Keep: Romanian Mob Chronicles (7 page)

V
asile

F
awn was
out
of the limo before it came to a complete stop. After speaking with Oleg, I followed her.

“Dammit!”

Her low-voiced words, agitated, not at all Fawn, hit my ears, the wrongness of them amping my reaction.

I walked faster, the sound of her voice and the cursing both cause for alarm, neither something that I had ever heard from Fawn.

When I entered, I zeroed in on her hopping from foot to foot as she clawed at the zipper of her dress.

“What are you doing, Fawn?”

“Trying to get this stupid fucking dress off,” she said, again reaching for the zipper.

I walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, and after she finally stood still, I pulled the zipper down. She let out a sigh as the material was opened and then made quick work of discarding it. I let my fingers trail across her smooth shoulders and then tightened my grip, turning her toward me and stood silent until she met my eyes.

“What’s the matter?”

That moment with David had been unpleasant but necessary, a reminder to him she was mine, a reminder to the others that my word was not to be questioned, and perhaps most importantly, that I wouldn’t see her insulted.

“What’s the matter is I hate this fucking dress. I hate it! I hate all of it!” she said, voice going venomous. “Being on display, trussed up like a prize turkey to be gawked at, ordered around, a chew toy to be haggled over with no say in the matter.”

Her eyes flashed angrily, the slight flare of her nostrils only underscoring her rage. I hadn’t intended that, but I also hadn’t considered how any of this would look from her perspective, but I could see it clearly now. A rare stab of guilt passed through my heart.

“I…”

“What?” she said, her eyes bugging slightly, pain now glittering in them.

“I just wanted to show him,” I finally said, trying to explain, hoping she’d understand.

“Show him what? That ownership has been transferred? That I’m yours now and not his?”

“Show him that he had no power over you, that no one owns you, not even me,” I said quietly.

Her lip trembled and tears began streaming down her face. I stroked my thumb across her cheek to gather her tears, then leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers.

F
awn

I didn’t know
what I had expected, wasn’t sure what had made me think he wouldn’t care how I felt, think that he wouldn’t react, but whatever I had expected, it hadn’t been this. Anger. Yes. Coldness. Distance. All were possibilities. But this gentleness, almost sweetness, hadn’t even crossed my mind.

It shoved me off balance and made me want him even more.

I exhaled and let myself revel in his touch. Vasile’s kiss was different, no less potent but there was an openness, a kindness, as if he was trying to show me the truth of his words through his touch. But he didn’t push or deepen the kiss. Instead he held back, silently urging me to take the lead.

It was more than anyone had ever offered, and something I wanted to take. I pressed my lips against his harder, slipped my tongue between them as I curled my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. He put his hands on my hips, his body coiled with restrained power, but he didn’t press and that restraint made me want him all the more.

So I kissed him freely, with abandon, let my hands touch him. I let my hands move over his always-rough jaw, down the fine, expensive-feeling cotton of his shirt, down his hard chest. Without breaking our connection, I opened the two buttons that held his jacket together and laid my hands flat against his hard stomach and chest. Even through his shirt, I felt the heat of his skin and wanted more.

Vasile kept his hands on my hips, and though he tightened them, pushed his lips against mine, he didn’t try to take over. I pulled his shirt from his pants, and the soft
whish
of fabric sounded low in the room, only heightening the already throbbing need that had overtaken me. I finally broke the kiss and looked up at him, his eyes dark, lids heavy.

I walked my fingers up his chest and then pulled at the knot of his tie, yanking it off him. He’d been devastating in his suit, but I wanted him, the real him, and I made haste to remove the fine clothes that hid the man underneath. I worked his buttons open one by one, excitement heightening at each scrap of ink-covered skin that was exposed. And after I’d pushed the shirt off his shoulders I stared at him, the heavy slabs of his chest, his tight stomach, the hard ridge that tented his pants.

One breath, then another, and I pressed my body against his, my breasts against his chest and then pressed my hand against that ridge as I kissed the smooth, hot skin that covered his collarbone. He exhaled quickly and then ran his hands up my back, the slight roughness of his hands against my skin setting off sizzling embers of desire that settled at the apex of my thighs. I kept my hand pressed against him and then worked open his belt and quickly lowered his pants.

His iron-hard cock was damp with his desire, but he didn’t try to hasten me, not even when I gripped him, huffing out at the touch of the velvet-soft skin of his shaft and not even when he shuddered after I circled the mushroom-shaped head of his cock. He gripped my hip tight, exhaled, but stayed still as I stroked him, wanting to feel every vein, every millimeter of his soft skin, feel his hardness pulse in my palm.

Then I released him and pushed him down on the edge of the bed. He leaned back on his hands, his huge chest heaving, his cock rising from between his legs, beckoning me.

I answered the call and stepped toward him and then straddled him slowly. I reached between our bodies and gripped the base of his shaft, stroked it along my slit. We both cried out at the contact, and Vasile again grabbed my hip, his hold almost punishing, but the gleam of pleasure in his eye more than worth it. I circled my clit with the head of his cock and then lifted my hips and centered him at the edge of my opening.

Gazes connected, I lowered slowly, filling myself with him inch by inch until he was fully inside me, our bodies as close as they could possibly be. I wrapped my legs around him, and then he sat up, put his arms around me, crushing my breasts against his chest. I was surrounded by him, couldn’t break away unless he allowed. But here, like this, was as safe, as loved as I had ever felt.

He bit at my shoulder, and I pressed my lips against his neck and then, wrapped in his embrace, I rocked against him in an awkward rhythm that was absolutely perfect. My breathing grew erratic as the pleasure swelled and Vasile’s hardness pulsed inside me, his warm breath on my shoulder, his arms around my back showing me his pleasure better than anything else could.

Then he stilled, went rigid beneath me, and the first jet of his cum triggered my own release.

V
asile

“
V
argas send you
?” I asked Priest without bothering to look up.

“No one sends me anywhere,” he replied before he settled across from me at the table.

“So to what do I owe this visit?” I asked, leaning back to look at him.

He just shook his head. “That was foolish, Vasile.”

“So I should have let that idiot insult me? Insult her?” I said, slamming my hand on the table.

“And what of Vargas? You were in his home,” Priest said.

“I’ll give him back five percent. That should soothe any hard feelings,” I said.

“It will,” Priest said. “So have you considered expanding relations with Clan Constantin?”

“So the lecture is over?”

“How many times have I told you I wouldn’t waste my breath on a Petran?” he said.

F
awn

“I wait outside,”
Oleg said, his words slow, heavy with his accent.

He stood at the front door shuffling nervously and not meeting my eyes.

“Yes. I don’t need anything,” I said carefully in deference to the language barrier, nodding and smiling, though both were probably lost on him since he hadn’t actually looked at me directly.

“You stay here?” he said, meeting my eyes this time, face serious.

“Yes.” I ended with another smile and after a moment, he turned to leave.

Vasile had left before dawn this morning, told me that Oleg would be here to watch me. I hadn’t liked the sound of that, had had half a mind to protest, but habit made me hold my tongue. Now that I was alone, the silence was disquieting.

Somehow, in just these few days, he’d filled my world, the tension and uncertainty of our first meeting and then later, the intensity of our coupling had filled my mind. And now that he was gone, thoughts I’d fought hard to keep at bay were rearing their heads, thoughts of one person in particular.

Esther.

I’d never told anyone about her, hadn’t had anyone to tell. And I forced myself not to think about her because thinking about her meant I had to think about myself, think about the life I had let David take from me.

It hurt.

Badly.

But last night, held in the cocoon of safety that Vasile’s arms had become, feeling a peace that had always evaded me, I’d opened that door. And now, even though he wasn’t here, the door remained open.

I jumped up from my perch, grabbed my handbag, and was headed toward the front door before I stopped to think.

Back then, Esther had lived about twelve blocks from here. Maybe she still did. I had nothing but time so I could go and see.

I reached for the doorknob and looked at the car, Oleg sitting inside. I debated whether or not to get his attention. It seemed wise, but he’d want to come with me, and the lure of exploring, maybe finding something of myself by myself was too alluring of a pull.

So I stood, torn. Then I shook my head and opened the door. Vasile had said I wasn’t a prisoner, that I belonged to no one but myself, so I needed to start acting like I wasn’t.

My heart thudded as I walked away, a voice at the back of my head nagging at me that I was doing something wrong, that I would get in trouble.

And it was that very thought that pushed me on.

Trouble.

I didn’t belong to anyone, didn’t answer to anyone. And I was sick and tired of feeling like I had to.

Anger at the very thought of being in trouble carried me through the first half of my journey, but as the anger faded, worry sprang up in its place.

What if she’d moved?

What if she didn’t remember me?

What if she didn’t care anymore?

That thought was most chilling of all. She had no reason to care. I’d dropped out of her life, tossed away a lifelong friendship because of him. I could try to explain, hope she understood I had stayed away to protect her, but I was doubtful and even worse, I couldn’t blame her.

And then I cursed myself for being so self-absorbed. It had been years since I’d been like this, unaccompanied, free to look at whatever I wanted without fear, and instead of focusing on the world around me, I was stuck in my head, still letting others control me.

But no more.

I slowed, looked around, allowing myself to stare, letting my gaze linger as I remembered different places I had visited before my nightmare had begun.

And as I walked, a sense of weightlessness, of possibility came over me.

It was far too short-lived.

I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, and when I looked up, there David stood.

I couldn’t believe I’d gotten this close to him without even noticing it, but now that I had, every fiber of my being was on alert. He still wore that awful cologne, and I wrinkled my nose involuntarily, seemingly having again fallen out of the habit of schooling my emotions in front of him.

He was impeccably dressed as always, but I noticed the redness of his eyes, the puffy bags underneath them. He wasn’t sleeping, which always made him more volatile than usual…

I mentally shook myself. I didn’t have to anticipate anymore, try to predict what would confront me at any given moment. I didn’t have to be around him at all. That thought made me look harder, deeper, not glance at him with hooded eyes, trying to see without being noticed, but really look at him.

And when my eyes clashed with his, I saw pleading there, and the simmering anger that never seemed to go away.

I turned abruptly, determined to get far away from him as fast as I could.

“Stop!” he yelled.

And I almost did.

Almost.

But Vasile’s voice floated through my mind, reminded me that I didn’t have to obey.

I kept walking.

“Fawn!” David called, sounding almost desperate. “You need to come home now. Come home!”

I didn’t turn, but I heard the urgency in his raw voice. David was desperate. Was pleading, seemed almost hurt.

Good. Let him hurt.

I added a little spring to my step.