a lemon twist. She lifts it to her mouth, and a drop clings to her cupid’s bow as she lowers it. I have the urge to lick it away.

“Not so dramatic as that,” I say finally, turning towards her so that I’m facing her fully. “You could say I—have some things on my mind.”

“And are you looking to stop thinking about them?” She smiles, one hand dropping to my knee as she leans closer, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Very forward. I like that in a woman.”

“And I like taking men’s minds off what ails them.” She blinks long black lashes at me, and I quickly pick up on the fact that she has no intention of doing this for free.

Even better. I have no qualms about paying for company, if it’s willing and eager company. In fact, I often prefer it. There’s no worries about an exchange of feelings, no concern that either party isn’t getting what they need. I’ll have an orgasm—and give my partner a few—and she’ll be handsomely paid.

Everyone wins.

“In that case, let me buy you a drink, and we can negotiate our evening together.” I wink at her, and she smiles seductively at me.

Even as I wave the bartender down, though, I feel an uneasy sensation in my stomach, Lidiya coming to mind when I’d prefer her not to. I don’t want to think about the way she tasted, the way she felt under my hands, her lovely body or the feeling of her mouth—

There you go again.

I order the drinks, turning back to the woman and seeing that the hem of her gold dress has worked its way up her thighs a bit. I can’t help but wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath it.

“What sort of evening do you enjoy?” I ask her as I pass the martini, and her eyelashes flutter.

“Whatever the gentleman prefers, as long as he’s up to it.”

I’ll do anything you want—for a price.

Luckily for her, I have a massive bank account and cock, and both are sorely in need of draining.

I don’t spend my money carelessly, and these are the times when it comes in handy.

“Mine or yours? I have a five-star room, but if you’d prefer your own accommodations.”

“Mine is more comfortable,” she says, taking a delicate sip of the martini. “And—well-stocked.” She winks at me, and I feel my cock twitch at the myriad of possibilities that might entail. “Besides, it’s just next door.”

“Well, then.” I pay for our drinks and stand, holding out my hand to her. “Lead the way?”

“A gentleman who gets right to the point, I see. I hope you aren’t always like that.”

I move closer to her, feeling the round shape of her ass against my hips as I splay my fingers over them. “Don’t worry,” I murmur against her ear, letting my breath warm the shell of it. “I’m very thorough in all things. And I’m no gentleman.”

“I like the sound of that.” She shrugs on a heavy, fur-lined black coat, and takes my hand as we walk out into the Moscow cold.

I have no intention of letting this go the way it did with Elizabeth, and turning into another night where all I can think about is a woman I have no business wanting. I focus on anything I can to take my mind off of what Lidiya must be doing just this minute. The brush of her gloved hand against mine, the crunch of dirty city snow beneath my boots, the weight in the air promising more of it. The sounds of traffic, the streetlights shining off of my lovely companion’s face, the promise of pleasure ahead.

Her hotel is only a block away as promised, not quite as luxurious as where I’m staying, but still one of the nicest in the city. She must do well for herself, I think as we walk to the French-styled elevator, and it’s hardly a surprise. She’s beautiful and seductive in a city full of rich men who want pleasure rather than love.

Her room is soft and prettily decorated in pastels and golds, the overall color scheme of the hotel, from what I can tell. “Give me a moment while I slip into something more comfortable,” she says with a wink. “What do you think about a bubble bath and wine, to start our evening?”

“That sounds delightful.” My tense muscles agree—I’ve been on the verge of exploding with stress and arousal for days, and even two orgasms with Lidiya and more by my own hand hasn’t been enough to unwind me. I doubt this will either, but it’ll be a start, at least.

“And for the rest?” Her hand lingers above her breast. “Would you like the full experience?”

I nod.

“You can refer to the card there, to choose what you would like.”

The hallmark of a luxury escort, in my experience, is the lack of haggling. A discreet menu will tell me the prices, and she will then follow my lead, knowing that when it’s over I’ll leave an amount well over what she charges. A woman of this class never takes clients that she believes will break that understanding, and it makes it a better experience for everyone.

We can enjoy each other without worry, hesitation, or stopping to re-negotiate, and then go our own ways entirely satisfied.

I set the menu down, slipping my slim billfold out to leave the cash tucked inside the wooden box on her nightstand for that purpose, the scent of rose and lemon wafting out of it as I open it. I want the full experience, as I’d said—access to every part of her body, nothing held back, the entire night for my pleasure and everything I could possibly need to exorcise my need for Lidiya.

“Levin?” I’d forgotten when we’d exchanged names, exactly, but I remember now that hers was Ayva—or at least that was the name she gave me. I glance over to see her standing in the doorway of the bathroom, steam already wreathing the room beyond her. She’s wearing an ice blue silk robe—floor length, but with lace panels in the sides and sleeves to show glimpses of her skin as she moves, parting up to the cusp of her thighs as she steps out of the doorway, reaching for me.

“Are you ready?” Her eyes flick over me. “You’re overdressed. Let me help with that.”

I close my eyes, trying to focus on the soothing touch of her long-fingered, delicate hands as they move over my body, divesting me of my coat and shirt and pants, her nails scraping over the ridges of my abs delicately as she makes her way down to my belt, the softness of the side of her hand brushing against my hardening cock as she removes my pants. By the time she’s finished, her fingers skimming over me in touches that are meant to feel accidental but I know are entirely intentional, I’m hard, and I feel that wave of relief again.

I can still get it up for another woman.

I follow her into the warm, steamy bathroom. There’s a claw-foot tub more than big enough for two, filled to the brim with foamy bubbles, and her hands go to the belt of her robe as she undoes it, letting it first drape off of her shoulders, and then slowly slide down her back as she looks over her shoulder at me, watching me enjoy the striptease.

Her body is perfection. She’s curvy in all the right places with a hint of muscle in her back and upper arms, her thighs flexing and brushing against one another as the robe drops to the floor, her thick silky hair swishing above her full round ass as she smiles beautifully at me.

And then she turns, and I get a look at her breasts.

High, full, perky with dark-tipped nipples, matching the curly thatch of trimmed pubic hair between her thighs. She brushes her fingers over that, raising an eyebrow at me. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says softly. “I find some men like it this way. But if you’d like to shave me, or watch me shave—”

“No,” I tell her quickly. “There’s no need. I can appreciate that just as much as if you were smooth.”

Her face brightens a little at that, her mouth still curved seductively, and I watch as she gets into the tub, giving me a glimpse of the faintly swollen lips between her thighs, glistening with arousal. She’s turned on by this, I realize, and that only increases my own arousal. I like for the women I’m with to enjoy themselves, not to just endure it for the promise of the payout it will bring.

I step in behind her, groaning softly as I sink into the hot water, the bubbles frothing around us as Ayva leans back against me, between my spread thighs. Her head tilts back against my collarbone, and my cock rubs between us, swelling against the warmth of her smooth flesh and the rigid column of her spine.

“Mm,” she moans softly, reaching for my hand to place it on her breast. “You have a lovely cock. I can’t wait to have it inside of me.”

I throb against her in response, and she giggles, pressing my hand a little more firmly against her. “I love to be touched here,” she whispers, urging me to play with her breast.

I want to. Fuck, I want to. I want to do what I’ve done a hundred times before and lose myself in the pleasure of a willing, beautiful woman. The night stretches out in front of us, long and filled with hours that we could both use to pleasure each other to heights of ecstasy, and goddamn it I want that.

I don’t want complications. I don’t want love. I don’t want a woman who makes me want to forget all other women.

For fuck’s sake, Lidiya is in another man’s bed tonight. There’s no reason I can’t do the same.

Ayva’s breast fills my palm, full and warm and slick with soap, and I should squeeze it. Toy with her nipple until she moans, slide my hand between her thighs, tease her to her first climax of the night.

But I can’t.

Even my cock is softening, distracted with thoughts of Grisha’s hands on Lidiya and how much that makes me want to kill him myself. My chest tightens angrily, and I pull my hand away, pushing myself up out of the tub.

“Levin?” Ayva turns in the tub as I get out, back to her as I reach for a towel and begin angrily drying myself off. Maybe if I just take a moment—but I already know better. Never in my entire life have I not eagerly enjoyed any willing woman who caught my fancy. The fact that I’m out of the tub is, in and of itself, proof that things with Lidiya have already gone too far.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, still rubbing myself dry with the towel. “I must be more preoccupied than I realized. I’ll leave the money for you, of course, it’s not your fault that—”

Something presses into my side, sharp and pointed, and I wince.

Fuck.

“It’s not the money I’m concerned with,” she says smoothly. “And there’s a gun pointed at the back of your head as well, so don’t get any ideas, Levin Volkov.”

I hadn’t told her my last name.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Levin

There’s a knife at my side and a gun at the back of my head, and I hadn’t prepared for either.

This isn’t at all how I’d expected the night to go.

You’re getting soft. Distracted. You would have clocked her from a mile away, from the second she walked up to you in the bar, if you were on your game.

I know that’s true. And I also know that if I’m going to make it out of this alive, I’m going to have to move fast.

“Walk forward,” she says sharply, her voice much less pleasant now. “I have questions for you, and you’re going to answer them.”

“And then what?” I don’t bother hiding how fucking pissed I know I sound. “Are you going to stab or shoot me? Or is that something you’re going to decide on while we’re talking?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, the point of the knife digging a little more sharply into my side.

“I thought you wanted me to talk?”

The point twists, and I feel a small warm trickle down my skin. “Move,” she hisses, and I obey. I want her to think I’m going to cooperate, for now, at least.

A few feet to the doorway, if that. I don’t know what other weapons or tricks she has stashed away in the bedroom, and I’m not so sure I want to find out. But I also need a second to decide what I’m going to do.

I haven’t been caught this off guard in a very, very long time, and I’m cursing myself every step of the way as I walk slowly forward towards the doors that will lead back out into the bedroom.

“This night isn’t going exactly how you thought it would, is it?” she asks, her voice silkily taunting. “You thought you’d have your blade in me by the end of the night. How does it feel, knowing a woman got the jump on you?”

“I’m actually quite a fan of women jumping on me,” I tell her dryly as I step through the doorway. “In fact, if you want to renegotiate—”

“Shut up.” She pushes me forward with the point of the knife against my kidney and the muzzle of the gun hard against the back of my head. I close my eyes briefly, because I know just how dangerous my next move will be. If I don’t time it perfectly, if I don’t grab her just in time, I’ll end up badly injured or dead.

She wants answers from me, but I don’t think she’ll hesitate to kill me and miss out on them if she thinks I’ll kill her instead.

I wait until we’re just outside the doors of the bathroom. And then I duck down in the same instant that I grab for her wrist holding the knife, intending to dodge the shot that I know will go off in the same moment that I keep her from driving the blade into my side.

In the moment that I move, I stop thinking. I let my body take over, moving with the quick, effortless grace of long years of training, of situations just like this, letting my survival instinct carry me through as my hand closes around her wrist and I twist around.

The shot goes off over my head, making my ears ring, but I don’t slow down. I twist her arm sideways in the same instant that I throw up my other arm to block her as she starts to aim the gun again, knocking it to the side with a sharp blow to her hand that I know makes her fingers go numb for an instant, so that the gun lands on the floor with a soft thunk.

If I give her even a moment, she’ll rally. I have no doubt that she’s well-trained too. I can feel it in the way she moves, her lithe body twisting as she tries to get back the upper hand that she’s lost, but she’s too far at a disadvantage already.

I shove her backwards towards the doors to the bathroom, still wrestling with her grip on the knife. She tries to bring a knee up into my bare groin, and I’d never wished so much that I were wearing clothes for a fight.

In fact, I’m not altogether sure that I’ve ever fought naked before. If I have, I definitely don’t fucking remember it.

I manage to arch my hips backwards just in time to miss the blow to my balls, and I kick at her ankles with one swift motion, feeling the knife catch my side and score my flesh as she stumbles and starts to go down.

We’re very close to the tub. I hang onto her writhing body, hands in places I’d intended them to be in a very different way earlier, and manage to get her over the edge, bringing her wrist down hard on the side of the tub as I finally get her to drop the knife.

I grab for it instantly. My gun is with my clothes—that is to say, too far away to be useful to me right now. With it in one hand, I close my other hand around her throat, pushing her under the water as she kicks and tries to scream, scrabbling for my wrist, scratching at me.

Fuck. I don’t want to kill a woman. It’s something I’ve tried very hard to avoid doing. But I also can’t just let her go. She knows something—enough to come after me, and if it’s related to what I have Lidiya doing, it puts her in danger too.

That, I can’t have.

I pull her up out of the water after a few seconds pass, shaking her. “Who sent you?” I growl, glaring down at her. “If you cooperate, maybe we can work something out.”

She laughs, a choked, breathless sound. “Not a chance, Volkov. I’d rather you kill me than my boss.”

“I won’t kill you, if you cooperate. Who knows? Maybe my boss will even have a job for you, if you’re as good as I think you might be. But if you keep fighting me—“

“I’m not answering anyth—”

I push her underneath the water again, gritting my teeth. I hate every single fucking thing about this, but I can’t just let her go. If she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll have to kill her.

This night hasn’t gone at all how I’d planned.

I toss the knife aside, grabbing her with both hands as I haul her spluttering out of the water again. “You’re awfully eager to die,” I growl at her. “I just need to know how you got my name. Who sent you, and why you marked me tonight.”

“Oh, is that all?” The sarcasm in her voice is admirably thick for someone so close to the end of her life. “Just get it over with, Volkov. If you let me go, I’ll try to kill you again, but not before I try to get the answers out of you that I need. There’s your choice. Figure it out.”

She’s brave. I can see the flicker of fear in her eyes, but it’s well-disguised. She’s tough, and willing to die instead of giving up information, which means that someone important sent her. Someone able to pay for the best.

Vladimir will be pissed if he finds out about this, and knows that I didn’t interrogate her more thoroughly. I know I should interrogate her more thoroughly. The questions I have for her are ones that need to be answered, because whoever sent her will undoubtedly send someone else to finish her job.

But I draw the line at torturing women.

“One more chance.” I tighten my grip on her throat just a little, to let her know just how serious I am. “If you won’t tell me anything, then I don’t have a choice, Ayva.”

“You know that’s not my name.” Her eyes flash angrily at me. “I’m not telling you shit, Volkov.”

I don’t have a choice, just as I’d said to her. A bitter sickness fills my gut and burns the back of my throat as I shove her beneath the water, holding her against the bottom of the tub as she writhes and bucks, her body’s defenses making her unable to go to her death entirely with dignity.

When she stops thrashing and I feel her go limp under my hands, I step back, gritting my teeth against the gut-wrenching wave of sickness that I feel. It shouldn’t feel any different than any other kill, I know that—she was a spy, an assassin, someone sent to hurt me…and almost undoubtedly, to get to Lidiya. I protected one woman by killing another. But it feels terrible.

Just clean up and get out of here. Lidiya is still at Grisha’s.

I’m seized by a sudden awful need to see her, to touch her with my own two hands and know that she’s alright—not because I need her for the job, but because I want to know she’s safe. Tonight’s attack has rattled me more than anything has in a very long time, and I know that’s a problem—for both of us.

I go into autopilot, cleaning up the scene, making it look as if the woman’s death isn’t a murder at all, but a suicide. A quick slash of the knife down both wrists, the tub filling with blood, and the knife dropped into the water after I wipe it clean of fingerprints, and the scene is set. The gun I take with me along with my own, shoving them into the back of my jeans once I’m dressed.

All of this because you needed to get laid. Not a smart move, Volkov.

But it’s not as if a night with a beautiful escort has ever landed me in this kind of trouble before. Once, I’d been suspicious, but she’d just turned out to be a woman with a very dangerous air about her. I hadn’t had any reason to think that anything was out of the ordinary—

Except that you’re supposed to know. That’s your entire job.

I know that I should ask to be taken off this mission and accept the consequences. I’m clearly compromised, my judgement not what it should be, and it will make a difference. But I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s not only for my own sake—for the fact that I know I’ll face censure from Vladimir and possibly even punishment.

It’s that I can’t bear to leave Lidiya to the mercies of whoever would take my place. I can’t bear the thought of one of Vladimir’s other men hurting her, touching her, so much as looking at her—and so the same reason that I know I should walk away has become the same reason that I know I can’t.

I grit my teeth, nails biting into my palms as I do one last scan of the bathroom and quickly exit the hotel room, making sure that no one sees me as I leave. Someone might have seen me go up, but I doubt anyone will remember. In a place like this, the staff know not to talk about who leaves with the escorts, and no one else will have bothered to pay attention.

I need to talk to Lidiya.

I glance at my watch. A couple more hours, and it should be safe to call her without alerting Grisha. It’s an impulse that I know I should resist, but I can’t help thinking that someone could have come after her, too–that I could have sent her into a trap.

Just wait. Go back to the hotel and wait.

In the moment, I want to go to Grisha’s and take her out of there myself. But I force myself instead to call a cab, and go back to the hotel.

I force myself to do the job.

It’s never been so difficult.

Lidiya

Afterwards, lying next to Grisha, I feel numb.

I’d never had to fake it with him before tonight. When we were together before–before I knew everything, the infidelity and the lies and the truth about who he is as a person–it had been so good. Or at least I’d thought it had. It had been some of the best sex I’d ever had then.

Now, after what Levin and I did together, it can’t compare. We didn’t even actually have sex, and the chemistry was still so explosive that even if I didn’t know all the terrible things about Grisha, I don’t think it would have been the same.

He didn’t have any clue, though. I realized that about halfway through, when I faked an orgasm from him going down on me just to move things along, just because I didn’t want to actually come with him, and thinking about Levin was getting me close. I realized that Grisha had actually never known me as well as I’d thought he had, because he hadn’t had the slightest fucking idea. He’d thought he’d rocked my entire world, all the way until he shuddered inside of me, coming into the condom I’d insisted he put on, and then staggered to the bathroom to clean up and throw it away before falling into bed next to me.

“Stay,” he’d said, pulling me into his arms. “Stay, and you can leave in the morning. I missed sleeping with you in my arms.”

I hadn’t had any reason to say no. I’d never left before, and insisting on it now would have raised all kinds of red flags. So I lay there with his arm draped over my stomach, listening to him snore quietly in the darkness, wishing for the silence and empty bed in Levin’s hotel room. Even Levin’s presence there, and all the uncomfortable feelings it rouses in me, can’t overcome the lure of a bed that I can sprawl out in, in all the heavenly warm softness of a five-star hotel.

There’s no chance that I’m sleeping anytime soon. I stare up at the ceiling above the bed, trying not to wonder what Levin’s doing. If I think about it too hard, I’ll start to wonder if he’s out with another woman, and I know I have no right to feel the prickly sensation of jealousy that sweeps over me. Not when I’m lying in bed with another man.

Not a man that you want. A bed you were forced into. A bed he forced you into.

It does me no good to feel that way or to think those thoughts. I’m stuck in this deal, and being jealous over Levin will only make it harder. I very much doubt that he’s anywhere right now seething with jealousy over my being in Grisha’s bed.

After all, he put me here.

I close my eyes, wishing I could just sleep. If I could, then I’d wake up, get through a breakfast with Grisha, and be able to leave with the excuse of class, or studying, or whatever else I could come up with. Instead, I’m lying here with my thoughts, and none of them are particularly good or fun.

I could use this time, if I was smart about it.

The instant the thought comes into my head, my stomach curdles with fear. The idea of slipping out of bed, sneaking through Grisha’s apartment, looking through his things–it’s all terrifying. I won’t have any excuse that I can think of if I get caught.

Levin picked the wrong girl. I’m not a spy. I’m smart, but not this kind of smart. I wasn’t meant for deception, for being covert, for lying and sneaking around. I’ve never been that kind of person.

I can’t help but feel as if this is going to get me killed.

I lie there, frozen with indecision, using Grisha’s arm over my stomach as a reason not to try to get up, that it would disturb him, wake him. But if he moves–

It’s a good idea. I know it is. Anything I find shortens the amount of time I have to do this. A way of lessening my sentence.

The longer this all goes on, the more time I have to spend with Grisha, in his bed, talking to him and deceiving him and living with this knot of anxiety in my stomach that makes me want to throw up.

When he rolls over at last onto his other side, I don’t know whether to feel relieved or that much more terrified. Now I don’t have any excuse for not sneaking out, other than my own fear.

If he catches me leaving the room, or downstairs before I get into anything, I’ll say I was hungry and went looking for a snack.

I rationalize it, bit by bit, as I slowly push myself up and out of the bed, moving incrementally slowly to keep from rousing him. The bed is memory foam, the carpet soft and plush, so it’s not all that hard to keep silent. The door is still open–he hadn’t bothered closing it when we’d come upstairs, as if giving a middle finger to the idea that his wife might show up again and walk in on us.

It had felt a little like him establishing his dominance, if I’m being honest.

I take the phone with me as I slip out of the room, just in case. If Grisha wakes up and finds me gone, I don’t want him looking through it. There’s only one contact–Levin, under a fake name–and that seems like something that would raise a red flag, too.

I’ve never tried to go into Grisha’s office. I never cared, before this. I’ve spent time in every other room in the apartment, but Grisha rarely worked when I was here, and I’d never had any reason to want to go inside. Now, as I slip down the stairs and approach the office as stealthily as I can, it occurs to me that it might be locked.

It is. One turn of the knob, and I can tell I’m not getting in. Which is frustrating–because the fact that it’s locked means there’s probably something in there that would actually be useful.

I let out a breath, staring at the door. There’s nothing else I can think of. Grisha is a neat and exacting kind of man–he doesn’t leave papers or other things lying around. I can poke through the rest of the apartment, but I know I’m not going to find anything. If there’s something that would be useful to Levin, it’ll be behind that door.

But it’s not as if I can break into it.

I’m just about to go back upstairs and slip back into bed with Grisha when the phone in my hand vibrates. I nearly jump clear out of my skin, clapping my other hand over my mouth to stifle the startled squeal that nearly slips out. Quickly, I glance down at the phone, and my eyes widen.

It’s Levin.

Why the fuck is he calling me? Especially after he was so pissed at me for calling when I freaked out and left the apartment after the last date?

Emergencies only, my ass.

Quickly, I duck into the nearest room that’s open–which happens to be the guest bathroom. I close the door behind me, flipping on the light as I lock it and lean against the edge of the sink, hurriedly answering.

“Hello?” My voice is a hushed whisper, but in the silence of the house it still sounds too loud to me. “What are you doing? I’m supposed to be in bed with Grisha.”

“And you’re not?”

His voice is calm and collected as always, but I hear a hint of something else–a tension that sends a flutter of nerves through me. I can sense that something’s off.

“I was going to look through his office, see if I could find anything while he was sleeping. But it’s locked.”

“That’s my good girl.”

I can tell from the way he says it that the words came out before he meant them to. There’s a moment of silence, and I can feel a warmth spreading through me, a tightening in my belly that has nothing to do with the anxiety I felt a moment before.

“It was locked,” I repeat, my voice sounding a little more breathless than before. I hate this. I hate that he does this to me. Don’t I? “I couldn’t get in to look for anything. And he doesn’t leave stuff lying around, so that was pretty much my only chance. I was about to go back to bed when my phone went off. Why are you calling, anyway?”

I’m starting to ramble, I can hear it. I clamp my lips tightly shut, forcing the flow of words to stop as I wait for him to respond, my pulse picking up again.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

It’s such a simple, honest-sounding statement that it takes a minute for it to sink in. My chest tightens with an emotion that I know I shouldn’t be feeling–and a flicker of fear, too.

“I’m in Grisha’s apartment,” I whisper. “Where you put me. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

“No reason.” Levin clears his throat, and I have a distinct impression that he’s not entirely telling me the truth. “The date went well, I take it, if you’re still there?”

“What’s your definition of ‘well’?” I can hear the hint of resentment in my voice. “We had wine and charcuterie and I let him seduce me into ‘forgetting’ about his infidelity and the fact that he has a wife and kids, and pretended that I don’t hate his fucking guts now. Is that what you mean?”

The words are so acidic that I’m surprised they don’t burn through the phone. Levin is silent on the other end for a moment, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I wish I knew.

“You slept with him?”

I can tell he’s trying to say it without emotion, to keep the words flat and inflectionless, but I know better. Even in the short time I’ve known him, I’ve come to pick up on some of his mannerisms, the way he speaks. If I let myself think too much about it–which I’ve been trying very hard not to do–I’d chalk it up to another aspect of the chemistry that we seem to have in spades.

“Define ‘slept’. Because I haven’t gotten any sleep yet.”

I don’t know why I say it like that, exactly. What I should have said was yes, I had sex with Grisha. As far as he knows, all is right again. I did my part, and I’ll keep doing it until you say I can stop.

But a part of me wants to needle Levin, to find that vein of jealousy and dig into it, carve at it until I find out exactly why he’s so insistent that I do this job, and yet seems to hate it the entire time.

“What did the two of you do? Tell me exactly.”

I hesitate. “What do you mean? I don’t–”

“You said you slept together. What did he do? What did the two of you do together?”

Something twists in my stomach uncomfortably. “He–we started kissing on the couch, and he–”

“Did you do anything there? Did he touch you? Go down on you?”

“I don’t know why you need to know all of this.” I swallow hard, gripping the edge of the countertop with my other hand. “Levin, I–”

“Just tell me.”

There’s something sharp in his voice, a bite laced with that jealousy that I’ve heard before, that I don’t understand.

“He–” I lick my lips, keeping my voice very low, a hushed whisper that sounds too intimate for what I’m saying. “He slid his hand up my thigh on the couch. Under my dress, while he kissed me. Slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him.”

“And did you?”

My mouth feels dry. “No.”

“Did you want to?” There’s that jealousy again, that hint of sharpness in his voice. It feels like pinpricks over my skin.

“Yes. I wanted to stop him. But I couldn’t. You told me to let him do whatever he wanted, this time.”

“Because it’s the job. Your job.”

“Yes.”

I understand, in that moment, what this is. Why Levin is making me recount the details of my night with Grisha to him, why this conversation is going to go on until he’s heard all of it. He’s driving it home to both of us what this is, that this is a mission, a job, and that what happened between Levin and I in the hotel room can’t happen again. He’s trying to put an end to it by making me say it all out loud.

It’s not some strange fetish thing, like I’d thought at first–Levin wanting to hear me recount the graphic details of my night with another man. It’s a brutal method of stopping this thing that there is between us.

“Keep going.” Levin’s voice is tight. “What happened next?”

“I–” I feel like I can’t breathe. I don’t want to say all of this. But I force the words out. “He kept kissing me–his hand went up my thigh, up to my panties. He asked if I was wearing what he sent me, and I said yes.”

“Did that turn him on?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “But he was slow about it. Like he wanted to make me want him like I used to. He kissed me for a long time on the couch, touching me over the panties. He kept whispering to me how wet he wanted me to be for him. How he wanted me to be drenched by the time he got to taste me again.”

“And were you wet for him, Lidiya?”

Levin’s voice is lower now, a growling rasp. I shake my head on the other end, as if he can see it, my throat constricting.

“Not for him,” I whisper, and I hear that heavy silence again.

“Did he eat you out on the couch? Finger you until you came?”

“No.” I bite my lower lip. “I didn’t come tonight at all. I faked it.”

“Not even once?”

“No.”

“Are you wet right now?” Levin’s voice is huskier, and I can tell he’s fighting to keep the conversation on track, to keep it from taking a turn that will move it very far away from what I know he’s intending. “Is your pussy wet, Lidiya? Do you need to come?”

“He didn’t turn me on, if that’s what you’re asking.” I’m trying to sidestep the answer, because I know the last thing either of us need to hear is that the answer is yes, that I’m wet, that I’m aching, that I’m dying to come–but because I’d been imagining Levin throughout the entire thing, just to get through it, just so that Grisha didn’t have reason to ask why I wasn’t able to get aroused.

“But something did. Tell me the truth, Lidiya.”

“You know the answer.” The whisper sounds strangled even to my ears. “Levin, can we please stop talking about–”

“I need to know the rest.” His voice sounds thick too, choked. “Finish telling me, Lidiya. But do it with one hand in your panties. Rub your clit for me while you tell me, and when you’re done, you can have an orgasm as a reward for working so hard tonight.”

There’s a momentary pause as I stand there in shocked silence, wondering if I can do what he’s telling me. I shouldn’t want to–but my pussy throbs as he says it, my clit aching as I feel a fresh wave of arousal soak the thin fabric between my thighs.

“Where are you right now?” Levin asks quietly.

“In the bathroom downstairs,” I manage.

“Sit on the floor, Lidiya. I want you to spread your legs and slip your hand in your panties. Slowly, for now, while you tell me what happened.”

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, but I’m already obeying, my knees feeling weak as I slowly lower myself to the floor, the robe I’d hastily thrown on along with my panties when I’d slipped out of bed falling open as I spread my legs exactly as instructed.

“You know why, Lidiya,” Levin murmurs. “Now be a good girl, and do as you’re told.”

I do know why. He’s punishing himself for his desire and rewarding me for doing my job, while at the same time trying to force me to associate pleasure with Grisha. He’s trying to make sure I don’t run from this, that I can do it again–and trying to make sure that he doesn’t repeat what we did in the hotel room.

“Is your hand in your panties?”

Slowly, I slip my hand under the silk and lace, my fingers brushing over the smooth skin of my pussy. “Yes,” I whisper.

“I want your fingers on your clit, Lidiya. Tell me how wet you are.”

I swallow hard, pushing my fingers between the swollen outer lips. I gasp the moment my fingers touch my clit. I can’t help it–I’m drenched, so wet that my fingers slip against my flesh, and my clit is oversensitive, pulsing with a burst of pleasure the instant that I touch myself.

“I’m–very wet,” I manage. “I do need to come, Levin.”

“You’ll get to,” he assures me. “Now answer my questions, Lidiya. Did Grisha eat you out on the couch?”

“No.” I shake my head, my fingers slowly rubbing over the stiff nub of my clit, a jolt of pleasure hitting me with every slight bit of friction. “He just slipped his fingers under my panties. He kissed my neck while he did it–while he touched my clit. He said he wanted to take it slow, that he wanted me to be screaming his name by the time I finally came for him.”

“And did you?”

“Not because I wanted to.”

Levin is quiet for a moment, and I sink my teeth deeper into my lip as my fingers circle my clit, the pulse of arousal spreading through me. I don’t think I could stop now, no matter what happened.

“Are you touching yourself, too?” I ask in a hushed whisper, and I feel my entire body tighten at that, at the idea of Levin with his cock in his hand, stroking it at the same time as I’m touching myself for him.

“No,” he says sharply. “This is about you, Lidiya. What happened next? What did he do before you went to bed?”

“Just that. We stayed on the couch for a while. He kissed me and touched me, and he wouldn’t let me touch him yet. He said he wanted it to be all about me, that this was his way of making it all up to me.” I let out a shaky breath. “He slipped his fingers inside of me while he kissed me, told me how he couldn’t wait for it to be his cock inside of me again, that it had been too long–”

“And then you went upstairs?”

I nod, forgetting again that he can’t see me. “Once we were upstairs, he–he started to undress me. We both got undressed. He reached for my hand and put it on his cock, said that he missed how it felt for me to touch him. That he missed my mouth–”

“Did you suck his cock for him, Lidiya?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and I feel a sudden wave of shame, even though I know I only did exactly what I was told to do. “I went down on him. Not long–just until he said he couldn’t take it any longer, but that he wanted to make me come before he fucked me.”

“But he didn’t make you come?”

“No.” I feel my clit throb under my fingertips, and I let out a soft moan. I can’t help it. The mixture of having fantasized about Levin all night, while someone else had their fingers and tongue and cock in me, combined with his rough, accented voice in my ear as I stroke my clit, has me aching for an orgasm. “Levin–”

“You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is thicker, deeper. “You’re going to come so hard, aren’t you? But you’re not done yet.”

“I’m not–”

“What next?” There’s that sharpness again, demanding an answer. “He ate you out, didn’t he? He licked your pussy, and tried to make you come, but he couldn’t?’

“No. I couldn’t come. He went down on me for a while–did all the things I like, but I couldn’t. So I faked it.”

“And he didn’t know? Are you sure?”

“He didn’t know.” I whisper the words, almost too quietly to hear, my fingers moving faster over my stiff, throbbing clit. “And then–”

“Did you make him wear a condom? Or did you let him pull out and come on you?”

“I made him put on a condom before he fucked me. He didn’t want to, he said he was so hard it hurt, he couldn’t wait, but I insisted.”

“Good girl.” Levin’s growl in my ear makes my head fall back against the wood behind me, a pulse going through my entire body that nearly sends me over the edge. “Keep rubbing your clit, Lidiya. I want two fingers inside of you now. Fuck yourself with your hand while you tell me how he fucked you, and I’ll tell you when you can come.”

“Levin–”

“Now.”

I tuck the phone between my head and shoulder, reaching down to tug my panties aside as I obey.

The instant my fingers slip inside of my pussy I clench around them, a wave of pleasure gripping me so strongly that I moan aloud, gritting my teeth to keep it quiet. I can’t help it. “Levin, I’m so wet–”

“I know you are, malysh,” he murmurs, and a jolt goes through me at the endearment. He can’t have meant to say it, but I’m too far gone to point it out. “Tell me how he fucked you. Was it slow and sweet? Fast and hard? Did he turn you over and fuck you from behind?”

“No it was–it was missionary. He tried to be slow, but it was obvious he was too turned on by then. He didn’t last long–”

“Of course he didn’t.”

I don’t miss the derision in Levin’s tone. I know I should let it pass, but I can’t. I’m so close to the edge, my pussy tight around my fingers, my clit throbbing, and I both want to come so badly and hate that he’s made me do this. The question comes out before I can stop it.

“How long would you last?” I whisper, shoving my fingers deeper, and I hear the silence on the other end of the line.

“Long enough to make you scream my name for real, Lidiya.”

I know I’m supposed to come thinking about Grisha, talking about Grisha. I know that’s why Levin has made me do this. But that pushes me over the edge, past the point that I can control myself. “Levin, I’m coming,” I whisper, gasping as my thighs fall open, my hips jerking upwards as I shove my fingers deep into my clenching pussy, my other hand flying over my clit. “I can’t stop it, Levin–”

“Tell me how it felt when he came in you,” Levin demands. “Tell me, Lidiya.”

“It felt like nothing,” I whisper, closing my eyes as my entire body shudders, gritting my teeth against a cry of pleasure. “Levin, fuck–”

I can’t say anything else. It’s all I can do to keep quiet as I come hard, my entire body wracked with the pleasure I needed so badly, and it’s Levin’s voice that makes me spasm with sensation like nothing I’ve ever felt, that makes me soak my hand with another burst of arousal, the orgasm crashing over me in waves that make me lose speech and thought and everything else for several seconds until I’m sitting there shuddering, limp as I slowly take my hands away from my throbbing pussy.

“Are you still there?” I whisper hoarsely, and for a moment, from the silence, I think he’s hung up.

“Did you enjoy that, Lidiya?” Levin asks, his voice so tight and hoarse that I know what he’s feeling. I can imagine how hard he is, his cock thick and swollen and rigid, begging to be touched, and I feel another wave of desire as I imagine getting on my knees for him in the hotel room, swallowing his cock down until he came for me as hard as I just did for him.

It was for him, regardless of how either of us might want to pretend otherwise.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I didn’t enjoy the rest of the night, but I enjoyed that.”

“Think of that, the next time you fuck him,” Levin says. “Because you’re going to have to fuck him again in the morning, Lidiya. That’s what you would do, after you’ve made up. You’d wake up and let him slide his cock into you again, and you’d moan his name and tell him how much you missed it, and rub your clit for him while he fucks you and comes in you again.”

“Is that what you want to do?” The words come out again before I can stop them. “Do you want to wake me up with your cock, Levin?”

“Lidiya.” His voice has a warning note in it that I recognize instantly. “Don’t play this game. It’s not going to end well for either of us, if you do.”

“You wanted me to do this to make me want Grisha. I get the reverse psychology.” I swallow hard, feeling that bitter twist in my stomach again, now that the arousal is fading. “But I thought about you while he fucked me, Levin. I thought about you cuffing me to your bed and eating me out until I came. I thought about your cock in my mouth and how good your cum tasted. I thought about how badly I wanted your big fucking cock inside of me. So you can think about that tonight, while you’re in the hotel room trying not to jerk off, because you know you’re going to remember the taste of me on your lips while you come in your hand.”

“Lidiya.”

“Goodnight, Levin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hang up the phone before he can say another word.

My heart is pounding as I lower the phone into my lap, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. I know mouthing off to him like that wasn’t the right choice. But I couldn’t help it.

It’s clear now that this is torturing him in its own way, just as it is me. And despite the fact that I’ve never had a particularly petty bone in my body until now, apparently, I can’t help but think the same thing, over and over, just as I had when I realized that I was going to be fantasizing about Levin while Grisha fucked me.

Good.

Lidiya

In the morning, with a clearer head, I’m shocked by what Levin made me do. I think about it as Grisha does exactly what Levin had predicted–wake up hard and eager for me, curling himself behind me as he kisses the back of my neck and slips on another condom before slipping into me.

I don’t come. I can’t. It all feels wrong now. I can’t make myself want him, or muster the slightest bit of desire for him. I lie there waiting for it to be over, making the noises that I know I’m supposed to make, moaning his name until he shudders behind me and I know he’s finished.

All I want is to go back to the hotel and take a nap. I make it through breakfast, smiling and nodding as Grisha makes small talk with me, asking about class and talking about things we could do together, now that we’ve made up. It’s clear that he considers the entire “messy business” of his wife catching us in the past and feels as if our relationship is back on solid ground.

Which is good, technically. It’s what was supposed to happen. But right now, it feels like fucking hell.

“If we’re going to do this long term,” I mention casually as I spread artisanal strawberry jam on a piece of toast, “shouldn’t I know a little more about what you do? I mean, if we’re going to build a life together–you know what I do–”

“About that.” Grisha smiles. “Is it really what you want, Lidiya? I mean–to be out in the field. If you wanted to go straight into a doctorate program, I could help you get on a fast track to tenure. I have connections. If you don’t want to spend all that time digging in the dirt, out in the heat and in such poor living conditions–”

He lets out a shudder as I stare at him, trying to school my face into something appropriate for the conversation. The idea that I would want to skip the entire part of my job that I’ve been working towards, that I would want to never go out into the field, on a dig, is absolutely insane to me. But it makes perfect sense if I think about the kind of man Grisha is–and it makes me wonder how I ever thought that we were right for each other, that we ever could have been.

Of course he would see being out in desert heat, sweating over a dig site as I toiled away under the sun looking for artifacts and bits of pottery and old ruins, as absolute misery. Of course he would see being in an office, presiding over students, being in charge, as preferable to that. Grisha is a man who likes luxury, comfort, power, and attention.

None of those things have ever particularly mattered to me.

“We can talk about it,” I say carefully. “I’ve waited a long time to get to go out on a dig. I was meant to go to Rome this summer. So I think it’s something I’d have to consider–”

“I hate the idea of you being away from me for so long.” He reaches for my hand, stroking the back of it, as if that’s meant to be romantic. “How long does something like that go on, anyway? Three months?”

“Four, for something like this, mid-school year. But when I’m working, longer, maybe. It’s what I’ve always wanted, though. This is my dream.”

“Of course.” His tone is meant to be soothing, I think, but it just sounds condescending to my ears. “I want you to be happy, Lidiya. It’s just that I’m thinking of what might be best for us–”

“I still don’t know anything about what you do.” I hope my expression is more curious than annoyed. “I’m really interested. I know you said it’s boring, but I want to know more about you, more than what we’ve shared in the past, especially if–”

“--if we’re going to have a life together. Yes, I know.” Grish frowns slightly. “It’s all just business, Lidiya. I make investments. It’s very hard to explain to someone who isn’t in this kind of field. I give others money, invest in their ventures, in order to make more money of my own. Nothing all that interesting, really.”

He’s impressively vague, I have to give him that. “What kind of businesses?” I ask innocently, taking a bite out of my toast. “Anything that you’re particularly excited about?”

“Tech, mostly,” he says with a tight smile. “Some brick-and-mortar establishments. Restaurants or bars, that sort of thing.”

“I’d love to go to one that you’d invested in, sometime.” I flash him a smile. “See what you’ve helped create.’

“Of course.” He takes one last bite of his own breakfast, standing up. “But I have to get to work now, actually. I can call you a cab home–”

“I’ll get it. I can lock up as I leave. I just want to finish eating.”

“Of course.” He leans in as he walks around the central island where we’d sat for breakfast, giving me a lingering kiss on the lips. “I want to see you again soon, Lidiya. Tomorrow night, maybe?”

“Sure.” I force a smile, even as I feel my stomach tighten with anxiety. “I’d love that.”

Before I leave the apartment, once Grisha’s gone, I poke around once more to see if he left any keys behind, any way that I might be able to get into his office. I check every room, even rifling through the dresser in the bedroom, but there’s nothing.

Feeling slightly defeated, I call Levin, who tells me that he’ll pick me up two blocks from the apartment. I slip on my coat and gloves, wishing more than anything that I wouldn’t have to come back here again. I want nothing more to do with Grisha, especially after this morning’s discussion.

But I don’t have a choice.

Levin is markedly silent as I slip into the car. I look over at him, at the profile of his chiseled, handsome face, now with a ghost of stubble on his chin, and I can hear his voice in my ear all over again, telling me to touch myself, telling me to come.

Now I feel the desire that I couldn’t muster this morning. Sitting next to him, I feel hot and cold all over, my skin tingling as I fold my hands into my lap and wait for him to say something.

“Did you find anything out?” Levin asks finally as we near the hotel.

“Not really. I tried to ask him some questions about his business, but it didn’t get far. He’s very tight-lipped about it all.”

“As expected. But you’ll need to find something out. Try to talk to him after sex, when he’s in a good mood, relaxed.”

“That should have been this morning.” There’s a sharp note in my voice, as if I want Levin to know what happened. I want him to be jealous. I want to see his jaw tighten, see his hands flex on the steering wheel–and I get exactly that.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly.

“What? You don’t want a play by play of this morning, too? Maybe I can masturbate for you in the hotel room while I explain exactly how Grisha woke me up with his cock–”

“Lidiya!”

Levin’s voice booms through the car, and I go instantly small and silent, shrinking down in my seat.

“I had my reasons for what I did last night,” he says quietly. “But it may not have been the best way to go about it. We won’t talk about it again.”

Part of me wants to resist, to keep baiting him. But I know, deep down, that it’s for the best if we don’t talk about it.

I can’t manage what’s going on between Levin and I, the tension and chemistry that now constantly feels as if it’s on the verge of exploding, and also focus on this job that I have to do without fucking it up. I feel like I’m constantly on a razor-thin wire of making sure that I don’t do or say something that will give away to Grisha that I don’t want or care for him any longer.

I’ve never had to lie to or deceive anyone like this. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“He wants to see you again?” Levin asks tersely as we pull into the hotel, and I nod.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Good,” is all Levin replies–but from the tone of his voice, it doesn’t sound very much to me as if he thinks it’s good at all.

—

It doesn’t get easier. The next date that Grisha takes me on is to a restaurant that he says he’s invested in, as per my request–a glossy, modern tapas place that’s good, though I can’t really enjoy the food on account of my nerves. I know what’s going to be expected when we go back to his apartment, and I’m dreading it.

I don’t feel as if I’m accomplishing much. He stays cagey about his work and the details of it, always turning it back to me and my degree program. He talks about how he could invest in the department, to help secure my tenure and position there, about his interest in putting more money into things like that, but everything is couched in vague details about where that money comes from, exactly. It’s all said with the tone of someone who wants to say don’t worry your pretty little head about it, but knows better than to use those exact words, and it frustrates me to no end. It also makes me want to be around him less and less.

I try to do what Levin suggested, to pry more information out of him after sex, but he falls asleep almost immediately, just like the first night, curled against me with an arm over my stomach.

I don’t bother trying to get up to snoop again, and I turn the phone off, so that Levin can’t call me. If he needs to talk to me, he can do so when he picks me up again in the morning.

It goes on like that for nearly two weeks. Grisha and I see each other almost every other day, and on the days in between, I stay in the hotel room, feeling as if I’m on the verge of climbing the walls with frustration. Levin makes himself scarce, our conversations brief and focused on what I’m finding out about Grisha–or rather what I’m not–and that frustrates me too, if for no other reason than I want to talk to him and know that I shouldn’t.

I want out. I want this to be over, and I spend the time alone wracking my brain for more ways that I can find the information that Levin needs. Grisha hasn’t let anything spill by accident, and I’m running out of ways to ask him questions that don’t sound suspicious. I haven’t seen my babushka, and even though Levin allowed me to call her once to check in on her, I’m acutely aware of the loss of that time, too.

My entire life is on hold right now. My classes, my time with my grandmother, my social life–everything. I didn’t have many friends to miss me or for me to miss in return, I was always too busy and focused on other things, but my entire world has narrowed down to this hotel room and the job I’ve been forced into, and I want it to end.

Whatever the outcome, I want my freedom.

Which is why I come up with an idea that I can tell Levin immediately hates, even though he knows it’s a good one.

“I’ll go surprise him at his office,” I tell Levin in the morning, on one of the days that I’m not supposed to see Grisha. “He did tell me where that is. Maybe I can get a glimpse of something on his desk. While–”

“Sure,” Levin says sharply, cutting me off. “I’ll drop you off a few blocks away, and then meet you after. Try to keep a mental note of anything you see. I’ll scope the building out as well–we might be able to send someone in to look around his office after hours. This might help us, Lidiya.”

There’s a faint note of encouragement in his voice, but it’s mostly overshadowed by the bite of jealousy that I hear. Something twists in my gut at the idea of Levin sitting in the car, waiting for me to be finished with Grisha, but it’s followed by the equally bitter thought that I’m doing this because he said I have to. I shouldn’t have to feel bad about it, too.

The knot in my stomach persists all the way up to Grisha’s office. His secretary looks surprised to see me, and I play it off as well as I can, unsure if she knows who I am. I stand there, on edge, as she calls him and frowns as she sets the phone back down, eyeing me.

“He says to go on in.”

It occurs to me that Grisha might not exactly be happy to see me. I’ve never caught him off guard like this, and I don’t know if he’s the sort of man who likes surprises–at least not this kind. But when I open the door and step in, all I see is a pleased, hungry light in his eyes as he stands up and comes around the desk to greet me.

“Lidiya! What a surprise.” He reaches for me, pulling me into his arms for a kiss. “I was about to go on my lunch break, but now that you’re here–”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and I force what I hope is a seductive smile onto my face. “That’s exactly why I came. I thought you could use something sweet.”

I’d thought the line might be too much, but he falls for it entirely. “I am very hungry,” he murmurs, starting to back me towards the couch that’s nestled against the back wall of his office, but I stop him, putting my hands on his chest with the most sultry expression I can muster.

“I actually–have a little bit of a fantasy,” I whisper shyly. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you bending me over your desk, in front of that big window, so I can see you reflected in it while you–”

“What a naughty girl.” Grisha grins, pulling me in for another kiss. “I do want to make all your dreams come true, Lidiya. We can absolutely start there.”

He turns me, backing me towards the desk, which I can see is covered in papers and files. I don’t know how much of it I’m going to get to read, but there’s a reason I’d asked for exactly what I did.

“I don’t have a condom,” Grisha murmurs. “I want to come in you so badly, Lidiya. The thought of sending you home full of my cum–”

“You have to pull out,” I whisper. “We can’t risk–”

“No, you’re right, of course.” His voice sounds slightly strangled. “If you want to go down on me instead–”

“No, I want you inside of me.” It feels almost impossible to force the words out, but I manage it. “Just pull out.”

“I can finish in your mouth?”

I nod, desperate to get this done with. I hope he interprets it as eagerness, instead, and I think he does, because I’m back against the desk in an instant, his hands sliding over me as my ass presses against the edge.

Grisha turns me, pushing me face down as his hands grab for my skirt, and I hear his groan as he tugs my panties down, and the sound of his zipper. For a minute, I think he’s going to get straight to it, but I feel him kneel down behind me, and I know he’s going to draw this out.

Fuck. At least it’ll give me more time to snoop.

It requires a remarkable amount of concentration to fake pleasure while trying to read. I moan as convincingly as I can as Grisha eats me out from behind, scanning the names on the files, the papers, looking for anything that stands out, until I decide it’s gone on long enough and grip the edge of the desk, letting out a long, shuddering moan that I hope convinces him that I came on his tongue.

I wasn’t even fucking close.

“Oh god, Lidiya–” Grisha is on his feet, his hand on my back, pressing me down as he fumbles with his cock. “I’ve wanted to be in you like this for so long, to feel you, really feel you–”

It’s all I can do to tune him out as he pushes himself inside of me, thrusting hard and fast as I try to focus on what’s in front of me on the desk. I see the name Fernandez, a ledger sheet, and a file that says shipments, just as Grisha gives one final, shuddering thrust and jerks out of me.

I know what I’m supposed to do. I have to fight the urge to gag as I sink down on my knees, reaching for him as he grabs the back of my head, going over what I saw again and again so I don’t forget it when I go back down to Levin.

Levin. I imagine it’s him, his cock in my mouth, his hot cum on my tongue, and that keeps me from gagging as I swallow, hearing Grisha’s groan of pleasure above me.

“That was quite the surprise,” he says breathlessly, when I stand up again, adjusting my dress. “And I have one for you, Lidiya. I was going to tell you when I saw you again, but after that, I think you deserve it now.”

“Oh?” I blink at him, trying to stay engaged. I want to leave, to get out of the office, but I force myself to look curious, to lean in towards him as if I want to be here.

“I’m going on a business trip to Mexico. I leave Friday. I know you have class next week, but if you could be convinced–” he steps forward, rubbing his hands over my arms. “We’ve never gone on vacation together. I know I’ll be working for some of it, but it could be a real step forward in our relationship–”

“I’ll have to see if my professors will let me get away with missing– make sure nothing is due. But that sounds wonderful,” I add quickly, before Grisha can feel rebuffed. “I want to go! I just have to check a few things first. Is that alright?”

I chew on my lower lip, trying to look anxiously excited, and Grisha buys it. He grins, squeezing my arms lightly. “Just let me know when I see you tomorrow,” he says. “I’ve planned quite a special night for us, and if you tell me yes, that will just make it all the better.”

“I’ll find out,” I promise him, leaning in for one more kiss. He dodges it, and I have a second to realize why–that he’d just come in my mouth–before he kisses me on the cheek. It pisses me off, and I have to fight not to show it.

I blew you and swallowed your cum, the least you could do is kiss me after.

I want nothing more than to get the taste of him out of my fucking mouth.

“I’ll see you later,” Grisha says, giving me one more kiss on the cheek, and then I’m free.

I text Levin on my way down, grimacing as I walk the two blocks to where we’re meant to meet. I see the car waiting for me, and I slip inside, only to see the taut, irritated expression on his face when I do.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, equal irritation bleeding through in my tone.

“Why would anything be wrong?” Levin bites out as he puts the car into gear.

“I don’t know, because I just whored myself out for more information, and you have a look on your face like you’re the one who had to get fucked up there?”

The words burst out before I can stop them, and Levin throws me a sharp, angry glare. “Lidiya–”

“Don’t fucking Lidiya me. I don’t want to do this, and you know it, but I’m fucking sucking it up and doing it anyway–quite fucking literally. All you have to do is sit there and wait for me to come back. The way I see it, you have the easiest part of the fucking job–”

Levin turns the car so abruptly that I swing sideways, smacking my shoulder into the door as he wheels the car into an alley, coming to an abrupt idling stop as he turns sharply to glare at me.

“Lidiya, you have no fucking idea–”

“About what?” I hiss. “I wish someone would tell me something, because all of this vague bullshit is getting really–”

He unsnaps my seatbelt so fast that it takes me a moment to register it, and by the time I realize that it’s sliding off, he’s already grabbed me by both arms, hauling me towards him as his mouth comes crashing onto mine, hot and hard and almost violent with the way he kisses me.

His tongue slides into my mouth possessively as his hands grip me hard, and I feel myself melting into it as his mouth slants over mine, his groan filling the car as I realize with horror what him kissing me means.

I twist away as hard as I can, breaking the kiss. “You don’t want to do that,” I whisper breathlessly. “Grisha–”

“I don’t give a fuck what Grisha did,” Levin growls. “But if you’ve got the taste of him in your mouth, I want it out.”

His lips come down hard on mine again, and one of his hands lets go of my arm, sliding down my body as he fumbles with my skirt. I can feel his shuddering intake of breath as his fingers find the edge of my panties, pushing eagerly beneath the edge of them, and he groans again as he finds out how instantly wet I am for him, from the moment his lips touched mine.

“Bladya, Lidiya–”

“Levin–” I gasp his name against his mouth, my entire body suddenly tight with need, aching. “Please–”

“Do you want me to make you come, malysh?” That endearment again, murmured against my lips. “Do you want my fingers inside of you? Do you want to feel me instead of him?”

“Yes. Yes, please.” There’s no hesitation, no point in pretending otherwise. I’m desperate for him, desperate to write over the memory of a few minutes ago, desperate for other hands on my body. I reach for his zipper, instantly feeling the thick, hard ridge of his cock under my hand, and I squeeze him lightly as I start to tug the zipper down.

“Lidiya, no–”

“I want you in my mouth.” I swallow hard, rubbing my hand over his cock, feeling it throb through his jeans. “I want to suck you off while your fingers are in me, while you make me come. Please, Levin–”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head back as his fingers move beneath my panties, teasing me. “How do you expect me to say no, when you beg for my cock like that?”

“I expect you to say yes,” I breathe as I pull his zipper down, my hand slipping inside to find the hot, straining flesh of his cock, and I tug it out, lowering my head to press my lips against the swollen head.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Levin groans, and I feel his fingers slide lower, pressing against my entrance as I wrap my lips around his cockhead, teasing beneath it with my tongue. “Fuck yes, Lidiya, fuck–”

His fingers fight to get deeper, underneath the edge of my panties, and I hear his growl of frustration in the instant before I feel his hand tighten around them–and then suddenly they’re torn, ripped away from me as I feel a rush of cool air against my drenched pussy, and then suddenly two of Levin’s fingers are inside of me, deep and thrusting, and I cry out around his cock.

“That’s better,” he growls, his fingers curling as I slide down his cock, rubbing against my most sensitive spots as I struggle to get my lips all the way around him. “Fuck, Lidiya, you’re so wet for me. So hot and tight–”

I want to tell him he can fuck me. I want to tell him to find out just how tight I feel around his cock, to pick me up and set me down on it, fuck me right here in the car while I scream his name. I’ve never been this wanton, never felt so desperately aroused before, but I want him.

I also know that’s going a step too far.

His other hand runs through my hair as I slide my lips down his cock, sucking and licking as I hear him groan above me. “Reach down and rub your clit while I finger you, Lidiya,” he murmurs. “I want you touching yourself while I make you come with my cock down your throat.”

His filthy, accented words drive me even higher, even closer to the edge as my back arches, pushing back on his thrusting fingers, my own hand fumbling beneath me to find my slick, aching clit as I take him all the way into the back of my throat, choking on his cock as I come up again.

“God, that’s so fucking good–”

It is. It feels so fucking good, his fingers better than most cocks I’ve had, combined with the lewd rush of touching myself for him, my fingers circling my clit in the perfect rhythm as he thrusts his inside of me, and when he pushes a third inside, I moan helplessly around his cock.

“Are you going to swallow my cum like a good girl? Are you going to drench my fucking hand while you do, krastoka?”

I nod, unwilling to stop sucking him for even a moment to answer. He feels good, filling up my mouth, stretching my lips as I slide up, sucking on the head as I tease the underside with my tongue and then go back down again, feeling almost desperate to taste his cum. I can taste some of it already, slick against my tongue as I go all the way down again, and Levin lets out a gasping moan, his fingers pushing as deeply as they can go inside of me.

“Fuck, I’m going to come soon–fuck–”

I know he is. I can feel him hardening, throbbing, feel the rush of pre-cum over my tongue, and I’m on the edge too. I ride his hand, thrusting backwards against every shove of his fingers inside of me, my own fingers rubbing my clit hard and fast, and I feel my entire body tightening on the verge of climax as he swells in my mouth, and I hear him groan above me, his hand tightening in my hair as the first hot rush of his cum spurts over my tongue.

“Oh god, Lidiya, fuck, fuck–”

I come apart at the seams. I’m not sure I’ve ever come so hard in my life, my vision swimming as I take as much of his cock as I can, his cum filling my mouth and spurting down my throat as I swallow, my own body convulsing with pleasure as I feel my arousal drenching Levin’s hand, my clit throbbing under my fingers, both of us coming together in a tidal wave of pleasure that makes me feel as if I’m drowning in it. As if I could die from how fucking good it feels.

I don’t stop until I know he’s finished coming. I rub my tongue over the underside of his cock, and he shudders, his fingers gently slipping under my chin to urge my mouth off of his cock. “It’s too much,” he murmurs, and I clench around the fingers that are still inside of me, reluctant to lose his touch as he slips his hand out from between my thighs.

I feel almost shy as I sit back, fixing my skirt as Levin tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping up his fly. His skin is flushed, his chest heaving, and as he glances over at me, he grins, lifting his hand to his mouth as he licks away the glistening arousal still clinging to his fingers.

“You taste delicious,” he murmurs. “If it weren’t so risky, I’d lay this seat back and pull you onto my face right now, just so I could taste how hard I made you come.”

The shiver that goes through me is palpable. “I didn’t mean to–” I whisper, swallowing hard, remembering too late that we’re not supposed to be doing this. That the more we do this, the harder everything will be in the end.

“You didn’t do anything,” Levin says gently–more gently than I’m accustomed to him speaking. “If that was anyone’s fault, it was mine.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t regret it, comes to mind, along with I’d like to do it again, and I’m glad you did. But what comes out instead is more pertinent to the job, but probably not what either of us wants to hear right now.

“Grisha asked me to go on a business trip to Mexico with him. Leaving Friday.”

I see Levin’s entire face shut down, hardening, his jaw going tight. I see the man that I met that first day in the hotel room again, the man who is here on a job and nothing else, and it shouldn’t send a spike of pain through me. It shouldn’t hurt. But it does.

“I saw a name on his desk. Fernandez. A ledger sheet, some other paperwork. Shipping manifests, I think. If it helps–”

“What did you tell him about the trip?” Levin asks tightly, and I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“I told him that I had to talk to my professors first. That I’d get back to him–”

“You should go.”

I blink at him, surprised. “Isn’t it too dangerous? I thought you’d–”

“It’s a good idea. You’ll be with him while he’s on business, so he may be more willing to let something slip. You might even meet some of the men he’s working with, depending on how much he lets you see. You might get a better idea of what he’s doing.”

“And I’m going to go alone?” Fear courses through me, chilling me down to the bone, until I feel sick.

“No, of course not.” Levin looks over at me, a hint of surprise in his face, and I relax a fraction. “I’ll follow you there, once you have the details of where you’ll be staying. I’ll stay out of sight, but I’ll be there if you need me to pull you out of trouble.”

That’s when it hits me–the one thing I hadn’t really thought about in all of this, at least partially because I hadn’t thought that Levin would think the trip was a good idea. I’m going to be staying with Grisha the entire time. No going back to Levin’s hotel in between, no brief respites, no time with Levin at all. I’ll be entirely at Grisha’s beck and call.

It shouldn’t make me sad. It’s a step in the right direction, if anything, a chance for me to spend enough time with Grisha that this job can finally come to an end. I should be just as eager to be free of Levin as I am Grisha.

Once I’m done with this mission, I’ll never see Levin again.

That’s the way it’s supposed to be. But that doesn’t stop me, somehow, from saying the thing in my head.

“I’m glad you’re coming. I’ll feel safer with you there.”

Levin says nothing. But I know he heard me.

Levin

I’ve never been so aware in my life of how deeply I’ve fucked up.

Lidiya has gotten beneath my skin, in a way that no other woman ever has–in a way that I thought no woman ever could. What we did in the alley, what I did, was a mistake.

I know it was. But I couldn’t fucking help myself.

It had been fucking torture, sitting in the car and knowing she was up in that building with Grisha, his hands and mouth on her, him inside of her. I’d wanted to go up there and drag him off of her, throw him through the window of his office and watch him fall all the way down to the street. I’d sat there thinking a litany of murderous thoughts, and when she’d come back down to the car with her hair rumpled and her skin flushed, all I’d been able to think about was erasing every hint of his touch on her.

I hadn’t meant for it to go further than a kiss. I really fucking hadn’t. But Lidiya Petrovna, for all that she’s nothing like the kinds of women that have driven me crazy in the past, is like a fucking drug to me. Like catnip. She makes me feel insane.

And when she begs for me–

I lay in the hotel room the night of her next date with Grisha, cursing him, cursing Vladimir, cursing this entire fucking job. It feels almost unbearable that she’s with him, and it’s only going to get worse when I have to follow them to fucking Mexico, and watch while he treats her as if they’re on a romantic vacation.

I don’t bother trying to go out and find another woman to blow off steam with any longer. I know it won’t fucking change anything. Lidiya is who consumes my thoughts, the only woman who gets me hard now, and I can’t help but wonder if this has broken something in me–what the hell I’m going to do when she’s gone.

Because after this mission, she will be gone, and there’s not a damned thing I can or should do about it.

I spend the better part of the first hour after she leaves the hotel room in the bathroom, fist around my cock as I remember how her mouth felt on me, the scent and taste of her, how she’d clenched around my fingers as she came. How fucking wet she’d been, tight and hot and perfect, and how badly I want to fuck her. I grip the edge of the countertop until my knuckles turn white and I’m gripping my cock almost as hard, desperate to come and take the edge off.

When I do, it feels hollow. A few hours later, I’m doing the same thing on the couch, eyes closed tight as I try not to think about her with Grisha, and try to remember anything else. Her up against the door of this hotel room, coming on my fingers as she jerked me off. Her cuffed to my bed while I ate her sweet pussy until she couldn’t take any more. Her mouth on me in the car after she’d begged for me.

It’s not enough. I need her. I need to be inside of her, and my fist just isn’t fucking good enough any longer. I let out a growl of frustration when I come, my cock still stubbornly deflating only a little even after I spurt another orgasm all over my fist, groaning Lidiya’s name as I do.

I’m going to go mad if this isn’t over soon.

Knowing she’s sleeping in his bed is even worse. I fight the urge to call her, eventually drifting into a restless sleep until my alarm goes off in the morning and I know that it’s time to pick her up. We go back to the hotel in silence, and I close the door behind us as we walk in, Lidiya’s entire posture awkward and stiff.

“I told him yes to the trip,” she says quietly. “So we leave on Friday. I wrote all the details down–where we’ll be staying, all of it. Everything that I could get him to tell me. I’m guessing he’s going there on the business that you told me about–whatever has to do with the cartel, but he’s not telling me much about that.”

“That’s fine. The fact that you’re going at all will help. I’ll be there too, and any bits of information you can tell me I can follow up on. We’ll do this together.”

She flinches at that. I hadn’t meant to say it. I feel as if it’s taking everything in me not to pick her up and toss her back onto the bed, to take what I need so badly and what I know she wants to give me. I’ve never wanted any woman so badly in my life.

“Levin–” she says my name hesitantly, and I look up at her.

“What?”

“Is there something I can do? Something more, I mean–”

You can take off that dress and lay back on the bed and let me fuck you until we both come. You can ride my cock until I’m so drained I can’t move. You can–

“Levin?”

“I need to go. I need to be somewhere else.” The words come out tight and strangled in my throat. “I’m sure you want to rest–”

“Are you angry with me?” Her voice is smaller than I’ve heard it before, strained with what I can only imagine is the stress and anxiety of the past weeks. “I’ve done my best.”

“I’m not angry.” I grit my teeth, trying to measure what words come out of my mouth next. “But if I don’t find somewhere else to be in the next few minutes, Lidiya, you’re going to end up with your skirt up around your hips while I bury my face between your legs. So I need to leave.”

Her eyes widen, her soft, full lips parting slightly, and I think I know what she’s going to say before she does, but I can’t leave in time to keep it from ensnaring us both. I can see the longing in her eyes, what she needs, and fuck I want to give it to her.

“What if I told you that I want you to do that?” she whispers, her voice slightly strangled. “What if I told you it helps, not having to remember him touching me, because I can think about you touching me instead?”

Something tightens in my chest, a feeling sweeping through me that I can’t entirely put a name to. I cross the room towards her in a few quick strides, and I hear her sharp intake of breath as I stand in front of where she’s sitting on the bed, stepping between her legs as one hand grabs her knee and the other cups the side of her face.

“Are you trying to tell me that you think about me, when you’re in bed with Grisha?” I murmur, looking down at her soft blue eyes. “Are you fantasizing about me, Lidiya?”

She swallows hard, and I think for a moment that she’s going to try to lie, to say no. I press my palm against the side of her face, one thumb brushing over her full lower lip. “Don’t lie to me, malysh,” I murmur softly.

Slowly, she nods, her eyes still fixed on mine. “It makes it easier,” she whispers. “Thinking about–”

“Thinking about what?” My hand slides up her knee, pushing the dress up higher, inch by inch as my fingers slide over her smooth, soft skin. Just touching her makes me ache, my entire body tightening with the wave of need for her. It feels almost impossible not to take this all the way, not to spill her back onto the bed and spread her legs wide and thrust myself deeply into her, but I know I can only go so far. It has to be about her, or I’ll lose myself entirely.

“What we’ve done–what we–”

“Tell me, malysh.” I brush my fingers over her lips again, and I’m aching to kiss her, to feel her lips part under mine, to feel the warm heat of her tongue in my mouth. But instead, I kneel down, pushing her skirt up the rest of the way with both hands as I gently spread her knees wider apart. “Tell me what you think about.”

“I–” she sucks in a breath as I turn my head, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. “I think about this.”

“You’ll have to be a little more detailed than that, malysh,” I murmur, sliding my lips up, over the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “Do you think about my lips here? Or somewhere else?”

“Higher,” she whispers, her voice choked. “Please, Levin–”

“Here?” I brush my lips against the very top of her thigh, close to the crease there, my hands pushing her knees wider. “Or here?”

She cries out when I press my lips against the lacy front of her panties, my warm breath against the soft material, and I run my tongue over her there, tasting her through it. “Here, Lidiya?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “I think about that. I think about how good your tongue feels, oh god, Levin–”

Hearing my name on her lips drives me wild. I reach up, grabbing the edge of her panties as I yank them down, and she moans breathlessly above me, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. “Please,” she breathes. “Please, Levin.”

“God, you drive me fucking insane when you beg.” My voice is a low growl now, my cock throbbing, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to stand up and drive myself into her. She would feel so fucking good, hot and wet and tight, and I close my eyes, forcing the thought back.

“This is what I think about,” she whispers as I reach for her, spreading her open with my fingers so I can see her, wet and swollen and pink, and I flick my tongue out, tracing the edge of her clit as she shudders and cries out, her back arching.

“What else?” I murmur, sliding my tongue over her again, groaning at the sweet taste of her. “What else do you imagine, Lidiya?”

“I–” she moans again as I slide my tongue over her swollen folds, circling her entrance as she clutches the edge of the bed, her hips arching upwards towards my mouth. “I think about what it would feel like for you to fuck me.”

Oh fuck. The admission sends a shockwave of lust through me, tightening every inch of my body, my cock throbbing madly as I close my eyes, pushing my tongue inside of her. She gasps, arching her back, her thighs splayed wide for me, and I want my cock in her so badly that it hurts.

“You’re so big,” she whispers. “When I go down on you, when you fill my mouth up, I think about how good it would feel inside of me. That’s what I think about, when I’m with–”

She cries out again as I thrust my tongue in her, curling it, fucking her with my tongue the way I wish I could with my cock, and her head falls back, her entire body shuddering with pleasure. “I think about your cock inside of me instead,” she moans. “I think about how good it would feel. How much I want it–”

“Fuck, Lidiya–” I slide my tongue out of her, lashing it upwards as she bucks her hips, her eyes wide and glassy with pleasure as she looks down at me. “You don’t know how fucking badly I want that right now–”

“I do,” she pants. “I’m thinking about it right now. I wish you’d make me come with your tongue and then fuck me, fill me up with your big fucking cock–”

She has the filthiest mouth of any woman I’ve ever known, and combined with her delicate, sweet sort of prettiness, it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced. “I can’t,” I whisper, my cock throbbing angrily in protest as I say it. “But I’m going to make you come so fucking hard on my tongue, malysh–”

And then I suck her clit into my mouth, pushing two fingers into her as I do, and her scream of pleasure is music to my ears.

Her entire body shudders and twists, her arousal flooding over my tongue as she clenches around my fingers, her pussy fluttering rhythmically as she comes, and for a moment I think I’m going to lose control of my own orgasm.

“Levin!” she shrieks my name, and the way she sounds, the way she tastes drives me wild. I grip her thighs, holding her there as I lash my tongue over her clit, sucking at her sensitive flesh until I can hear her almost sobbing with pleasure, trembling under my hands and mouth.

Gently, I flutter my tongue over her clit once more as I let her go, tracing the tip of it over her flesh as she lets out another breathless gasp, and then I start to stand up, feeling shaky myself from how fucking aroused I am.

“Wait,” she gasps, grabbing my hand. “You need to come too.”

“That’s not what this is about,” I tell her gently. “What I want to do to you, Lidiya–I don’t know if I can stop if I start. If I feel your mouth–”

She swallows hard, her skin flushed prettily, her eyes still glazed with pleasure as she sits back a little, her gaze fixed lewdly on mine as she spreads her legs wide for me, giving me a full, unrestrained view of her perfect bare pussy, swollen and glistening with her orgasm.

“Then touch yourself,” she whispers. “If you can’t let me touch you without going too far, do it yourself while I watch.”

“Lidiya–”

“You can come on me.” She reaches down, her fingers spreading herself open, letting me see every inch of her. “I know you want to. I know you want your cum all over me. Give me that to fantasize about next time.”

It’s as if she can read my fucking mind. As much as I want to be inside of her, the idea of marking her like that, of my cum on her skin as if she’s mine, drives me fucking insane. She’s not mine, but I could pretend, just for a fucking minute.

“I want you to come, too,” she insists, and my hand is already moving towards my zipper as if it has a mind of its own.

It’s still not as good as being inside of her. The touch of my hand against my hard, straining flesh is still a reminder of how much more I need to really be satisfied. But seeing her lips part and her eyes heat as she looks down at my cock in my hand, her fingers holding herself open for me to see, makes it an entirely different experience.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur, the words catching in my throat as I slide my hand down my cock, looking at her, at how pink and flushed she is, all from my mouth making her come. I can still taste her on my lips, can still smell the sweet scent of her, and I cup my other hand underneath my tight, aching balls, gently rubbing as my hand speeds up along the length of my cock. “I’m going to come for you before too long, Lidiya. I can’t look at your pretty pussy and not need to fucking come.”

“Yes–” she breathes, leaning back, her other hand pulling up her skirt so that it’s bunched up around her waist, leaving nothing blocking my view. “I want you to come all over me, Levin, please–”

Fuck. My cock throbs in my hand, and I step forward, my hand massaging the swollen tip as I look down at her wet, glistening pussy, feeling like a tortured, starving man. “Can I–”

I angle myself downward, close enough to touch her with my cock. “I won’t fuck you,” I murmur, the words coming out strangled. “I just want to feel–”

“Yes.” She swallows hard, leaning back a little, her eyes still fixed on my cock. “I want to feel you, too.”

I can’t stop myself. I know I’m treading a thin line here, that I’m about to be a fraction away from just sliding inside of her, but I keep pushing that line, and I can’t keep myself from rationalizing it as I nudge my cock against her wet heat and let out a groan of animalistic pleasure at the feeling of her against my swollen cockhead.

It feels so fucking good.

“Oh god, Lidiya–” I slide my cockhead against her clit, pre-cum pearling from the tip and streaking over her, and I’m so fucking close. I can feel myself throbbing in my hand, and I know I’m going too far, but I can’t stop now.

“Levin–”

She breathes my name again, and I’m fucking done.

“I’m going to come all over your little clit,” I groan, my hand flying over my cock now, rubbing it against her, sliding against her drenched flesh. “I’m going to come all over your pussy, malysh. Are you going to come for me again, too? When you feel my hot cum all over your fucking–pussy–”

The last word comes out on a groan, and Lidiya’s mouth falls open as I push my cockhead hard against her clit, the first hot spurt covering her, shooting up over her pussy and her flat belly and dripping down her skin as my hips buck forwards, and it takes everything in me not to shove myself inside of her, to be satisfied with watching my cock throb against her as I come all over her.

She moans, gasping, and as I push my cock against her clit again, rubbing as more cum spills out over her, I hear her cry of pleasure as her hands fist in the duvet and her head falls back.

“Oh god, Levin, I’m coming–that feels so fucking good, oh fuck–”

I can feel her pulsing against me, feel her shuddering as another wave of pleasure rushes through me, my cum all over her belly and thighs and pussy now, and I let go of my cock, reaching down to rub her cum-covered clit with two fingers as I look down at her quivering body, feeling half-mad with need.

“One more time,” I growl down at her, feeling the slick heat of my cum under my fingers as I rub it into her skin. “One more orgasm, malysh.”

“I can’t–oh god!” She shrieks, her hips bucking up against my hand, and I push two fingers into her, forgetting that my cum is all over her, forgetting everything except how fucking beautiful she looks covered in me, and how much I want her to be mine.

“Levin–”

She looks up at me, panting as she shudders through the last tremors of her third climax. “God, I want you to fuck me so badly right now.”

“I know, malysh,” I murmur. It feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do to pull my hands away from her. “But we can’t do that.”

She nods, her eyes fluttering closed as I step away from her. “I’m going to shower,” she whispers, and pushes herself up off the bed, her hand bunched in her skirt to keep it away from her as she gets up.

I get one more glimpse of her pale skin streaked with my cum, the sight sending another throb of arousal through me, before she walks away.

The way it makes me feel is something that I know I should never entertain for even a second. But I’m too far gone now.

God, I’m so fucked.

Lidiya

From the very start, the trip to Mexico feels like torture.

I know I’ve only made things worse by encouraging what Levin and I are doing together. I should have insisted he keep his hands off of me–but I want him just as much. He’s using me to get a job done, and I’m using him to make it bearable, I tell myself to justify letting myself give in. As long as we don’t actually have sex, it won’t go too far.

And god, his tongue and the way he uses it is fucking addicting.

By contrast, it’s been harder and harder to endure Grisha, especially considering how over-the-top romantic he’s tried to be. It all feels so fake, so manufactured. Before I’d known he was married, I’d at least been able to enjoy the flowers and gifts and dinners, even if I felt a little guilty accepting them sometimes.

I hope Mexico will be the end of it–that Levin will find out what he needs, and I can walk away from all of this…before I can’t endure Grisha any longer, and before I fall in so deep with Levin that it breaks my heart to walk away from him.

I know there’s no future there. I know that this is infatuation, a passion born from proximity and mutual lust, and that anything else I feel can’t possibly be real.

It can’t be.

Grisha has chartered a private jet for us to Mexico. It’s filled with flowers when we board, in vases along the windows, and he beams at me as we walk into the cabin.

“I know this is a work trip,” he says, touching my face as he turns me towards him. “But I wanted to spoil you–to make it feel romantic anyway. We’ve never gone on vacation before.”

Because you have a wife, I want to say, but I force a smile. “They’re beautiful,” I tell him as he guides me to one of the soft beige seats, pulling me down onto his lap as he sits down.

“We’re going to have a wonderful time together, when I’m not working,” he promises, tugging me down for a kiss. “And while we’re getting there–”

I’ve become very practiced at letting my mind drift to other places while Grisha is touching me. I think of what Levin told me this morning before I left to meet Grisha–that it’s important that I tell him anything I hear, even the smallest of details.

Grisha’s dealings are threatening other deals that the organization I work for has made, he’d told me, his lips pressed tightly together. I’m hesitant to even tell you that much. But you should be aware of how important this is.

I’d asked him if it was going to be dangerous, and he’d assured me that he would make sure that I was safe. But I could see from the look on Levin’s face that he wasn’t entirely certain. That terrified me more than a little.

I still have my phone with his number, for emergencies, and we’d arranged a tentative schedule for when I’d meet him to deliver any information that I might have. All of it left a sick feeling in my stomach, my anxiety so high that I could barely eat before leaving to meet Grisha.

I wasn’t made for this, I think as Grisha’s hands rove over my body. I wasn’t made for seducing men for information, for sneaking and spying. I hate all of it, and when this is over, I’m never going to do anything like this again.

The flight goes smoothly, and we land in Mexico to bright sun and a crisp breeze that ruffles my hair as we walk off the plane. I look around as we disembark onto the tarmac, wondering where Levin is. The idea of him watching me makes my pulse beat a little faster. I feel safer knowing that he can’t be too far away.

We have a small house rented for us, a block away from the beach. It’s every bit the tucked away, romantic spot that I’d expected it would be, with plenty of privacy and a cozy feeling to it. It would be perfect if I were there with someone who I actually wanted to have a romantic vacation with, but under the current circumstances, all it does is make me feel more anxious.

Grisha leaves me there with a kiss and a promise to return soon after his meeting, and I end up pacing the house while he’s gone, a dozen different scenarios running through my head and none of them good. I know we’re supposed to go out for dinner when he returns, and I finally force myself into the shower, focusing on getting ready to try and clear my head.

I put on a lightweight white eyelet sundress with a leather belt at the waist and matching sandals, opting to leave my hair loose and put on just a little makeup. The circumstances of the trip aside, it is nice to be warm again. I sit out on the house’s patio for a little while, while I wait for Grisha, soaking it in.

Meeting Levin tonight is the most nerve-wracking part of all of it. I do my best to focus as Grisha talks to me over dinner, trying to take note of his demeanor, the way he talks about what little he shares with me, because I know I won’t get much in the way of direct information.

The plan is set, and all I have to do is follow it. I sit through the romantic dinner, cuddling on the couch in front of the fireplace against the chill of the night, Grisha’s lips on mine that eventually lead us into the bedroom, all the way until he lies satisfied next to me, breathing deeply in the darkness.

“I think I’m going to go for a walk on the beach,” I tell him, glancing over.

“What?” He rolls towards me, and my pulse picks up a little in my throat. This is the hardest part–if he tries too hard to keep me in bed with him, I won’t be able to just leave. All of this hinges on Grisha being happy and relaxed with me. “Haven’t I worn you out enough?” he asks playfully, trailing his fingers along my stomach, and it’s all I can do not to shove his hand away.

“It’s just jet lag,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over the back of his hand. “And it’s so nice to be somewhere warm after freezing in Moscow. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Alright,” he relents finally. “But don’t be gone too long, or I might have to come looking for you.”

Relief washes over me, followed by a stinging jolt of anxiety at his last comment, but I do my best to brush it off. All I can do is follow the plan, and trust that Levin knows what he’s doing.

I give Grisha a reluctant kiss as I get out of bed, tossing my sundress back on. I can’t get out of the house fast enough, and I have to purposely slow my steps as I walk out, so that I don’t look like I’m in too much of a rush.

I suck in deep lungfuls of the fresh ocean breeze as I walk down the beach, holding my sandals in one hand as my toes dig into the sand, trying to take pleasure in whatever small things I can to keep my nerves from spiraling out of control. Levin told me where he would be staying, much further down the beach, and it’s a long walk. I might have to get a cab back to the house where Grisha and I are staying to avoid being gone too long, but that’s a problem for me to have to deal with later.

After what feels like walking forever, I finally see him, tall and silhouetted against the backdrop of a beachfront hotel. He raises a hand as he sees me walking towards him, and I speed up a little, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest for reasons that have nothing to do with my anxiety.

“Lidiya.” Levin steps towards me, the moonlight glinting off of his face as he looks around, guiding me back into the shadows. “Was it too hard getting away?”

I shake my head. “Not as hard as I thought it might be. He was–”

“You don’t need to tell me about what the two of you did before you came out here.” Levin’s jaw tightens, and I can see the flush of jealousy on his face. “We can keep it to information.”

“I wasn’t going to go into graphic detail.” There’s a slight edge to my voice too. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine.” His jaw clenches again as he says it, and I can tell he’s lying, but I don’t know if I should push for more detail. “What do you have for me?”

“I mean–as expected, he didn’t exactly spill that much about what he’s doing here. But he seemed–” I try to think of the right words to describe it. “He seemed a little more jittery than usual. Nervous.”

“Dealing with the cartels will do that,” Levin says dryly. “They’re not exactly the warmest bedfellows. How on edge do you mean?”

“He wasn’t jumping out of his skin or anything, but it wasn’t how I’d expect someone to behave after they’d had a really successful business meeting. He kept trying to go through the motions of a romantic evening, but I could tell that he really just wanted to get to bed–”

“Okay.” Levin cuts me off again. “No mention of his business dealings at all?”

“Just that there were more people there than he expected. I got the impression that there were more–bosses? Higher-ups? Whatever you call them, he seemed intimidated by whoever he met. That’s the best I’ve got, I think.”

“It’s more than we got in Moscow, aside from when you went to his office.” Levin’s teeth grit together a little as he says it, and I realize what’s bothering him. It’s the same thing that’s bothered him before–he’s just having a harder time hiding it right now for whatever reason.

He’s jealous.

“As dangerous as it might be, I think putting you here in the middle of it was the right move,” Levin continues, and I feel my heart stutter a little.

“What do you mean? How dangerous is it? I thought you said–”

“I said I’ll keep you safe. I meant it. But this isn’t safe, Lidiya, and you know that. You knew it when we set all this up. Any proximity to all of this comes with some danger.”

“I know, I just–”

My voice trembles a little, and I see the expression on his face change, flickering to sympathy as he reaches for my hand suddenly, pulling me a little closer.

“You’ll be okay, Lidiya. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I hope you can.” I swallow hard, suddenly feeling very lonely, set adrift. At the end of the day, if helping me conflicts with what he needs to do for his job, which one is he going to pick? I know which one I should expect for him to pick.

“Just focus on trying to find out what you can. I’ll figure out what to do with it. That’s my part of the job.”

I nod, trying to calm down. “I should probably get back soon, unless there’s something else for us to talk about–”

Levin hesitates, and I know I shouldn’t push. I shouldn’t press on whatever he’s feeling, try to make him crack open, but it’s hard not to. I have so many feelings tangled up inside of me, and I want to know what he’s feeling, because I no longer believe that he’s the cold, hard man that I believed him to be in the beginning.

“You don’t want me to go back to Grisha,” I whisper. “You hate the idea of me in bed with him. You don’t want me to leave.”

Levin’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment I think I’ve gone too far. “Does it matter?” he bites out, letting go of my hand. “What does that change? Why should we talk about it? This is what has to happen, Lidiya. We’ve taken too many liberties with this already. We both need to focus.”

“It makes me feel better to know.” I step closer to him, feeling the warm, salty breeze swirl around us as I do. “It gives me something to hold onto. It makes me feel safer.”

“What? Knowing that I want you? Knowing that the thought of another man’s hands on you makes me feel murderous? Knowing that it has taken every bit of self-control I have not to fuck you raw every time you come back from him, so that all you ever feel is me?”

His hands reach for me as he speaks, closing on my upper arms, and for a moment I think he’s going to shake me. “What does that help, Lidiya?”

“It makes me feel less alone,” I whisper. “Because I feel the same way.”

His eyes widen slightly, the muscle in his jaw leaping, and I feel his hands tighten as a tremor goes through him.

“I think of you whenever he touches me.” I step a little closer again, close enough that my body is almost brushing against his, and I reach up to touch his chest. “I think of your lips and your hands and everything I haven’t had yet. I think of what I want, so I can endure what I don’t want. And knowing that you feel it too makes me feel like I have something to anchor myself to. Because sometimes–”

I take a slow, shaky breath, feeling my eyes mist as I look up at him, all of the fear and worry coalesce in my chest in a tight, almost unbearable knot. “Sometimes I feel like I might drift away. Like I might never be the same after this.”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time, I hear real regret in Levin’s voice. “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this, Lidiya. It had to be you. I wish like hell it could have been anyone else–”

“It’s not, though. It’s me. We can’t change that. But–”

I swallow hard, going up on my tiptoes, and I press my lips against his.

I know it won’t fix anything. I know it might make things worse. But I feel desperate for his touch, for something good, for a pleasure that can wash it all away for a little while.

I want him like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life.

“Lidiya–”

He breathes my name against my lips, his hands smoothing along my arms as his lips move against mine, his tongue tracing the edge of my mouth as I part my lips for him, wanting more. I want him to kiss me hard and deep, to take my breath away, to be what I remember from this trip, this place. I don’t want to remember Grisha.

I want to remember Levin Volkov kissing me breathless on a beach.

Levin

I know I need to stop. I need to let her go and walk away.

This can never be anything. It can never go anywhere. And it will only make it all harder in the end.

But goddamn it, I can’t.

I can feel how much she wants me. I can feel it in her hands clutching my shirt and her lips pressed against mine, the way her mouth opens for me when my tongue drifts along the edge of it. And I want her every bit as fucking badly.

I have since the day she woke up in my hotel room.

The feeling of her gasping against my mouth, leaning breathlessly into me, takes my breath away. I can feel all my better sense flooding out of me, and all that’s left behind is desire that goes beyond wanting, that feels like need. Like if I let her go right now, I might not ever recover.

I lean forward, my hands on her waist as I deepen the kiss, and I feel her knees buckle a little. She stumbles in the sand, and as I catch her I stumble too, both of us going down into the sand. Lidiya lands on her ass, falling backwards as my arm goes around her, and I can hear her laughing as I end up atop her, her legs on either side of my hips, her sundress up around her thighs.

“Don’t get up,” she breathes, her hands fisting in my shirt to pull me closer. “Don’t stop.”

I’m not sure if I even could now.

I hold her against me, my arm wrapped across her back, and her lips find mine again as one of her hands reaches up to brush across my hair, her soft moan filling the night air between us.

I can’t remember ever having been this hard in my entire life. I’m aching to be inside of her this instant, right here on the beach. It’s the barest thread of self-control that keeps me from it, the knowledge that she deserves better than that, better than a quick fuck in the sand.

I want to spend all night worshiping every inch of her, and I don’t know that we’re going to have that kind of time any longer.

I’d seen her with him, earlier tonight, when I’d followed to make sure she was safe. They were eating at an outdoor patio of some high-end beach restaurant, side by side at a round table, and I’d seen him lean over to kiss her. Not too long–not an overly romantic kiss, but it had made me feel as if my blood were on fire all the same.

I couldn’t stand seeing him so close to her, knowing what he’d be doing with her, to her, later on. It was the moment that I’d known this had gone too far. That I shouldn’t let myself get so close to her again.

And now we’re going further still–and I can’t find it in myself to stop it.

Her hands are sliding underneath my shirt, nails scraping over the ridges of my abs, and I shudder with need under her touch. “If you keep touching me like this,” I whisper against her mouth, pressing my forehead against hers as I close my eyes, “we’re going to end up doing this right here on the beach.”

“We could go back to your room,” she whispers against my lips. “It’s not that far, right?”

A jolt of pure lust goes through me at the suggestion. “You need to get back,” I murmur. “What excuse would you have?”

“I’ll say I went for a walk and lost track of time. I already said I was jet-lagged. I’ll say I found a bar that was open late. That I sat out by the beach and had a drink. I can come up with something.”

The words are whispered in between kisses, her lips grazing over mine in a way that feels intoxicating, impossible to resist, impossible to deny. “He’s asleep,” she adds. “Maybe he’ll wake up when I come back in, but he’s a heavy sleeper.”

“You’re sure he’s asleep?”

Lidiya nods. “He was out by the time I left the house. It’s fine–I’ll come up with an excuse. Don’t worry about it–”

She kisses me again, before I can say anything.

I know I should tell her that it’s my job to worry about it, that anything that could risk her relationship with Grisha is impossible, that the mission is the most important thing. But her lips are pressing against mine, her tongue hot and soft in my mouth, her thigh smooth under my hand, and I can’t make any of those thoughts reach my lips.

I can’t think of anything past how much I want her.

I lift her up off of the sand, getting to my feet, still kissing her as she clings to me. It feels for a moment as if neither of us will be able to stop long enough to get to the hotel, but somehow we break apart, her fingers laced through mine as we make our way up the beach, through the sand back towards the hotel.

We barely make it into the elevator before my lips are on hers again, backing her against the wall as I push the button for my floor with one hand, the other tangled in her hair as my tongue tangles with hers.

I hear her moan as my hips lean into hers, my aching cock pressed against her thigh as I devour her mouth, desperate for more of her. With the decision made, it feels as if every second that it takes to get back to the room is a second too long.

The moment the doors open, we both stumble out of the elevator into the hall, hands still roaming everywhere, as if neither of us can get enough. We make it a few feet down the hallway before I reach for her, pushing her back against the wall as my mouth finds hers again, my entire body aching as if I can’t stop touching her for even a moment, all of the repressed desire coming out at once as the floodgates open.

“Levin–” she moans my name, her hands sliding under my shirt again, and I know I’m going to lose control if I don’t get her somewhere private, and quickly.

I can’t really afford to get arrested for public indecency right now. That’s one failure in this mission that I don’t think I could talk my way out of.

Somehow, we make it to my room. I fumble in my pocket for my room key, swiping it as Lidiya brushes her lips across my neck, my arm still around her as I push the door open, and we’re finally in the quiet, cool silence of my room.

The moment that the door closes behind us I have her up against it, my hands on her waist as I kiss her hard, groaning against her lips.

She feels so fucking good. I want all of her now, and I want to take it slow, and I want everything in between. I have no idea if there will ever be more than this one night–and I know that we only have so much time.

It feels like a sweet torment, and it’s all I can do not to pick her up and fuck her up against the door, here and now.

Somehow, I manage to pull her back away from the door, turning her and backing her towards the bed as my hands find her skirt, tugging the dress up, the soft gathered back of it stretching as I pull it up over her head and toss it aside.

She’s not wearing a bra underneath it. I hadn’t thought I could get any harder, but my cock throbs almost painfully, straining against my fly as my hands slide up her waist, cupping her breasts as she gasps.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper, the words coming out almost reverently as my thumbs brush over her nipples, my lips trailing down the side of her neck. Lidiya lets out another soft moan, and I gently pinch her nipples between my fingers, rolling them until her back arches, her breasts pushing into my hands, and my lips trail further down.

I want her completely, entirely naked. I flick my tongue over one stiffened nipple, my hands sliding down to the edge of her panties, fingers sliding under the edge of the soft fabric as I push them down her slender hips. Her skin is so soft, warm and fragrant with coconut soap, and I run my tongue over the curve of her breast, feeling her nails scratch against my scalp as her hand presses against the back of my head.

With one quick motion, I wrap my arm around her as her panties drop to the floor, lifting her up and setting her back against the pillows on the bed. I start to climb on with her, but Lidiya shakes her head breathlessly, her blue eyes wide.

“Wait,” she breathes. “You’re overdressed. I want–”

I can feel my throat tighten. “What do you want, malysh?”

“I want to watch you.”

Fuck. One hand instantly goes to my belt as I reach for my shirt with the other, tugging it over my head and tossing it to the floor. I see Lidiya’s teeth sink into her lower lip as she looks at me, taking in the sight of my muscled, tattooed chest and arms, the ink running down to the edges of my jeans, tracing along the deep cuts of muscle that disappear there. I can see her intake of breath as I flick open the button of my jeans with one thumb, sliding down my zipper, my cock eager to spring free as I push my pants and boxers down with one smooth movement.

My cock slaps against my abdomen, it’s so fucking hard. I reach for it automatically, giving myself one long, slow stroke as I climb onto the bed, enjoying the hungry look on Lidiya’s face as her gaze drags down the front of me, landing squarely on my cock.

“You want this, malysh?” I groan, and she nods wordlessly, her teeth still worrying at her lower lip. “Tell me out loud. Tell me you want me inside of you.”

It’s not just that I don’t want there to be any doubt. I want to know for certain that this is what she wants, it’s true, but I also want to hear her say it for my own pleasure.

I lean down, pressing a kiss just above her navel, and then just below. “Tell me you want my cock. If not, I’ll have to assume that you want me to eat your sweet pussy first, instead.”

Lidiya gasps as I drag my mouth lower, trailing my tongue from one hipbone to the other. “When you put it like that–” she breathes, and I chuckle against her skin.

“My pleasure, malysh,” I murmur, my lips sliding lower still, until I can breathe in the scent of her, flick my tongue out and roll it over her clit, tasting her sweet, slick arousal.

Her reaction is instant. Her hips buck upwards, her hands clawing at the sheets as she gasps, her thighs splaying open for me. She looks beautiful like this, open and vulnerable, and I run my hands up her inner thighs, spreading her folds apart so that I have access to every inch of her perfect pussy as I run my tongue over and around her clit.

“Levin!” Lidiya cries out my name, her back arching as I suck her sensitive flesh into my mouth, rolling my tongue against it. I want to make her come, but fuck if I don’t need to be inside of her sooner rather than later. I’ve waited as long as I can, and short of her telling me outright that she’s changed her mind, I don’t think I can wait much longer.

I can feel her thigh muscles starting to tremble, the shudder that runs through her as she’s on the verge of coming. Her sweet taste floods over my tongue, and I groan as I flutter my tongue against her clit, wanting to feel her come for me–

She nearly screams as she does, her hips bucking wildly as she grinds against my mouth, riding my face to a shattering climax. I can feel her pulsing against my tongue, her pussy drenched, and my cock throbs as my hips jerk too, desperate to push inside of her.

“Say it,” I groan as I slide up her body, leaning over her as I reach for my cock, angling it between her thighs. “Tell me you want me inside of you, Lidiya.”

“I want you,” she breathes. “I want you inside of me. Please. I can’t wait any longer. I need you–”

That’s all I can stand to hear. I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine as my cockhead brushes against her slick entrance, and I can feel how tight she is, the effort it takes to start to push inside of her as she gasps into the kiss.

“Fuck–” I groan as I slide the first inch of my cock inside of her, feeling her pussy tighten and flutter around me, the last aftershocks of her orgasm still spasming through her. She feels so fucking good, wet and hot, and the feeling of her against my bare flesh is just enough to remind me that I didn’t stop to put on a fucking condom.

I didn’t buy any, actually. I’ve given up thinking I can fuck any other woman while Lidiya is near me, and I’d told myself that by not buying condoms, I could avoid this exactly. And yet here I am, two inches inside of her, bare skin to bare skin, and in fucking heaven.

She goes still as she sees the look on my face. “Levin? Are you alright?”

“I didn’t–we’re not–using–” I can barely get the words out. She tightens around me again, rippling down the length of my cock, and it feels so good I can hardly stand it.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “Just pull out. You can come on me wherever you like. It’s fine.”

I can tell from the way she breathes the words that she’s in as little control as I am right now. I’m not sure if she’ll regret the choice later or not, but I can’t think straight enough to stop, even though I know pulling out isn’t the safe way to do this. I’m less in control of my orgasm right now than I have been since I was a teenager, but I also don’t have the control to stop–not with her urging me on.

Nothing has ever felt this good.

I reach for her hands, lifting them over her head and pinning them to the pillow as I kiss her again, softer and slower this time, as I slide deeper into her. Every inch is pure fucking ecstasy, and I fight to keep control as I fill her with my cock, groaning as she wraps her legs around my hips.

I don’t know how I’m ever going to let her go after this.

Lidiya moans against my lips, her body moving in rhythm with mine as I sink the rest of the way into her and begin to move, slow, shallow thrusts at first as I try to savor it, to not go too fast. I know we don’t have all the time in the world, but I want this to last.

Her breasts brush against my chest, her nails scratching down my back, and it feels beyond perfect. I’ve been with countless women, but I can’t remember a single one now, not a name or a face or a body, as if she’s wiped everything and everyone else away. There’s only her, and I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I should never have let it go this far, that it will make everything harder later on.

But I’m lost in her. The softness of her skin against mine, the scent of her, the sound of her moans in my ear, her gasping breaths as she gets closer to the edge. I can feel her body tightening under mine, arching and writhing, and I’m so close to my own climax that it’s all I can do to hold back, so that she can come on my cock before I pull out.

I don’t know how I’m going to manage to force myself to stop in time.

“Levin!” She cries out my name as her nails sink into my shoulders, her legs tightening around me as her moans turn into a high-pitched sound that sends a shudder of pleasure through me. “Oh god, Levin, I’m coming, I–”

“Fuck yes. Come for me, malysh. Come on my cock for me–”

“Come with me. Please–”

I know that she doesn’t realize what she’s asking. I want, more than anything in the fucking world, to drive my cock into her as I come and fill her up. I want to feel her spasming around my cock as we come at the same time. I want it more than I want to breathe–but I have the barest shred of self-control left, and I use it to cling to the edge of my climax as she shudders around me, hands clawing at my back, until the moment when I can’t stand it any longer.

I jerk out of her, groaning as my hand wraps around my cock, stroking feverishly as my cum explodes from it, shooting over her taut belly and up to her breasts, streaking over her nipples. She stares at me with pleasure-glazed eyes, watching as my hand shudders over my cock, my entire body shaking with the force of my orgasm.

“You didn’t have to–” she breathes, when she can speak again as I collapse next to her, my half-hard cock against my thigh as I try to catch my own breath. “I wanted you to–”

“I know,” I manage. “But you might have regretted it, after. It wasn’t smart. I wanted to, but–”

She presses her lips together, nodding. “Probably better,” she says on an exhale. “For something that doesn’t mean anything.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. As she sits up, I know I should let it go. I should even agree with her–say that it meant nothing.

But it would be a lie.

I catch her hand before I can stop myself.

“That’s not how I feel, Lidiya,” I tell her quietly.

She turns to look at me, startled. “What?”

“You make me feel differently than anyone else ever has. I know I shouldn’t be saying that–that it will only complicate things. But I don’t want you to leave here thinking–”

I swallow hard, feeling her hand tighten around mine. “I tried not to do this for so long because I knew it would change things, Lidiya. And I was right. This has never felt the way it did tonight with anyone. I don’t know how this works, exactly–”

Lidiya is staring at me now, her eyes wide. “How what works, Levin?”

“You know what I mean. I–we–we can’t talk about it now. But after the mission is done–”

“After the mission is done, I go back to my life.” Lidiya swallows hard. “Levin–”

She takes a deep breath, and there’s silence in the room, a heavy silence that I’m afraid to break. “I have to go clean up,” she says quietly. “And go back to–”

“I know.” I cut her off, unable to stand hearing her say that she has to go back to Grisha. For the first time, I know what it feels like to be caught in a trap of my own making.

As she gets up, squeezing my hand one final time before she walks into the bathroom and away from me, I can feel the jaws of it closing around me.

It will be the end of me, I know–if I’m not careful.

Lidiya

If I’d thought it was hard before to keep up the facade, it feels almost impossible now.

Sleeping with Levin was the last thing that I’d thought would happen when I’d gone to meet him on the beach. It hadn’t even felt in the realm of possibility. And yet–we’d ended up in bed together.

I don’t regret it. I can’t. Afterwards, it had felt inevitable. As if I’d been lying to myself day after day, pretending that wasn’t where we were going to end up eventually, as if we could keep fooling around and stopping just shy of actually having sex, like a couple of high schoolers instead of actual adults.

It was, quite frankly, ridiculous. And we’d found that out.

Grisha had barely woken when I’d returned to the house. I’d been worried that he might smell the different soap on me, or some lingering scent of Levin’s cologne or sheets, so I’d slipped into the shower at our house and rinsed off again, scrubbing with the same coconut soap I’d used before. He’d stirred a little when I’d slipped back into bed, but there was no real recognition that I was back, and in the morning he’d just asked me how my walk had been. He definitely hadn’t realized how long I’d been gone for.

It had been clear to me, then, that he doesn’t suspect me of anything. That he doesn’t think me capable of any of this–the subterfuge or sneaking or lying, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved that he hadn’t picked up on it at all, or offended that he doesn’t think I’m smart enough.

For three more days, I keep up the game with Grisha.

I sit at breakfast with him and make small talk, I lay out on the beach and read while he’s at meetings and nap in the afternoons after lunch to make up for the late nights talking and making out with Levin on the beach while Grisha sleeps.

I don’t have sex with Levin again. I can’t. If I do, I know it will make it so much harder to leave. Every day that passes, I hear his voice in my head when I’d sat up afterward. I feel differently about you. That felt different.

If I didn’t also feel differently, it wouldn’t matter. But I do. Somehow, Levin has gotten under my skin, and I want him more than I should. I miss him when he’s gone, which is absolutely ridiculous. And I know that if we end up in bed together again, it will only make it worse.

But by three days in, I can’t bear it any longer.

Going to bed with Grisha, after being with Levin, feels a thousand times worse. I can hardly stand his touch, like ants crawling over my skin, and all I want is for this to be over.

When I see Levin that night, after leaving Grisha sleeping in bed, I can’t keep from breaking down. I try, all through telling him what little I’ve managed to get out of Grisha, relaying his mannerisms and his irritability with all of my questions, to keep myself from saying what I really want to say. But then Levin reaches for me, sitting next to me on the blanket he’d brought down, and I can feel myself falling apart.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper as he leans towards me, and he goes very still, his blue eyes searching mine.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep going back and forth between you both.” My heart is pounding in my chest, my throat tight with emotion, because I don’t want to stop. I’ve started to crave Levin, to want the relief of his hands on me, the feeling of his mouth, the pleasure he brings me–and not just that. I want his strength and his careful nature and the way he makes me laugh, the way he’s been kind to me even in the strangest of situations, the way he’s nothing like what I would have expected. I still don’t fully understand who he is or what he does, but I know I want more of him. I don’t want this to be over just yet.

But I truly don’t think I can stand this any longer.

“If you want me to finish this, you have to let me go.” I force the words out, feeling as if I can barely get them past the lump in my throat. “Or you extract me now, and figure something else out. That’s the choice, Levin. That’s what it has to be.”

He looks at me, and I can see an emotion in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, and that I can’t fully put a name to. “Lidiya–”

The way he says my name makes me want to burst into tears. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, telling myself it means nothing, that it’s just because I’m exhausted, I’m stressed, that this is all more than I can stand. That I was never meant for any of this, and that’s why I’m so emotional.

But deep down, I know it’s more than that.

He reaches for me, his hand sliding into my hair, cupping the back of my head. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “I can’t stand that. I’ll–”

“What are you going to do?” I swallow hard, trying desperately not to cry. “How are you going to get me out of this? You said you couldn’t, this whole time–”

“Not in Moscow.” He stands up, pacing a few steps back and forth as I sit there, staring up at him. “We didn’t know enough. But now we could. It will be easier to get Grisha here, in Mexico, than it would have been there.”

Levin pivots suddenly, looking at me as his eyes widen, as if he’s just thought of something. “Can you let me into the house, while Grisha is out at his meetings?” he asks. “So I can look for anything that he’s left? Any papers, anything that might give me information I can use?”

My stomach immediately clenches. “What if he comes home–”

“Has his schedule been pretty regular, since you’ve been here? Meetings and such? Or is it all over the place? It sounded like, from what you told me, that he’s gone for most of the day every day.”

“He is. But one time–”

“I’ll be quick.” Levin looks at me, and I see an earnestness in his face that I’ve never seen before. “This is my job, Lidiya. It’s what I’m good at. And if I can find something that helps–I can get you out of this. I can end it here.”

I’m afraid to hope that might be true. “You’ve never told me what your job is, exactly,” I say softly. “And I still don’t think you’re going to, are you? Not even now, when I’m trusting you so much–”

“No.” Levin lets out a long breath. “Lidiya, it’s for–”

“Please don’t say it’s for my own good.” I close my eyes briefly, still feeling like I’m fighting back tears. “You really think this will help? You think this might make it so that we can be done? Completely done? We go back to Moscow, and I’m out?”

“I think it might. It’s a chance–but it’s a good one. Does he take everything with him, every day?”

I shake my head. “But he keeps all his things locked in the second bedroom. When I asked, he said that it’s investment papers, that he could get in trouble if it wasn’t secure.”

“He’s treating you like an idiot,” Levin growls. “I can get into a locked room. That’s not an issue. Just get me into the house.”

“Okay.” I breathe the word before I can think better of it, because I want more than anything to be done with this. I want it to be over, to be able to go home, to put Grisha and this entire job behind me forever. I’m willing to take a risk, if that’s possible.

“Tomorrow.” Levin looks relieved as he says it. “I’ll come at noon. Let me in the back, and I’ll be quick.”

I nod, feeling my throat tighten as I do. If Grisha finds him in the house, there will be no excuse I can come up with to fix it–nothing that will get me out of trouble. Levin will have to take me with him to keep me safe, and if he doesn’t–

I can’t think like that. He promised me I would be safe. I have to believe him.

“Tomorrow,” I echo, and then I get up, backing away.

I can’t let him touch me right now, or I won’t be able to stop. I’ll need the comfort of how he makes me forget everything, and I’ll lose myself in him.

So I turn around, without even a goodbye, and flee back down the beach.

—

Levin is there, at noon, as he promised. I open the sliding door at the back of the house, letting him in, my heart beating so hard that it hurts. “Quickly,” I whisper. “Grisha left an hour ago, he shouldn’t be back until at least five. But I don’t want to risk it. We’re getting to the end of the trip, there can only be so many meetings, and–”

“I’ll be quick,” Levin reassures me. There’s that sharp, cold professionalism in his tone, in the way he moves, like he was with me at first. There’s nothing of the warm, sensual man who has seduced me into bed so many times, who has made me want him in ways that I never imagined I could. “Just wait in the bedroom.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I do as he says. I slip into the bedroom, closing the door behind me as I knot my hands in my lap, hoping that he can make this as fast as he claims he can.

What does he do, really? I feel a fresh wave of anxiety at the thought, my mind racing to places that seem impossibly ridiculous. But as I go back through it all, everything that’s happened since I tripped and fell in the train station, the pieces fit together better than I’d like for them to.

I jump at every sound, having to remind myself that anything I hear is almost certainly Levin, and not Grisha back early to surprise me and throw everything into a panic. The seconds that tick by feel like minutes, until I finally hear a knock at the door that makes me cover my mouth to muffle the small, frightened noise I make.

“Lidiya?” It’s Levin’s voice that comes through the door. “Are you alright?”

I swallow hard, getting up from the bed and crossing the room to open the door. “Yeah,” I tell him in a small voice, feeling a little embarrassed for being so jumpy. “Did you find anything?”

“I did.” Levin looks at me, and I can see a hint of concern in his eyes. “I took photos and left the papers as I found them, so don’t worry about him noticing anything is wrong.” He pauses. “Did you know that you’re going to a dinner party with him tonight?”

The look on my face when he says it makes it obvious, I think, that I didn’t.

“No.” I frown. “Grisha didn’t say anything.”

“It’s probably his fucked up idea of a surprise,” Levin mutters. “Look, Lidiya–I have to make a call when I get back to my hotel. But if that call goes the way I think it will, this will all be resolved tonight. Just keep your head down until then, play the game with Grisha, and I’ll get you out. Alright?”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing under my chin as he tilts my head up so that I’m looking directly into his eyes. “Alright?”

I nod. “I’ll play the game. Don’t worry. I can keep it up a little longer.”

“I know you can.” His hand shifts, sliding to cup my cheek as his thumb brushes over my lower lip, and a shudder runs through my entire body. “I believe in you, Lidiya. You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever met.”

Levin takes a step back then, glancing towards the front door. “I need to go. I’ll see you soon,” he promises, and then before I can say another word, he’s striding towards the glass door at the back–and then he’s gone.

I feel a little like I can’t breathe. I’d had no idea that I was going to be attending a dinner party with Grisha tonight–almost certainly with these “business” associates that I know are cartel members. The thought makes my blood run cold with fear.

I only have to get through tonight. And then Levin will get me out.

He promised.

The only question is–can I believe in that promise?

Lidiya

There’s no doubt about the dinner invitation when a courier arrives later that day, with a package sent from Grisha. It’s a long box wrapped with a blue bow, and I suspect when I carry it inside that it’s something he’s chosen for me to wear tonight.

I’m right about that. Inside there’s a card from him, telling me that he has a dinner party for me to attend tonight as his plus one, and that he wanted to surprise me–both with the invitation, and with the gift of something beautiful to wear.

It’s not just a dress, either. The dress is the first thing I see–blue, which I would have expected, since he’s so often said that it’s his favorite color on me. It’s a silk evening dress with a deep v-neckline, gathered straps at the top of the shoulders, and a long skirt split up the thigh on one side. Nestled in with it are a pair of expensive silver heels, and a small velvet box that I know contains jewelry before I even open it–although I’m surprised at how ostentatious the earrings that I find inside are.

They’re white gold, set with large teardrop sapphires surrounded by diamonds. They feel heavy in my hand, and I’m a little startled by them. Grisha has given me gifts before, of course–including jewelry–but nothing this over the top.

I glance back at the note, where it tells me that Grisha will be back to pick me up at seven, and then the clock. I have a while still to get ready, and suddenly the day feels far too long, with too many hours stretching out between now and then to fill. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin with anxiety, and I know I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything else.

I try. I go about my usual day since I’ve been here–a light lunch on the patio, going to lay out on the beach with a book, a nap with an alarm set for five. The day crawls by, until I’m finally able to get in the shower and start to get ready for the party.

As difficult as it is, I try not to let my thoughts drift to Levin, and what he has planned to get me out. I don’t want to seem distracted or on edge–I know that Grisha is expecting me to be over the moon about the party invitation, and while it might be normal to be a little nervous, he’s going to expect it to be a nervous excitement.

If there were ever a night where I needed to play my part to the letter, it’s going to be this one.

Grisha texts me at seven promptly, letting me know he’s outside. I walk out to see a long black car waiting, and the driver opens the door so that I can slip inside. I immediately see Grisha, dressed in a tailored suit and holding a glass of champagne for me.

“The capstone of our little vacation,” he says with a grin, handing me the drink. “Was it a nice surprise?”

“The best,” I tell him, managing to sound surprisingly sincere, I think. I flash him a smile, leaning forward for a brief kiss before I sit back. “I don’t want to smudge my lipstick.”

“Of course.” His fingers slide through mine, holding my hand in his, and I try to calm the racing of my pulse as the car pulls away from the house. “I can’t wait for you to meet my associates, Lidiya. I know you’ll be perfect.”

There’s a seething, burning anger in the core of my stomach about all of this that I’ve done my best to ignore. I know what Grisha is doing. He’s parading his beautiful mistress on his arm in front of these men to impress them, expecting me to smile and simper and play the part of his trophy. And I’ll have to, for a little while tonight, anyway.

It’s only made worse when we do arrive, and we’re escorted in. I can feel the eyes on me as I’m introduced, see the way the men are looking at me, and the pride on Grisha’s face. I feel like a zoo exhibit, and it’s all I can do to tamp the emotions down as he makes the rounds, introducing me to associates that I smile and nod in response to, knowing I’m not actually expected to remember their names or do anything other than be an ornament.

Sitting down for dinner is a relief. We’re seated about midway down the table, and the first course of salad is brought as wine is poured, and I reach for my glass immediately. The wine is outstanding, at least, and it helps me calm my nerves as the conversation hums around the table.

I have no idea what’s going to happen. Fortunately, I’m not expected to speak. Which means that I’m able to hide the worst of my nerves, focusing on remembering which damned forks and spoons to use instead, so I don’t embarrass Grisha.

We make it all the way to the dessert course when the man at the head of the table–the man who I now know is the boss that Grisha has been working with, stands up and taps his fork against his glass.

“I’d thrown this party tonight,” he begins, his gaze sweeping over the table, “to celebrate the new partnership that we’d worked so hard to develop with Grisha Federov.”

A smile beams across Grisha’s face, proud and arrogant, but I feel a fist-sized knot forming in my stomach. I’ve always been fairly good at reading people–and the man at the head of the table doesn’t look all that happy.

“But today, I received information that what we’d been working on so long wasn’t the deal we’d been told at all. In fact, I’ve received very good intelligence that it puts another partnership that we’ve long held to be one of our most important at risk. And more than that, I’ve received reliable information that the man we thought we were entering into a business arrangement with has, in fact, been cheating us for months.”

I see, out of the corner of my eye, Grisha’s face going pale. I hear footsteps coming from the door, and I see the cartel boss–Jorge Fernandez, he was introduced to me earlier–nod towards someone behind Grisha.

“Grab him.”

Everything turns to chaos in an instant. Grisha shoves me to one side as he leaps up, his hand going to his back as he draws a gun, aiming it at one of the guards coming towards him. That one action has everyone drawing at once, the table suddenly erupting in men with firearms aimed, and I open my mouth, on the verge of screaming when I feel heavy hands on my arms, dragging me backwards.

“Easy, Lidiya. It’s me.”

Levin’s voice in my ear is enough to calm me. The first shots go off as the guards surround Grisha, and I watch as Levin pulls me back, out of the range of fire as I watch in horror as he stands there, wild-eyed as they disarm him.

Fernandez walks towards him, his face dark and stony as the guards push Grisha to his knees, and I see the terror that flashes across Grisha’s face as he realizes there’s no way out.

I’ve never seen a man die before. I can’t do it now. I turn my face into Levin’s chest as the shot goes off, and I hear the heavy sound of a body hitting the floor–a body that I know is Grisha’s.

He’d been a bad man, in so many ways. A bad husband, a bad father, a liar and a cheater. But I’m not sure any of that meant he deserved to die–not like this.

In the world of these kinds of men, though–the world that I’m standing in the middle of right now, it does.

Levin holds me against him as the room starts to empty, the guards dragging the body away. I hear heavy footfalls approaching, and look up to see Fernandez standing in front of us, his face still stormy.

“You let this go on too long, Volkov,” he says in a harsh tone. “How long have you had this information?”

“I only just had enough proof to go to Vladimir and suggest that we make our move here, in Mexico,” Levin says calmly. He steps away from me, clearly trying to keep Fernandez’ attention off of me, but still within reach if I need him. “I brought it to you as soon as I knew. We had someone on the inside, but Grisha was good at playing things close to the vest. He was better at this than we expected.”

“The girl, you mean.” Fernandez looks at me. “I saw how quickly you pulled her out. Makes me think there’s a little more going on than just you being her handler.” He narrows his eyes at Levin. “I could go to Vladimir, you know. Tell him what I suspect. I’m sure he’d have some thoughts about one of his top operatives getting distracted over a piece of ass.”

It’s all I can do to keep my mouth from dropping open in shock. Levin’s face remains carefully, impressively blank as he looks evenly at Fernandez, but I can tell from the small twitch of his mouth, the flex of his fingers at his sides, that we’re both walking a fine line of danger.

I’ve learned to watch people even better over these past weeks. And I’ve learned him, too.

“I could take her.” Fernandez nods at me. “In exchange for keeping quiet about it all, I mean. You go back to Moscow the victor, able to take the credit for bringing Federov down. I keep this pretty one for my own collection. I won’t hurt her,” he adds. “That’s not to my tastes. But I’d enjoy her.”

Levin’s fingers twitch again. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he says evenly.

“Why not? She could be my payment, for all the trouble you’ve caused. I think I’m owed something.”

Levin lets out a long, slow breath, looking Fernandez dead in the eyes.

“It’s not possible,” he repeats again, slowly. “Because she’s my fiancee.”

Lidiya

For a moment, I can’t even speak. I’m completely dumbstruck. Out of everything I could have imagined that Levin might say, it was never that.

A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment, and then Fernandez’s lips twitch, a dark humor spreading across his face. “Is she, then?” he asks, clear suspicion in his tone. “Well, I have a better suggestion, then. A little levity for the evening.”

“Oh?” Levin’s eyebrow rises. “I’m all ears.”

“You should marry her now. Here. No time like the present, right, with so much danger around? And there’s witnesses, even.” He nods towards the room on the other side of where we’re standing, where the guests who have remained can be seen milling nervously about through the arched doorway. “She’ll be protected then–against anyone who might want her. Including me,” he adds with a lustful smirk in my direction, and I see Levin’s hand twitch again, as if he wants nothing more than to shoot the man where he stands.

“Alright,” Levin says, his voice cutting through the air between them, sharp as a gunshot, and I let out a startled squeak of surprise.

“Levin–”

“Give me a moment,” Levin says sharply, reaching for my arm. “With my bride-to-be.”

He pulls me, less gently than he ever has before, into an alcove in the far corner of the room. He angles himself so that he’s blocking me from Fernandez’s view, his hand touching my cheek as if he’s a lover soothing my nerves.

Which, in a way, I suppose is the truth.

“This is the only way out,” Levin says quietly. “He’s going to demand you as payment, if not. And if I refuse that, I may not make it out of here alive, and the end will be the same for you. This way we both leave, and we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

“You mean the consequences of us being married?” I squeak again, and Levin’s mouth twitches.

“Is this funny to you?” I demand, glaring at him, and his mouth twitches again.

“Absolutely not,” he assures me. “But I promise you, Lidiya, hashing out the difficulties of us being married, once we’re out of here, will be far less difficult than dealing with Fernandez here and now.”

“And things will be fine for you, back in Moscow? Who is Vladimir–”

“We can talk about that later,” Levin says, glancing over his shoulder. “We don’t have long, Lidiya. Tell me yes or no, and we’ll go from there. If you say no, I’ll do my best to get us out of here alive–but the odds aren’t going to be good.”

I know that the choice I’m being offered isn’t really much of a choice at all. I think of how easily they’d subdued Grisha. I know Levin is a much tougher man, a man that I’m rapidly coming to suspect has much more experience in these kinds of situations than he’s let on before–but he’s outnumbered. This way, it’s a certainty that we leave here together–and alive.

“Alright,” I tell him, all the breath rushing out of me at once. “I’ll marry you.”

It’s a marriage of convenience, nothing more. We’ll fix it when we’re back in Moscow. It means nothing.

It doesn’t feel as if it means nothing, though, when I find myself standing in the compound chapel twenty minutes later, Levin and I hand in hand in front of a priest, as Jorge Fernandez and an assortment of guests whose names I don’t even remember look on.

I barely hear the vows. My lips move, repeating what I’ve been told to repeat, and I see from the look on Levin’s face that I must be doing fine, but I feel as if I’m floating above all of it, looking down on myself as I do something I never could have imagined even an hour ago.

It’s not real. It’s not real. But for a little while, it will be.

I’ll be Levin Volkov’s wife.

When he kisses me, I know it’s done. I feel myself sinking into the kiss, seeking out an anchor of familiarity in all of this, and his hand wraps around mine, holding me steady. Holding me upright.

That hand is how I get back down the aisle, and out of the church. It’s what gets me to the car, sitting in stunned silence across from each other as it pulls away from the compound.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Levin says, his voice taut. “For Tokyo.”

I stare at him, the fog lifting only slightly on account of the new shock. “What do you mean, Tokyo?” My voice sounds raspy and stunned, not at all like my own. “Why aren’t we going back to Moscow.”

“I have to make sure it’s safe, first.”

“Safe? What we just did was supposed to make us safe. I thought–”

“From Fernandez.” Levin cuts me off, his hands gripping the edge of the seat. “Lidiya, I’m sorry. I should have stayed away from you, I should never have–”

“No, what you should have done is tell me the truth!” My voice rises, and Levin looks at me sharply. I can see him tensing for a fight. “I want to know what you do, Levin Volkov. I want the truth about it, because I know you haven’t given it to me so far. I think I’m owed that, at least.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and then Levin nods. “I suppose that’s true,” he says quietly, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Alright, then. You really want to know?”

I nod. “I want to know.”

“I’m an assassin. A spy. I work for an organization called the Syndicate. They had dealings with this cartel, and Grisha got in the way of that. He’d been in the way for a while. So he had to be stopped. And now he is.” Levin lets out a sharp breath. “After I found that evidence, I called my boss. I got permission to deal with Grisha here, to put an end to him. He wasn’t happy about it, but I managed to convince him.”

The words come out flat and emotionless, but each one feels like a punch. “An assassin? A spy?”

It’s what I’d thought, or something like it, sitting in the bedroom while Levin had dug through Grisha’s locked room. I’d had my suspicions since the very first day, really, and he’d wiggled his way out of them, made me feel crazy for thinking it. But now I can see that I was right all along.

“We were never supposed to do this.” I look at him, my voice hollow. I reach for my left hand, as if to twist a ring around it, but there’s nothing there. No ring, no physical symbol of the vows I just took, nothing but words that have already evaporated. It feels like a fucking dream. “We were never supposed to see each other again when this was over. We were never supposed to do–what we did.”

“I know.” Levin’s voice is calm and quiet in the darkness of the car, but I can hear an ache in it that I hadn’t expected. “I didn’t mean for it to go this way, Lidiya. But I can’t regret it. No matter what.”

The words hit me squarely in the chest. I can hear the sincerity in them, and I don’t know what to say. Do I regret it? Would I change it?

I know the correct answer is to say yes. That I would rewind time and never end up in Levin Volkov’s bed. That I would make all my decisions differently.

But I can’t say with any certainty that I would.

The rest of the car ride to the airport hangar is silent, except for the brief conversation that Levin has on the phone, making our arrangements for Tokyo. “I’m owed a favor,” is all he says. “We’ll have a place to stay, until I can be sure of what Vladimir is thinking.”

There’s that name again. I’ve figured out by now that it must belong to Levin’s boss, and I don’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it any longer. I feel exhausted and drained, and it feels hard to believe that this is my wedding night.

A night that I’m going to spend alone.

Or so I think. Once we’re on the plane, I push past Levin to walk straight to the bedroom at the back of it, closing the door before he can even say a word. I sink down onto the bed, burying my face in my hands.

It’s not that I’m angry at him, exactly. I’m just–tired. I’m tired of being deceived, of being lied to, of being used. I’m tired of having my choices taken away from me. And now he’s told me the truth–but I’m not so sure that it’s any better.

Exhausted, I lie back on the bed, still in my dress, and I fall asleep.

Sometime later, I wake to the feeling of a body behind mine. For a moment, I’m jolted into thinking that I’m back in Grisha’s apartment, that it’s him curled behind me, and then I smell the familiar scent of Levin’s cologne.

For a second, that makes me feel relieved. And then I remember everything else.

I sit up instantly, pulling away from him, and just that slight movement wakes him immediately. He sits up too, a hand on my back, and I flinch away from it.

“Lidiya–”

“Don’t say it like that. Like I’m the one in the wrong here. You said you’d keep me safe–”

“And I have, haven’t I? I married you to keep you safe.”

“From one man. But another might want to kill you too–and probably me, just to tie up the loose end of Grisha and what he knew that I might know now, too.”

Levin lets out a sigh. “I’ll deal with Vladimir, Lidiya. I just need time, to make sure I’m not walking into the wolf’s jaws when we go back to Moscow. Just a few days, and then we’ll go home. I swear it. And I know that you know nothing. That Grisha gave you very little, and that you don’t care about any of it. I will keep you safe.”

I can hear the conviction in his voice. I know he believes it.

The question is whether or not I believe him.

“I never planned to feel the way I do about you.”

His voice comes through the darkness, low and quiet, sending a jolt of shock through me. The words are so much plainer than anything I would have expected from him, and I turn my head to look at him in the dim light of the room, feeling as if none of this can possibly be real.

“What do you mean?”

It’s a ridiculous question. I know what he means. In a way, I know we’ve always been headed in this direction, since that first afternoon I woke up in his hotel room with a throbbing head and a sharp tongue and fought with him until I tried to run and he stopped me, up against the hotel room door.

I’ve never known a man like Levin Volkov before. But I don’t need to have in order to know that a man like him doesn’t get pushback often. That a man like him isn’t stood up to, sassed, told where he can shove it. I’d done all that and more. And he’d given me as good as he’d gotten.

The sparks between us had been lit that very first day. If Levin had let me go, they’d have guttered out. Nothing more would have come of it. If he’d left, and had some other man from his syndicate come and force me into compliance, I would have had nothing left to do but hate him.

But that isn’t what happened. And every moment since then has led to this, to sitting in a bedroom on a private jet bound for Tokyo, newlywed and words hanging between us that I know are going in a direction I should have seen coming, and yet somehow never did.

“I never planned to fall in love with anyone,” Levin says quietly. “I never planned to marry. That’s not the life I’ve led. But I’m falling in love with you, Lidiya Petrovna. And I want this marriage to be real.”

The silence hangs between us again, heavy and full of uncertainty.

“I can’t promise to be a good husband. I can’t promise to leave the Syndicate. Nothing is that simple, not for me. But Lidiya–I can try. I can try to make you happy. To love you the way you deserve. And everything else–”

I breathe in. I don’t know, until my mouth opens, exactly what words are going to come out. When they do, they surprise even me.

“It’s Lidiya Volkov now, isn’t it?”

I’m in his arms before I can breathe another word, both of us tumbled back on the bed, his hands in my hair, pulling it free of the pins that had held it up for the dinner party and then again for our impromptu wedding. His mouth finds mine, hot and hard and desperate, his tongue tangling with mine as I moan his name and it gets lost in the kiss–as lost as I am.

His hand is sliding down my hip, fisting in the silk of my skirt, dragging it up so that he can push my thighs apart. He rolls onto his back, pulling me astride him with one hand still in my hair, never breaking the kiss as his fingers find their way between my thighs, slipping beneath the delicate lace of my panties as he grabs them in his fist.

They’re gone in an instant, ripped away, his fingers searching again between my soft folds, finding me already wet and aching for him. Levin groans into my mouth as his fingers slide against my clit, my hips bucking against his hand, mine already searching for his belt as I devour his mouth with the same frantic urgency.

It’s not a traditional wedding night. But in its own strange way, it’s more romantic than anything I ever imagined for myself. As the plane hurtles through the night sky, carrying us to a place I’ve never been, to a hideout that I hadn’t expected we’d need, Levin and I hide within our own private shelter of each other.

His mouth never leaves mine for an instant. Neither of us are willing to take the time to undress, and so he pushes my skirt aside as I fumble with his zipper, hand feverishly reaching for his cock as I arch my hips up, wanting him inside of me. It’s been three days–four–and that’s too long. Too long since I felt the hot, hard stretch of him as he fills me up, since I heard him groan with pleasure as I tighten around him, since I felt his fingers stroking my clit in that perfect rhythm as my flesh goes taut.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Levin breathes against my lips, his hand leaving my hair to cup my breast through the silk as my hips start to move, sliding down his cock inch by inch as I take him inside of me. I can’t speak, the pleasure too intense as he fills me, and I moan as I sink down that last bit, his cock as deeply inside of me as he can go as his fingers pinch and roll my nipple with the same strokes that he’s using on my clit.

I’m seconds away from coming for the first time. My entire body is trembling, fluttering along the length of his cock, and I hear him groan again as his hand drops from my breast to my hip, pulling me down hard as he starts to thrust upwards, as if he wants to go deeper still.

“Levin!” I cry out his name as he slams into me, his fingers sliding over my clit, slippery with my arousal, and I can feel my thighs starting to shake. Nothing has ever felt so good, so overwhelmingly, shatteringly perfect, and my hand grabs for his shirt, bunching it as the other grips the pillow behind his head as I feel myself come apart.

“Oh, fuck, Lidiya–”

I feel him come with me, his arm across my back as he presses me to his chest, his lips crushed to mine. I feel his entire body shuddering as he loses control, and he rolls me onto my back as he drives into me once more, pinning me to the bed as he whispers my name against my lips.

I don’t know what the future holds for us. I don’t know what a life together looks like. Levin is nothing like what I ever imagined my future would be. But as I lie there in his arms, cradled against his chest, I can’t imagine what it would feel like without him any longer, either.

Levin brought danger into my life–but he’s brought safety, too. Happiness. Passion. I don’t know how all the puzzle pieces fit, exactly, when I think of what’s waiting for us back in Moscow.

But it might also be exactly what I need.

Levin

We spend three days in Tokyo, and it’s the closest thing to heaven that I think I’ve ever experienced.

We’d been met on the tarmac by a black car and several of Nobura Nakamura’s men, then escorted directly to him. I’d seen the thinly veiled worry on Lidiya’s face as we’d been ushered to the car and then brought to his estate, led into the stately office where I’d known he would receive his guests. She’d stayed quiet as I’d introduced us both, though I’d felt the shiver that went through her when I introduced her as my wife.

It’s Lidiya Volkov now, isn’t it?

I’d felt as if my world had shifted when she’d said that. As if everything had changed, with the possibility that she might want this too.

Now, what matters most to me is making certain that she stays safe. That I can take her back to Moscow and that we’ll both be safe. A life with us on the run isn’t the kind of life she deserves, and it’s not a life I’d ever give her.

I have to make sure that Vladimir can promise me that. And Tokyo, for now, is far enough away that I can make that bargain in relative safety.

I’d just had to call in my one favor with Nakamura–a favor that, he reminds me when we’re brought in to speak to him, resolves all debts between us.

The Nakamura clan sides only with itself, he’d reminded me. Whatever is going on between you and the Wolf, we will have no part of it. You’re only here now because I owed you a debt. That’s finished, in three days when you leave.

A favor owed by the Nakamura clan is no small thing. But for Lidiya’s safety, it was worth using it.

We were shown to a small, private guest house of our own on the estate, tucked further back on the property, with a beautiful view and a hot spring on the back deck. It feels like a honeymoon, Lidiya had said with a small laugh, as I’d closed the door behind us and pulled her into my arms.

I wanted to lose myself in her, in this. And I did, for a little while. I’ve never known anything like the peace I feel in her arms, the way she makes me feel when we’re together. I’d never thought there was anyone in this world for me, not like her. Not like this.

But an archeology student that I’d picked up in a train station stairwell had changed everything.

For one night, I let it be her and I, and nothing else. We end up in bed, tangled in each other, the taste of her on my lips and the feeling of her all around me, the scent of her in my skin until I feel as if we could be one person, just as the wedding vows said. When the moon is full and high, the quiet sounds of the night outside, I take her out to the deck, sinking into the hot water as I pull her into my arms again.

It’s a paradise like nothing I’ve ever known. An oasis of peace in a life that’s been filled with blood and death. And I let myself enjoy it, just for a little while.

In the morning, while she sleeps, I call Vladimir.

The reception is, for the most part, exactly what I’d expected.

“You let it go too far, Volkov,” Vladimir says tightly over the phone, his voice as cold and hard as I’ve ever heard it. “You gave that girl too much leniency, and we almost lost the cartel deal. Fernandez is still furious. It took more bargaining than I would have liked to get him to calm down over Federov’s betrayal. So tell me, what do I do with you now? Now that you’ve nearly fucked up a mission over a woman?”

“I’ll take whatever punishment you deem necessary,” I tell him, ignoring the tightening in my gut as I say it. I know what I’m saying, what I might have to endure. “But I want Lidiya safe. She’s my wife now, Vladimir. That offers her some measure of protection.”

“Syndicate members don’t typically marry.”

“There’s no rule against it. It’s frowned upon, not disallowed. And she has protection. You know that. When we come back to Moscow, whatever you do with me, she’s not to be harmed.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Vladimir clears his throat. “I don’t like being told my own rules, Volkov. But you’re right.”

The relief I feel is palpable. There’s another pause, and I can almost hear the sound of my own heartbeat, rapid and anxious for what edict Vladimir might hand down. Lidiya might be safe, but I have no such guarantees.

“There was a meeting, Volkov. To decide what to do about you. It’s good that you’ve agreed to accept your punishment.”

I grit my teeth. “And what was decided?”

“You won’t be killed or expelled. Come back to Moscow, Volkov. Take your beating like a man, and go back to your wife. I’ll give you a little time before your next mission. And this time–don’t fuck it up.”

“Two days.” The words come out before I can stop them. “Two days before I return. And then I will submit to what you’ve decided.”

“You’re in no place to bargain,” Vladimir snorts. “But alright, Volkov. Two days. If you’re late, I’ll rethink the agreement we’ve made.”

Two days, I tell myself, is enough. Lidiya will see, when I come back from the Syndicate, the brutality that she’s married into. The things I have to face. And I don’t know if she’ll be able to bear it.

But we have two days before I have to face anything at all. A honeymoon, as she’d said.

I don’t intend to waste a single second of it.

—

The punishment, when we return to Moscow, is swift and brutal. When I leave Vladimir’s compound, heaved into the back of a car that returns me to the hotel where Lidiya and I are staying until we can find a place to live, I can barely move. Pain lances through every part of my body, and I barely make it up to our room, stumbling in to see a horrified expression on her face.

I know that this is the moment where I might lose her. I’d warned her that I’d come back in bad shape. That there was nothing I could do. And yet, when I look up at her as I stumble into the bathroom with her following, sitting on the edge of the tub, all I see is quiet acceptance in her eyes.

“Let me help you get your shirt off,” she says softly. “There. I’ll help clean it up, but it’s going to hurt.”

I know what she sees. Bruises already purpling from a knotted rope. Flesh laid open across my back.

But she doesn’t flinch. She cleans my back, her touch gentle through all of the pain, without a word until it’s done. Until I’m bandaged and stiff from sitting still for so long, and then she helps me to the bed, helping me lie down on my stomach as she curls up on the mattress next to me, stroking my hair.

“I want to stay with you, Levin Volkov,” she says softly. “I know this isn’t going to be an easy life. And I would be lying if I didn’t say that I’d thought about leaving, when we came back. That I hadn’t wondered if it would be easier. But I can’t see a future without you any longer. And I want you. That’s all that it comes down to, really. I want you.”

“I want you too,” I tell her quietly, turning my head on the pillow to face hers. “You changed something in me, Lidiya, that first day I met you.”

I reach out stiffly, taking her hand that’s lying between us. “There’s not an easy way out of the life I’ve chosen, Lidiya. I don’t know if there’s one at all, if I’m being honest. But I’m going to try to find one. For you–for us.”

I run my fingers over the back of her hand. “I want to take you on a real honeymoon. To Greece, maybe. I want to lie on the sand next to my wife under a blue sky, and never think of anything again except for how happy you make me.”

Slowly, I lift the hand I’m holding, her left hand, up to my mouth and press my lips against her ring finger. “I’m going to get you a ring and ask you to marry me all over again, Lidiya Volkov. We’ll have a wedding in a church. And I’ll make you proud of me.”

“I’m already proud of you,” she whispers, her fingers brushing over my lower lip. “And I love you, Levin. Forever.”

When she presses her lips to mine, gently, that’s all I hear in my head. That one word, over and over again.

Forever.

Want to dive even deeper into Levin’s world? Keep reading for a sneak peek at my next dark mafia, arranged marriage series, The Savage Trilogy, or click here to start reading book one, Savage Assassin, now!

Chapter One: Elena

In all the years I’ve known him, my father has rarely ever raised his voice.

It’s terrifying to hear him raise it now. Especially to my mother.

I’m crouched outside the heavy wooden double doors that lead into his office, listening as they argue. It feels even worse than a normal argument, because they’re arguing about me.

“This is real danger, Lupé,” I hear my father say, his voice low and urgent. “Diego isn’t going to stop. He’s not ever going to stop, not until he’s dealt with or we give him what he wants. We’re on a verge of all-out war–and I refuse to give him my daughter.”

“Our daughter,” my mother hisses. “This is Isabella’s fault. The match was perfectly suitable, it just wasn’t what she wanted. She ran off with that Irishman, all because of her selfish decisions, and now we’re left to pick up the pieces. Elena is left to pick up the pieces.”

A jolt of fear pierces through me. I don’t fully understand what she means, but I can feel the tension in the air, seeping out from the room until my stomach feels like a series of cold knots, my heart beating hard in my chest.

“You are right about that,” I hear my father say tiredly. “Diego wants her to make up for losing Isabella. But I’m not giving in to those fucking demands. He can’t have her. It’s not an option, no matter what he threatens–”

“You might consider that it’s possible to make it work.” My mother’s voice is taut and haughty, the tone I’ve always heard her use when she’s insistent that she be listened to. But I can hear a thread of fear in it too, and I know she’s scared.

We’re all scared. Ever since Isabella left, it’s been nothing but fear. We all heard how Diego sent her to the bride-tamer for her insolence, for how she’d refused to give in to him. It had only been a few days later when my father had received the first threat from him, and we’d found out that she’d escaped.

The communication from the Kings had come a little while later, and we’d known then that the Irishman had saved her, and taken her to Boston. She’s safe now, far away from here.

We’re anything but.

“He could make assurances that he won’t hurt her,” my mother insists, her voice carrying louder now. “Make that a term of the deal. Her safety. That he treats her the way a husband should treat his wife.”

“You’re out of your mind, Lupé.” My father’s voice is rougher now, angrier. “What will we do if we make that deal, and he goes back on it? How would we enforce that? How would we protect her? He’ll have her then, and we’ll still be where we are now–weaker than ever, because he’ll have the threat of her life to hold over us.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I can see in my mind’s eye the way my father must be shaking his head, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. I’ve seen it before, when I’ve caught sight of them arguing.

“I’m not going to throw her to the wolves like that,” he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear it. “It’s not going to happen. We’ll find another way.”

“He’s going to kill us,” my mother murmurs, and this time I can hear the panic clearly in her voice. “You have to do something, Ricardo. We can’t rely on the Irish–”

The same panic floods through me, and I clench my fists against my stomach as I crouch there, listening, my blood turning to ice.

I miss Isabella. I miss her so much. She would know what to do, what to say–

It might be objectively true that she’s the reason we’re in this position, but I don’t blame her, not like our mother does. How could I? She had always been the wilder one, the braver one, not much older than me, but enough for me to look up to her. To want to be as brave as she was.

As she is.

She’d gotten everything that she’d wanted, everything that we’d both been too afraid to dream of for our future. She’d gone out and claimed it for her own, seduced the Irishman, and he’d fallen in love with her. He’d saved her and taken her far away from here, like some kind of fairytale. It was exactly the kind of adventure, the kind of romance that we’d whispered about once upon a time, a story that had never ever seemed like it could come true.

I want my own happy ending now. But I can see that it’s not going to happen.

The best that I can hope for is that somehow, my father will keep me out of Diego Gonzalez’ clutches. That he’ll keep him from claiming me as restitution for Isabella–for his lost bride.

I can’t help wondering, as I listen to my parents fight over my fate, if Isabella knows what’s happening. If she would have done things differently, if she’d known that Diego would come for me next.

I hope that she wouldn’t. I want her to be happy–and I want my own happiness, too.

The right-side door to the office flings open suddenly, so quickly that I jump, and tumble backwards onto my ass, letting out what my mother would term a very unladylike squeak of shock.

It’s my mother who is storming out of the office, and she pauses, her face tight with anger as she looks down at me sprawled on the stone tile floor.

“I see you were eavesdropping,” she says icily, her eyes narrowing. “What did I do, to be cursed with no sons, and two such rebellious daughters who–”

“Lupé, that’s enough.” My father’s voice booms past her as he pushes open the other door, stepping around my mother as he reaches out to help me up from the floor. “Elena is scared. We all are. There’s no need to make that worse.”

It’s meant to be reassurance, but somehow hearing my father say that he’s scared, lumping himself in with the we all are, makes this all feel a hundred thousand times worse. I can see it on his face, as I get to my feet slowly, dusting myself off. His expression is as composed as ever, but I can see the fear in his eyes, lurking there.

Throughout all my life, my father has always been the steadfast rock, the one who I knew could keep us safe from anything. I always felt secure that he loved Isabella and I, that he would protect us, and I knew we were lucky in that regard. In our world, daughters could be nothing more than a means to make alliances, only valuable because they could be used as a bargaining chip.

I knew our father had never seen us like that. Even when he’d felt forced to promise Isabella to Diego Gonzalez, it hadn’t been because he’d wanted it. It hadn’t been because he’d thought that was her purpose.

And now, he’s trying to protect me from the same thing.

“Lupé, go upstairs.” His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it, speaking to my mother. “Let’s take some time to cool down. We’ll talk about this later.”

I see her mouth tighten angrily. She hates when my father orders her around, I’ve always known that. But surprisingly, she doesn’t argue.

“Are you alright?” He brushes off my arms, looking at me with clear concern. “How much did you hear?”

I press my lips together, feeling a little sheepish now that he’s caught me eavesdropping–but I’m also still terrified. “Everything,” I admit quietly, looking up at him. “Is Diego really going to–”

“No,” he says sharply, cutting me off as he pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his arms around me in the embrace that I’ve always found so comforting, all my life. “I’m not going to let that happen, Elena. I’ll keep you and your mother safe. I promise.”

“But–what can you do to get him to stop? You said he won’t–”

“I know what I said.” My father lets out a sigh, reaching up to stroke my hair as he looks at me ruefully. “I wish you and your sister never had to grow up, you know? It was so much easier when you were children. No one wanted to take you from me. Isabella was still willful–but you were always good. You both would listen better, then. There was less for you to fear. More for you to dream of–”

He lets out a sigh, running one hand through his hair as he looks down at me, his face taut with worry now. “I can’t blame your sister for trying to escape him. I do blame her for the mess of things that she made with that Irishman, but she’s safe with him in Boston now, so perhaps she knew what she was doing all along.”

“But mama feels like she left us to pick up the pieces.” I bite my lower lip. “Is that how you feel, too?”

“Your sister should never have had to shoulder the responsibility of keeping this family safe. It’s unfair that she should ever have had to do so. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

“I don’t want to marry Diego.” I feel a cold shudder go through me just at the thought. “He won’t be kind to me, no matter what you make him promise–”

“I know. He’ll take his anger at Isabella out on you. That’s why he wants you. And that’s why I won’t allow it.”

Gently, my father reaches for my upper arm, steering me towards the stairs that lead up to the floor where my bedroom is. “I think it’s better if you’re upstairs in your room for now, though, Elena. I have work to do, and I’ll feel better if I know where you are, with José patrolling.”

“Diego isn’t going to come here–”

“I hope not.” My father catches the expression on my face, and winces. “I shouldn’t be so honest with you. I don’t want to frighten you.”

“I’m twenty years old.” I look up at him, wrinkling my nose. “I’m not a child for you to keep secrets from any more.”

He laughs ruefully. “Twenty is still a child, Elena. You’ll understand that one day. And you’re still mine to protect, for now. So I intend to do that.”

José is coming around the corner as we walk up, making his rounds of the upper floor. He catches sight of me and my father, and stops, inclining his head respectfully. “Señor Santiago. Is there something you need?”

“Just for Elena to stay in her room for tonight. I have business to take care of, and I’ll feel better if I know she’s here, safe and sound.”

“Of course.”

José looks at me with an unfathomable expression on his face, something darker than I’m accustomed to seeing from him. Not so long ago, when Isabella was still here, he was always in a lighter mood, teasing us and mildly flirting with my sister, though he was always quick to shut it down when she pushed it too far. We’d both always had a bit of a crush on him–it was hard not to. He’s extraordinarily handsome, deeply tanned with buzz-cut black hair, dark eyes, a strong jaw and muscled body that his fatigued cargo pants and tech shirt cling to more tightly than they really have any right to.

But recently, he’s been quieter, more sullen. He nods tightly to my father, who smiles at me as he pushes my door open. “Goodnight, Elena,” my father says pointedly, letting me know that he expects me to stay put, as he’s said.

Where would I go, anyway? It’s not as if I have the nerve to leave the compound in search of adventure or an escape, the way my sister did. It’s not as if I could go anywhere at all. The most I might do is wander to the library upstairs or go out to the garden, and it’s not a terrible loss to not be able to do that tonight. I can curl up in bed with one of my books, and float far away from here, into some kind of adventure that I’ll never be able to live in real life.

I’m about to close the door when José’s arm pushes against it, stopping me as he glares down at me with a bitter expression on his face. “Don’t make me have to chase you down,” José says irritably, once my father is out of earshot. “Just stay in your room like a good girl, alright? Don’t make my life any fucking harder than it already is.”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” I can hear a bite to my own words that isn’t usually there–it’s been a long and scary night, and I don’t quite understand why he’s been like this recently. “Is there something you want to tell me, José? It’s not as if we haven’t known each other for a long time.”

“Why would I want to tell you anything?” he asks irritably. “It’s my job to keep you safe, not talk to you.”

Something about the way he says it makes me feel more upset than before. “No one is making you,” I snap back, retreating further into my room. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He turns away, but before he does, I hear him mutter under his breath.

“Spoiled brat.”

I’m at the door in an instant, shoving it open wider as I glare at his back. “I heard you,” I snap accusingly, and I see his shoulders shake for an instant, almost as if he’s laughing–or as if he’s very angry.

Slowly, he turns around, his expression dark and hard. “I don’t care if you heard me,” José says evenly. “In fact, I’ll say it again. You’re a spoiled fucking brat, and your father should have handed you over to Diego Gonzalez long before this.”

I can feel myself start to tremble, a fine shaking spreading through me, but I tilt my chin up, staring him down. “I’m sure he’d love to hear you say that to his face.”

“It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I feel that way, if I did.” José steps closer to my door, his muscled bulk almost filling the doorway. There was a time when I would have felt my pulse leap at him being so close, but now I just feel afraid. It’s clear he’s angry, and I don’t entirely understand why.

“My brother died in the fight with the Gonzalez cartel, when he took Isabella,” José says evenly, his every word tight and harsh. “All to protect the Santiago princesses. And I’ll be expected to do the same, if it comes to it. While you face no consequences for not doing your duty.”

He glares down at me. “Your sister should have married Diego like she was supposed to, and none of this would have happened. If she’d done her duty, my brother would be alive. There would be no war going on. And you–”

His gaze slides up and down me, in a way that feels far too personal for who he is, and who I am. “You wouldn’t be in danger of following in her footsteps.”

The words are low and threatening, and he smiles tightly down at me, his eyes still hard and cold. “Goodnight, princesa,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”

I manage to stay upright until he shuts the door, harder than he needed to. I stumble backwards, feeling my pulse pounding in my throat as I sink down onto the edge of my bed, feeling that same terror that I’d felt earlier threatening to overwhelm me all over again.

Diego Gonzalez is coming for my family. For me, just like he had my sister.

Isabella had Niall to save her.

Who is going to save me?

Chapter Two: Levin

“We owe them the men we promised.”

Liam is standing at the head of the table, next to Connor, and the tension in the room is palpable. It generally is, in times like these, when all the heads of the various members of the families are assembled for a crisis. The entire table of the Kings is present, including Jacob, Connor’s right hand who is now a member, same as Niall is for Liam. They sit on either side of the two men, the rest of the Kings flanking down, with seats left for Viktor and I, and Luca, who is short his right hand man for this meeting.

They’ve all been talking now for a long time, in circles as men like this are often wont to do when they don’t have an answer for the problem they’re trying to address. This time, the problem is the alliance with the Santiago cartel, and the deal that Niall had made in exchange for trade with them.

“We agreed that I’d rescue Isabella, and that we’d send men for backup,” Niall says sharply, his voice rising. “I accomplished the first part. The Santiago cartel has opened up trade with us. We’ve been doing good business. So now we need to do the rest of our part.”

“There won’t be any fuckin’ trade if the Gonzalez cartel decimates them,” one of the older Kings says, slapping his hand down on the table. “I say we wait and see what happens.”

“The entire point of sending men is to ensure that doesn’t happen,” Liam retorts. “We’re supposed to be men of our word. We’ve waited too long already.”

“We sent men. Half of them fuckin’ died–”

“We sent a handful. A few from the Romano mafia, a few from the Kings, a few from the Andreyev Bratva. Nothing close to what we agreed. It’s been too long–”

“Seems like a shit deal,” another of the Kings speaks up. “Niall made that deal because he wanted the woman. He got what he wanted, and the rest of our men get what? Sent to their fuckin’ deaths?”

“I made the deal to save her,” Niall says tightly. “I didn’t do it to make her mine. I wasn’t interested in that, then. But her father wanted her saved, and Liam and Connor wanted an alliance. So I made that happen. Now you want to renege on our word, like Liam is saying? On my word?”

I feel Viktor glance at me, and I know what he’s thinking–likely the same thing that I am. There’s not likely to be an easy resolution to this, and the only way that there will be one at all is if Connor puts his foot down as he so often does, and reminds the table that while his brother Liam might still prefer to run things as a democracy, he does not. He might not be the sort to favor men with money or family names to sit at the table over men who he feels have earned it, but he’s also not a man to have his voice overruled, if he decides he’s come to a decision.

“Look,” Liam says, his voice tight with an irritation that’s rarely there in my experience, and speaks to the fact that he’s also getting exhausted with the entire ordeal. “We have information that Diego Gonzalez is demanding Elena Santiago as payment. Her father is refusing. I don’t think there’s a man here who isn’t aware of what consequences that’s likely to have for the Santiago family.”

“And that’s our problem?” Another of the Kings speaks up sharply. “We’ve got our own families, too. If the Santiago cartel falls and the Gonzalez family takes more power, it’s better if we’re not on the losing side. What does that girl’s marriage have to do with us? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“That girl is my sister-in-law,” Niall growls. “So I’d say at least someone at this table has a vested interest in what happens to her.”

“That sounds like a personal issue.”

“I don’t agree that it’s not our problem at all,” Luca speaks up, his smooth, cultured voice rising above the others. “But I’d agree that we do have to think about our own families in this–the consequences of war with the cartels. I have my children, Viktor has his. Isabella is pregnant again, as is Saoirse. Ana and Liam have their child. There’s hardly a man among us not married or with children of his own to think of, except Jacob and Levin, and a few others.”

Jacob snorts. “I’ll do what the McGregor tells me to, as I’m used to doing,” he says roughly, his accent thickening. “But I’m hardly of a mind to think that I should be riskin’ my neck for the girl just because I have no children of my own to come back to.”

“If we abandon the Santiago cartel,” Viktor says calmly, “we will have broken our word. That matters, gentlemen. Our word will be useless with the cartels going forward–and perhaps for others too, if they hear about it. Furthermore, if we do send the kind of force that was promised to back up the Santiago cartel, it’s entirely possible that they may be able to beat back Diego Gonzalez. We will benefit, in that case.”

“And what if the Gonzalez cartel is a more likely bet?” one of the Kings calls out, from further down the table.

“Diego Gonzalez is not the sort of man that I think most of us wish to ally with,” Luca says calmly. “Now, I understand the reservations. But as several of us have said, we gave our word. I will provide men to go, from my mafia, along with those that the rest of you are willing to offer up.”

“Elena needs to be removed from the situation,” Niall says sharply. “She can’t stay in the middle of what is effectively a war zone, when she’s the prize to be won. We need to get her out of there and to safety. Here, to Boston.”

“Is that you, or your lass speaking?”

Niall glares at the King across the table from him. “It’s me that’s fuckin speaking,” he snaps. “I’m not willing to leave the lass there. So we get her out, when we send the men. That’s my opinion.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Liam glances at Connor. “I expect that you’ll have something different to say, brother.”

Connor frowns. “Surprisingly, no. I agree with Niall, as much as it pains me to say it. If Elena is left there, she’s a card that Diego can play. All he has to do is get ahold of her, and he can use that to his advantage. We all know Ricardo Santiago will fold if his daughter is threatened–from experience.” He looks at Niall, who shrugs.

“Aye, and it’s not a negative character trait, in my opinion,” Niall says dryly.

“Well then, who should go?”

The other Kings start to speak up at once, the voices rising in a din of conversation. “Niall!” is called out more than once, and there’s a murmur of assent. “Aye, send him back. If he’s so worried about his wife’s sister, let him rescue the lass.”

“Isabella is pregnant. Luca just said that.”

All of the heads at the table turn towards me as I speak–the first time I’ve spoken up throughout this meeting–purely because it didn’t seem to me that there was much for me to add.

“It’s my opinion,” I say coolly, glancing around the table, “that we not send a man with a pregnant wife into what the rest of you have termed a ‘war zone’.”

There’s a moment’s silence, and then one of the Kings gestures at me.

“Aye, and are you volunteering to go yourself?”

“I am.”

The words come out before I’m entirely certain that I want to say them, but it’s hardly a surprise–to me or to anyone else. I’m not inclined to take them back.

“Well, that’s not unexpected,” Connor says dryly. “If there were ever a man with a soft spot for damsels in distress, it’s you, Volkov. You’ve already helped save Anastasia and Sasha, are you going for the trifecta now?”

I refuse to take the bait, though I know he’s doing his damndest. Connor and I aren’t enemies, but we’re also not the best of friends.

“I’d agree with Jacob that no man should be volunteered for a job like this simply because he doesn’t have a wife and children at home to come back to. An empty bed is still a bed most men would like to live to pass another night in. But I’m saying that, as a man without those things, I’ll go, so another doesn’t have to.”

“Just to be clear, you’re saying that–”

“I’ll go to Mexico, extract Elena, and bring her back here to Boston, where she can be safe and with her sister. Is that clear enough?”

“Viktor, what do you think? It’s your right hand man who is volunteering himself.” Connor glances at Viktor. “Is this something you find acceptable?”

“I think I can speak for myself.” My tone is icy. “But by all means, run it past Viktor.”

Viktor smirks. “I’m hard-pressed to send a man like you into danger, it’s true,” he says grimly. “But you’re your own man, Levin. I’m not Vladimir, to tell you where to go and what to do, and where your loyalties should lie. If this is something you think you should do–” he gestures, shrugging. “Then I have no doubt you’re the best man for the job.”

“Niall?” Connor glances at him. “You’ll trust Volkov with this task?”

Niall nods. “Aye, of course. I’d trust him to have my back any fuckin’ day, and I’d trust him with Elena, for certain.”

“Well then.” Connor looks around the table. “It’s settled then, men? We send backup to the Santiagos, and Levin uses that opportunity to get Elena out, and back here to Boston. We’ll inform Ricardo of the plan shortly before he arrives, so that he’s aware.”

There’s a murmur of assent, and I can see relief on Connor’s face, as well as most of the others. It’s been a long day, and it’s good to have the matter settled.

It’s not until I’m back in my hotel room, alone with a glass of vodka, that I’m able to really think about what it is that I’ve signed myself up for–the job that I’ve agreed to do.

I know that it’s nothing that I’m not capable of. It’s dangerous, but I’ve done more dangerous things. It’s more the impulse that concerns me, the way I’d spoken up before I’d even really considered whether I wanted to be taking on this job.

Connor was right, of course. I’ve long had a knee-jerk reaction to women in need of help–especially a woman as young and innocent as Elena Santiago. I’d gamble that there’s not many who would deserve Diego Gonzalez as their fate, but I feel certain that she doesn’t.

Still, it was an impulse, and one that will take me back to a place that I’d thought I wouldn’t return to.

It was one thing to go to Greece, to Tokyo, to Paris in search of Anastasia, when Liam needed help finding the woman he loved. It was one thing to go back to Moscow to try and help Max save Sasha, to follow them to Italy, and back to Santorini. But Mexico–

There’s plenty of countries with memories of her, both good and bad. Moscow was the worst–but Moscow had been my home long before her. Tokyo, too, was a place where I can’t shake her ghost, even if I’d wanted to. I’d gone there because I’d had to, because I was already on the hunt, and it was too late to turn back.

It’s hard to say where I’d fallen in love with Lidiya, exactly. But I know of all the places that I’d least wanted to return to, to revisit the ghosts of the past, Mexico was the one that came to mind first.

“You’d want me to help.” I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling as I tip the glass of vodka to my lips, an old familiar ache filling me at the memory of her. “You’re the reason I keep doing this. I see you, always. Needing me.”

Blonde hair and blue eyes. A laugh that could lift a man’s spirits in the worst of times, a sharp wit and a sharper attitude. Words that could cut to the bone, or ripple like silk over skin. Desire so strong it hurt.

Happiness and grief, in equal measure.

I know it’s been too long for me to still talk to her aloud like this, in the dark silence of the night. Too often, I make sure that there’s someone else in the bed with me, so that I don’t have to remember. So that there’s no silence to fill.

So that I can pretend that I’m a young man again, before I met her. So I can imagine that all of that is still yet to come.

All of the love, and all of the pain. A pain so strong that sometimes, I wonder if I might have never done it at all, if I’d known how much it would hurt.

And then I remember her, every moment–on white hotel sheets and crisp golden sand, on a moonlit Tokyo night with drops of water from the onsen clinging to her skin, and I know I’d do it all again, no matter how much it broke me.

No matter how clearly it divided my life in two–into the man I was before Lidiya Petrovna, and who I was after.

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