Sex, Lies & Nikolai (14 page)

“Is this a joke to you?” I ask him genuinely, looking into his eyes despite the warmth that accosts me when I do.

His brows pinch together. “Is what a joke?”

“At the store you told me to figure what you meant out about coming to you, and I did, and I feel foolish right now for coming here. For…thinking you meant it.”

“I did mean it.”

I take a few deep breaths. “You…seriously want to pay to
fuck
me?” The words sound so humiliating out loud, but I grind them out slowly and study his face closely as I do.

He looks deadly serious. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“You need money. I want no commitment. It works.” He says it so casually, like there’s nothing remotely wrong with this. I have no reason to question his sincerity. A man like him doesn’t need to lie about shit. I’m sure he’s brazen and carefree about everything in life. It’s in his nature, I can see it in the way he openly stares at me, in the way he comfortably invades my space, in the way he tattoos every inch of his body like it doesn’t concern him in the slightest the permanency of it.

A man like Nikolai just lives to…live.

I cringe to ask the next words because they’re so fucking cliché, it makes my stomach flop, but they come out anyway. “You can have anyone.”

He blinks slowly as he stares into my eyes. “I want you,” he mutters softly.

That’s all he says about it, and I’m too bewildered to question him further. Because I can tell from his expression, how captivated he is by me right now, he’s being genuine.

And it’s a clusterfuck for me. Because…
why?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and watches me pressing the cold cloth to my split lip like he wants to do it himself, only he won’t come closer.

“Why don’t you want commitment?” I ask, just to fill the silence.

I wonder if the question’s too personal, like perhaps he’s had his heart broken one too many times, which is laughable because who on earth would want to break Nikolai’s heart?

But he shrugs casually. “I’m a busy man.”

“Busy collecting payments.”

This time his eyes harden. “That’s not your concern.”

“Does everybody owe you something?”

“Everybody wants money when they don’t have it. I’m liquid, they’re not. That’s why they come.”

“How did you get so liquid?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m curious.”

“Let’s just say I didn’t go without growing up.”

Family money.

I lick at my lip, over the swollen part. “There are a lot of rumours about you.”

Nikolai looks disinterested. “People talk. It’s what they do best.”

“They say you’re mafia.”

He chuckles dryly. “Very original.”

Thinking of Nat, I add, “And that you’re gay.”

This time he stills and his jaw tenses. I’ve hit a nerve. “And what do you think?” he replies, sharply. “When you kissed me and felt my dick go hard against your stomach, did you stop to wonder if I’m gay?”

I look down at the cloth and probe my swollen lip again when I answer, “I’m just telling you the rumours, not that I believe them.”

I peek at him, and he’s doing what he can not to show his irritation. I shouldn’t have asked those questions, but if I expect his dick to be inside me, I want to at least know him a little more. He calms down relatively quickly. Nothing at all like Grant who would have stormed up and down the room and backhanded me for blinking.

“Sorry,” I apologize softly. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

God, the silence is stifling. I want his face to soften at least a little bit. Slowly it does after my apology.

“Who hurt you?” Nikolai asks again.

“I already told you.”

He frowns. “Why lie? There are marks on your neck, like you’ve been strangled.”

Without thinking, my fingers shoot to my throat and I rub the area that’s sore. Still, I don’t answer him, but my guard is down.

There’s another flash of irritation in him that he’s holding back. “What are you so scared of?” he questions. “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you think I’m scarier than whoever touched you?”

“It’s not about that,” I reply.

“What’s it about then? It’s like Ivan all over again. You have a sick sense of loyalty.”

“I don’t want trouble, that’s all.”

He points at my neck. “It’s too late by the looks of that.”

I don’t meet his eye. “I’ll handle this problem on my own.”

His nose flares, and his jaw ticks. He looks away from me and he’s absolutely fuming. It puts me on edge. Again, I have no idea what happens when Nikolai gets angry. And when he glances at me, his eyes darken. “You think I’ll hurt you?” he asks in disbelief, seeing straight through me. “Have I
ever
hurt you so far?”

I don’t answer, but I swallow thickly and his eyes follow the trail. Instantly his face clears, and he looks dead serious. “I don’t hurt women,” he tells me softly. “Why else would I let your mother go?”

That’s an interesting point, one I completely overlooked. I don’t know why I never gave it much thought. I suppose I wasn’t surprised my mother went to him. I’m pretty sure she’s tried every single person in the Estate for money. Who knows how much she owes? It’s probably why she’s fled.

Silence invades the room once again. I look at him from the corner of my eye every few moments. He’s still watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out. As the seconds pass, he moves back towards me and he cages me in again with his hands on either side of me. I feel the tips of his fingers lowering my hand with the cloth. He drops his head and inspects my mouth, and I’m utterly breathless.

“Does it hurt, rybka?” he whispers gravely, those hypnotic pale blues of his eyes searching my own.

I stiffen a nod, void of words as he moves closer. Every time he exhales, I breathe the air fresh out of his lungs. The room’s warmer. My body feels tight, my blinks are slow, and he keeps moving closer.

“Did he touch you before he hurt you?” he then asks, his voice low and penetrating.

Before I can answer, his lips brush against mine, and I close my eyes to feel them as I shake my head. “Not like that,” I whisper back.

His tongue swipes along the cut on my lip as he murmurs, “So you were doing something for him.”

It surprises me that he can guess that. My eyes are still shut as I think about how to answer him. “Yes,” I finally admit. “At least…I tried.”

“You tried,” he repeats, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently on it once before he lets it go.

I nod again, parting my lips. “I couldn’t do what he wanted.”

“No?” He’s so quiet, it barely comes out as a whisper.

My hand reaches out to him, pressing against his hard chest. I grip his shirt and tilt my face up, trying to kiss his lips. “No,” I push out, just as he kisses me hard. It’s painful and my lip throbs, splitting open again as he ravages me. It hurts badly, but I don’t care. I kiss him back with equal intensity.

All at once, I feel his hands run down my spine, feel his fingers skirt along my ass and to the front of me, resting on my thighs. He doesn’t move them further, and I want him to. I want his fingers under the hem of my dress, and higher even.

He attacks my lips without holding back, yet his hands don’t move, and it’s not enough. I don’t feel like it’s hitting the spot.

Without thinking, I bring my hands down to his and I drag them higher and he lets me, like he’s giving me control of where I can let him touch me. But the higher up I let him go, the more my body begins to tense. I haven’t let a man touch me like this in years. I’m nervous, and admittedly afraid.

My kiss slows as I focus on his thumb rubbing along the inside of my thigh. Just as he moves higher, my palm presses down on his hand, stopping him cold. There’s a moment of stillness with that. His lips slow completely against mine, and I don’t think either of us breathes.

I don’t even want to open my eyes to see how he handles that rejection.

Men don’t handle rejection.
Mom used to say.

I tense even more, unsure of what he’ll do, when suddenly he kisses me again, this time softly. My muscles instantly relax, and when he locks his lips around my cut where I’m bleeding, he sucks on the wound gently and my heart goes crazy, squeezing in my chest at this doting act. Then he pulls away, and I can’t help but open my eyes this time to look at him.

His eyes are half-hooded, his breathing is heavy, and his lips are swollen and there’s some blood on his lower lip from where he’s kissed me. He reaches for something behind me – the cloth wrapped around the ice – and presses it back against my mouth.

With a grave look, he says breathlessly, “The whole point you’re here, Alina, is so that I can look after you.” My lips part in surprise. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay and well taken care of, and I can’t be guaranteed that if there’s some asshole out there who thinks he can get away with hurting you. So I’m going to ask you one more time. Who hurt you?”

So many men.

I can’t see their faces, but I remember their touch and where their hands went.

So many of them.

Mother was always in the next room. She couldn’t have always been passed out. She would have heard me at least
once
cry out.

I let in a breath, feeling queasy at where my mind has ventured down. Funny that Franko doesn’t cross my mind for seconds at a time after that question is asked. The abuse in my childhood is the burden I carry. The one I hide even to myself, and yet Nikolai’s question surfaces it because…because, fuck, nobody’s ever asked me, “Who hurt you?” before.

Never ever.

I sniff and swallow back tears as I look at Nikolai. He disarms me. His touch opens up the floodgates, and it’s like sweet agony because I love the feel of him but hate where my mind goes afterwards.

“Alina?” he presses, waiting.

My lips quiver as I push out, “Franko,” through them.

Nikolai peers at me, his face unchanged, like he’s…waiting for more. Like he
knows
there’s more.

“Franko,” I repeat, firmer than before. “Just him.”

He steps back from me, his face still set in stone. I don’t know what he’s thinking, especially as he grabs his suit jacket from around his chair and throws it on.

“I don’t know his last name,” I add, wringing my hands together now as I begin to regret my admission.

“There’s only one Franko here capable of this,” Nikolai replies distractedly.

“I doubt he’d do anything –”

“Of course he will,” he interrupts, removing keys from his pocket now. “Franko is violent. He will do something, especially if you didn’t end up luring the man he ordered you to.”

I cringe, my neck and face burning from shame.

Nikolai catches it and tilts his head of the side. “You didn’t think I’d know what he does? Of course I know. I just didn’t think he’d be the one you turned to instead.”

I can hardly look him in the eye. “I thought it’d be easier than…” My words trail off.

“Than being with me,” he finishes, his words icy. “I didn’t know I was so repugnant.”

“You’re not. I was just afraid.”

He doesn’t respond, and when I glance at him, he looks wounded just as he is angry, and it’s the most expressive face I’ve seen in him since he kissed me against the brick wall of the diner.

“I don’t want any problems, Nikolai,” I tell him softly. “This whole thing is my fault. I pulled out last second and he chased after me.”

“How did you get away?”

I lick at my split lip and shrug half-heartedly. “I kneed him in the balls and ran away.”

The dark look on his face lightens a fraction and his lips flinch upwards. “I’d say you’re impressive, but then you turned to him in the first place.” That stings. “Does he know where you live?”

I think about Natasha who has been to my apartment several times before. “He could easily find out if he wanted to.”

He nods and suddenly calls out, “Vlad!”

The door opens seconds later and the muscley man comes through. “Yeah?”

They exchange words in Russian, and I catch Franco’s name a few times. Andrei nods and leaves after, and this time the door stays open. “Let’s go,” Nikolai says to me, tossing the cloth of ice down on his desk.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to take you home, and then I’m going to have a word with Franco.”

I shake my head frantically. “Don’t do anything to him, Nikolai. A lot of women depend on him.”

“I don’t care.”

“What happened was my fault. I’m the one that backed out.”

“I don’t care,” he repeats.

I feel like I just want to shake him so he’ll stop to listen. “Nikolai, I don’t want you to do anything. I’ll take myself home and you can stay here –”

“Stop talking,” he interrupts. He looks at me for a solid moment, this no-bullshit look on his face. “If this is going to work between us, you will learn not to argue and do as you’re told. You will get up and I will take you home. There is nothing left to discuss.”