84

Pavel Kayla’s knees buckle, and I catch her elbow to steady her. She’s so fucking sweet. Definitely tender, like a little flower.
A flower I always fear I will crush.
How in the hell would I know that checking in first would crack her confidence? It’s exactly this tenderheartedness that made me reject her when we first met at Black Light. I didn’t think she’d last one minute with me without screaming red. But she proved me wrong.
Kayla will take just about everything I dish out without complaint. Those big blue eyes are always on my face, looking for my approval, for my next command. She’s actually a dream submissive. But being her dom means I have to figure out the emotional shit, which isn’t my forte.
Understatement.
I slide my lips over hers in a soft kiss, then trace the cutout of her dress with the tip of my index finger. “You look so beautiful, little flower. I should take you out for dinner and show you off, is that what you want?”
It’s not what I want. In fact, the second I saw her down in the lobby, I wanted to toss her over my shoulder and spank her ass red for letting anyone else see her looking so very fuckable.
It’s why I refused to renew our memberships to Black Light, where we played for free for the last month. I didn’t like anyone else looking at her. It brought out a violence in me that I had to contain.
Had to be careful not to channel into our play.
“I dressed for you, Master,” she says softly.
Damn. Every time I try to defend myself against this relationship, she says something like that.
A surge of passion rushes out of me, and I grip her face in both my hands and shove her up against the wall again, kissing the hell out of her pretty mouth.
By the time I’m finished, my beard has chafed her skin, her lips are swollen, and she’s panting for breath. I want to do a hundred dirty things with her, but I shove my dark desires down. The need to make up for hurting her feelings takes precedence over my need to torture that lush little body of hers.
I smooth back her hair. “If we don’t leave this room now,” I warn her, “you’ll be naked in thirty seconds with my handprints all over that pretty ass of yours.”
Her eyes dilate. “Mmm.”
“I meant that as a threat.” Amusement rolls around in my mouth, almost making me smile. “Let’s go eat.”
“Yes, Master.”
I maneuver her out of the room with my hand on her back because it’s so damn pleasurable to have her body under my hands at all times. In the elevator, I flatten her against the wall again. “Were you a good girl this week?”
She blinks up at me. “I’m always a good girl.”
“I know.” I brush the hair out of her face. “That’s what makes this so wrong.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “What?”
“You’re so good, and I’m very, very bad.”
She doesn’t balk. I don’t think she believes me-but she should. Instead, her sweet body writhes against mine, seeking pleasure. The elevator stops, and two people get on, prompting me to turn around and tuck Kayla protectively into my side. We’re safe here-there’s no bratva cell or anyone our cell has a beef with in Los Angeles.
I take her to the nice restaurant in the hotel because I don’t want to get too far from our room.
Once we’re settled and ordered our food, Kayla studies me.
“What do you do for your job, Pavel?”
“Anything the boss wants me to,” I say. And nothing I can tell you about. When I realize she’s waiting for more, I add, “My position is brigadier–a soldier. I don’t rank high in our organization, but I am lucky enough to be in our pakhan’s inner circle.”
“Ravil is the boss-the pakhan?” she asks.
My brows shoot up at her knowing his name. I haven’t shared much of anything about my life with Kayla. We usually keep our conversation and activities to the bedroom.
“Sasha told me,” she says quickly. Sasha, our bratva fixer’s new bride, studied theatre with Kayla at University of Southern California. They roomed together during college. I now live with the pain-in-the-ass bratva princess and the rest of our bratva cell.
“Yes. He’s getting pissed about me being gone every weekend. He made a comment.”
“If you had to cancel, it would be fine. I’d understand.” She flushes. “I mean, of course, you know that. You’re the dom.”
I’m the kind of guy who takes whether something is being offered or not, but having Kayla repeatedly offer up her submission changes me. Makes me want to give a little more. Which is what makes this dangerous territory. I shouldn’t let this thing deepen when I’m about to break it off. So I don’t tell her the truth: that I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than cancel our weekend.
Our food comes-steak for me, salmon salad for Kayla, and we eat in silence until Kayla asks, “Do you kill people for Ravil?”
The words charge the air between us, creating an electric barrier.
My brows slam down as my pulse quickens. “Why would you ask that, Kayla?” My gaze travels to her throat, marking her frantic pulse. The worst possibilities run through my head-she’s an informant. She’s wearing a wire. That’s why she’s asking about Ravil and my job and who I’ve killed.
But no-Kayla’s such an open book. She couldn’t play me like that, could she?
Her lips part, but no further sound comes out.
I reach across the table and pick up her wrist, finding her pulse with my fingers. “Why do you ask?” I repeat, with a harder edge to my voice.
She swallows. “C-curiosity.” Her pulse is quick because I scared her, but it doesn’t grow faster when she answers.
I flip her wrist in my hand and brush my thumb across her pulse lightly to soothe away my harshness of a moment ago. “You really want the answer?”
Her pulse skitters beneath the pad of my thumb. I can tell by her wide eyes that she already knows the truth, and it frightens her, but she nods.
“Yes. I told you I was a killer when we met. It wasn’t a figure of speech.” My admission thuds onto the table between us like a heavy stone, crowding our plates and silverware, an ugly centerpiece no one wants to look at. “All of them deserved it, not that I believe that will save my soul.” I meet her gaze steadily. I resolved myself to being an executioner right after I dropped the first body for the Russian army. I never looked back. There’s a place in this world for men like me. We serve a purpose most aren’t willing to fulfill. But that place isn’t anywhere near Kayla Winstead. She’s far too pure.
She’s not innocent, not weak, but she’s whole and undamaged. A man like me doesn’t belong in her bed or her life.
She still hasn’t spoken. I release her wrist and sit back in case she’s ready to throw her napkin on the table and run. I wouldn’t stop her.
“I’m not a nice man. I told you that when we met.”
Her lashes flicker over her eyes, like she’s trying to keep them wide, to keep tears from spilling.
“Do you remember what I told you?”
I remember. I remember everything about that night. The way it felt to break her. The way it felt to hold her in my arms, afterward, and put her back together. The unspeakable sexual power that gave me.
I clear my throat. “You said you trusted me.”
She nods. “I still do.”
“Blossom.” It’s a sigh. Or maybe a prayer. I should set her free-right now-but I can’t bring myself to speak the words. I’m not ready to give her up. So instead, I say, “I promise I’ll let you go the moment you want out.”
She draws back, and I watch a shiver move through her.
“You’re scared,” I murmur, reaching for her fingers across the table and weaving mine through hers. “Are you scared of me?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Good. You’re safe with me, blossom. Always. You say the word, I back off. You know that, right?”
She has a safe word. I’m telling her it extends beyond our play. If-no, when-she says red to this relationship, it ends. Because I know that day will come.