Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (8 page)

“Hobbies?” I asked.

“Crime. Or rather, the study of crime,” she said immediately.

It seemed Lily had other ideas about changing the subject. She was probably curious, had every reason to be, and I shouldn’t begrudge her that, but I had no intention of going down this road with her.

Ever.

She watched me, and I could see she was waiting for a response.

“Interesting hobby,” I said blandly, trying to convey a nonchalance I didn’t feel.

“I never got good at quilting,” she said, a faint smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

I did the same, but my spirits were dampened, the single word bringing the world I had momentarily left behind back in full force.

“For some people, crime isn’t a hobby, Lily. It’s a business,” I said, hoping the statement was more of a nonanswer than an answer but still contained more than a kernel of truth to be enough for her.

“Or a way of life,” she interjected.

I nodded. “So why is crime, or rather, the study of crime, your hobby?” I asked, both curious and anxious to hear her answer, even though I wanted to change the subject. I wouldn’t go into this, but I was still learning a lot about her from this conversation, and I wanted to learn even more.

She glanced off, seeming lost in her thoughts. “It’s just a question I’ve wanted to answer for years.”

“What question?” I said.

Her gaze drifted back to me and she tilted her head. “Why. Why it is some people think they can do as they please, flout the rules, color outside the lines without care or consequence. What it must be like to have that power,” she said.

“Lily, everyone colors inside the lines or gets punished. Those lines might be different than you’re accustomed to. They might be so broad you can’t see them, so broad you might not think they exist. But they are there for everyone. Even those you deem criminal,” I said.

“Perhaps, but I want to see them, know where they are,” she replied, her voice taking on a needy, almost desperate edge, one I found I wanted to soothe away. Before I could respond, she sobered, a calm coming over her so quickly that I halfway believed I’d imagined that earlier tension I’d heard. She gave me a faint smile. “This is rather new to me. Should I have waited three days to tell you about that?”

I laughed again, unable to remember a time that I had done so so frequently and so freely, and in a breath, the moment lightened.

“I admire honesty,” I said. “And speaking of…”

As I trailed off, I smoothed my hands up the curve of her waist, then over the soft skin of her stomach to cup her full breasts. They were a bounty, a perfect mix of soft and firm, enough to fill my hands to overflowing, the dark berries of her nipples standing atop them nearly begging for my touch.

I answered their call and kissed my way down her neck, her collarbone, over the plush slope of her breast. When I closed my lips around her nipple, she sighed and shifted in my lap, her slick sex brushing my skin and her changing position nestling my shaft deeper between her cheeks.

As I teased at the bud with the tip of my tongue, I teased the other with my hand, rolling it between my fingers, adding a little twist when she exhaled again. When I broke away, I stared down at the glistening nub, which shone and was puckered tight with gooseflesh.

“How did that happen?” I asked.

“Hmm?” she replied, looking down at me dreamily.

“Focus, Lily,” I said as I walked my fingers down her chest, through the hairs that covered her mound, until I rested at the V of her thighs, my fingers close but not touching her clit.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“How did that happen? Why have you never been with anyone?”

I was almost embarrassingly curious about her answer. Worse, I felt a sense of possession and ownership that was outsized. I would have her; this game was simply a prelude to that inevitable outcome. And that I would be the first only made the knowledge that much sweeter.

“I just never got around to it,” she said.

“That’s not an answer, Lily,” I said.

“It’s the only one I have. Between school and…other responsibilities, I was distracted.”

“And what’s caught your attention now?” I said.

“Not what. Who,” she replied.

“Who, then?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the answer. I couldn’t even consider the idea that it wasn’t me, but was just as unable to consider that it was. I wanted it to be, wanted it more badly than I could admit. But if I heard her say it, any distance, any hope that I had of leaving this, leaving her unscathed was impossible.

She met my eyes, her face stone-serious. “You.”

I’d thought there was nothing she could say or do that would make me want her more, but with that single word she proved me wrong. The word was like a key that unlocked the cage around my heart, a heart that I had long thought dead.

I snagged a condom off the nightstand and unwrapped it. Lily watched me avidly as I pushed her back and then rolled the condom down to cover my unyieldingly hard shaft.

I lifted my hand to the center of her back and coaxed her to rise. Once she had, I slid down the bed and lined myself up with her entrance.

Then, hand steady at her hip, I guided her down slowly, breaching her a tiny bit at a time. When I was halfway in, she pushed out a breath and I stopped her, watching her for any sign of distress. She lifted her eyes at me and sighed out, the sound low, pleasure-filled. It sparked warmth in my chest and I pushed down again, my own eyes going heavy as her snug walls spread to accept me.

When I met the last bit of resistance, I locked my eyes with hers and then lifted as I pushed her down, joining us completely.

“Look at me, Lily,” I said when she slammed her eyes shut.

She peeled them open and watched me, something akin to wonder in her expression, a look I knew was mirrored in mine. I clenched my teeth tight and then lifted her and settled her again and again until she took over, moving in her own jerky motion. As she moved, I loosened my grip on her hip and moved my fingers forward to brush her clit.

She cried out and I increased the pressure and then relented, repeated the motion until she was panting, her body tense with her pleasure. I put my hand at the center of her back again and pushed her down as I rocked up. I moved inside her in a frantic motion as I continued to tease and stroke her clit, and with each motion, her pussy fluttered, pulling in a tight hold that threatened my control.

And then, on a harsh cry, she came apart in my arms, her sex clamping down on me in the most delicious hold. It was nearly enough to send me with her, but I pulled back, wanting, needing, to make this last.

I thrust up into her again, her tightness hugging me in the most exquisite grip, one that I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist for much longer. So I anchored one hand on her hip and the other around the base of my cock, squeezing hard to stave off my climax.

She grunted a protest when I lifted her off me and turned her face down in a pretty little pout. I understood where she was coming from, missed being inside her, connected with her, even after only a second apart.

I turned until she was under me, the curves of her body calling to me, making me want to touch her, all of her at once. My hands almost shook with my need, the desire that had me on the ragged edge. But I held back, touched her shoulder, the light, lingering touch not nearly revealing the depth of my need.

Using that same light touch, I trailed down, slowing to graze her full breast before I moved lower, down the soft swell of her stomach to rest between her thighs. The wet heat that met my fingertips sent my stomach clenching and my cock hardening to the point of pain.

But I ignored it and focused on her, paying attention to her breaths, her movements as I stroked her, tightened my hand on her heavy thigh as I slipped a finger into her heat. Even though she had taken my cock, she was tight, so tight that I only added a second when she was so wet that her inner thighs were slick with the proof of her desire.

I moved my fingers as deep as they could go and then pulled them out, the friction of her tissue against my fingers making me remember how they’d felt around my shaft, making me unable to go another second without feeling it again.

I withdrew my fingers slowly, but then quickly replaced them with my cock, wanting to go slowly but unable to contain the urgent need to be one with her again.

“Lily, Lily,” I chanted when I was buried inside her, the spasm of her pussy around my shaft making it impossible for me to do anything else except thrust almost wildly.

Her body went rigid with her climax, her hands tight on my sweat-slicked arms, her panted-out breaths in my ear leaving me no choice but to follow her.

L
ily

“
W
hat are you thinking
?” he asked a long time later.

The words rumbled from his chest, the vibration intensified by his arms around me, his warm, smooth skin against my cheek. Hearing it, hearing the muted thud of his steady heartbeat, made me feel safe…happy. I shouldn’t have felt either, not with him, probably not with anyone else, but I did, too happy, too safe to do anything but close my eyes and wish that I could stay here forever.

“Why do you think I’m thinking something?”

“I can hear you,” he said, tracing a finger along my cheek, the touch gentle yet strong.

I shivered despite myself, my promises to stay distant, keep my head, fading away. It was an impossible task, especially when I was like this, sharing an intimacy with him that I had never shared with anyone else. Seeing a side of him I doubted he had ever shared with anyone else.

It felt real, like two normal people finding each other, made it far too easy to forget that I was at war with him, with all that he stood for, even if he didn’t know it.

I went rigid at that thought, feeling wrong, like I was dishonoring something special, something sacred, with my deception.

“It’s okay. You can ask me. I’ll answer if I can,” he whispered, tightening his arms around me.

I wanted to sink into that embrace, return it, which only made me feel worse. I had made a promise, had dedicated my life to vengeance, but that promise seemed small, insignificant in this moment.

And maybe that was the worst of all. I was betraying Braden, betraying my promise to myself. Lying to Anton. The thought brought me up short when I realized how much that mattered to me, how the idea of lying to Anton, the very thing I’d been doing since the moment I laid eyes on him, bothered me almost as much as my betrayal of Braden. But one couldn’t exist without the other, a fact that I couldn’t untangle now, might not be able to ever.

“It’s nothing,” I finally said, my voice muffled as I burrowed my face into his side, breathed in his scent, wanting to be close to him, even closer if that was possible, and also unable to look at him for fear of what he might see.

Fear of what I might see.

We stayed that way for a moment, his heart beating against my chest, the rhythm vibrating against my cheek, but soon he disentangled us, grasped my chin in his hand, and tilted my head up so that I met his eyes.

The warmth, the affection, the completely unexpected kindness I saw there shifted me. I had prepared myself for everything. Found out all I could about the clans, the tortures they preferred, the crimes they committed. But this…human decency, kindness of a sort that only my brother and very few others had ever shown me…

I hadn’t prepared for that.

Nor the soft smile that lifted his lips, the way my heart fluttered at the sight of it. I hadn’t prepared for that either.

“Ask,” he said.

I couldn’t deny him, wondered if I’d have the power to deny him anything.

“You can tell me to butt out. It’s none of my business, anyway, I just—”

My words were cut off by his lips against mine, his firm, powerful, yet oh-so-gentle caress coaxing out a deep sigh.

He broke away, stared down at me again. “Ask.”

I smiled despite myself. “So pushy,” I said.

He smiled, but then waited. Waited until I finally said, “When I said that I was there to help your father, you…reacted, enough that you felt compelled to come here. Why?”

He was reacting now too. His eyes, which had been playful, uncommon for him, clouded, and the lightness that had danced in his expression went away. I wanted it back. Hated myself for wanting it back, but I did nonetheless.

I threaded my fingers in the hair at the base of his strong neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” I said, stroking at his hair.

He shook his head. “No. It’s not you. It’s just that…”

His eyes took on a far-off expression, and I waited. After a few moments, it occurred to me that, where before I would have been anticipating this, anxious for any little nugget of information that might give me a leg up, help me get closer to destroying Clan Constantin, now I was anticipating this, anxious, but for an entirely different reason.

I wanted insight. Wanted to know who Anton was.

Cared who he was.

He’d shown me unexpected tenderness, shown me passion beyond my imagination. That alone was enough, but it wasn’t the reason, not the real one. Each time I’d seen him, I’d felt something—fear, attraction, something else I hadn’t been able to name. But over these hours I’d realized what it was.

Anton made me believe—hope—that I didn’t have to be alone.

I’d given up that fantasy long ago if I’d ever had it at all. The one where I loved someone, cared for them and they me, the one where I wasn’t utterly alone, the one where I was free of plots, schemes, revenge… I tried not to even think of it, dream of it. But here, now, with him, it seemed possible.

And I could love him for that.

He looked at me again. “I’ve always known that he was…my father. Everyone did. But no one ever said it out loud. Still don’t. It’s just kind of there, like my breath. I don’t think about it. No one really does. So for you to say it like that, like it was no big deal, no secret, just a fact. It was…different.”

“Different bad?”

I asked the question even though reason told me to leave it alone, not to get deep, or any deeper. But the words came out anyway.

“No. Just different. I’m long beyond the point where it has the power to affect me. I was just surprised.” His eyes went bright again. “But I shouldn’t be, at least not with you. You seem to do that with relative ease.”

“Do I, now?” I asked, falling into the play of the moment despite all that surrounded us.

He kissed my ear, made his way down my neck as I shivered beneath him. “You do,” he said.

“Maybe I should return the favor,” he whispered, his voice against my skin making me moan.

“Maybe you should,” I said.

And when he closed his lips around my nipple, I didn’t say anything else.

L
ily

M
y sluggish mind
could barely comprehend his words. It was too filled with the feeling of his skin against mine, the pulses that still ran through me, the way my body tingled from his touches.

The thin sheet grated against my tender nipples, and every time I moved, my sex throbbed, the slight pain a reminder of him inside me, the tingle that spread low in my belly when I clenched, my sex reminding me of how empty I was without him, how I wanted him inside me again.

But those feelings, the need that he had awakened, were almost muted by the other, much more potent feelings that lying next to him, cocooned in the strength and warmth of his arms, evoked. Here, in the darkness of this room, I was safe, at peace, something I could hardly recall being before.

That it was with him, the dark markings on his arms, barely visible in the room but undoubtedly there, making it impossible for me to forget who he was, what he stood for, should have extinguished my ardor, should have kept me away from him in the first place.

But my will and my body were out of sync, and instead of moving away, I burrowed even closer.

“I should go,” he said in his deep, raspy voice, the faint lilt of his accent like honey against my ears, so much so that I missed what he said.

When I finally grasped the words, I broke away and sat up quickly, taking the sheet with me.

“I’m sorry… I…” I stopped, wondering what to say, knowing that the truth, that I was busy pretending that this was real, that him holding me, kissing me, meant something. I knew that it did—as much as it couldn’t, as much as I didn’t want it to, it had, even if only for these few hours. But I couldn’t say that to him, could hardly admit it to myself. I finally settled on, “Thank you.”

He clamped a hand around my neck and pulled me to him and kissed me, so deeply, so thoroughly, I forgot how embarrassed I’d been moments ago. When he broke the kiss, I was panting.

“That’s a better good-bye,” he said.

I blinked. Blinked again. “Um, Anton, I don’t want you to think… I mean, I’m not…”

He released a short little laugh and then smiled, his eyes soft. “I’ve never seen my Lily tongue-tied.”

His Lily.

The thought of it, of being his, was better than I wanted to admit.

“I just…I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you or that you owe me anything. That this meant something it didn’t,” I finally said.

His smile dropped and his eyes clouded, but he soon regained his usual, somewhat placid expression and kissed me again, this time sweetly. “We’ll decide what this meant and what it didn’t later, okay? But for now, I must go.”

I nodded, but he didn’t move, kept his gaze glued to mine.

“What is it, Lily?” he asked, his patient, soothing tone making me feel all the more a fool. A fool who couldn’t resist speaking her thoughts.

“You’re not leaving because of me… I mean, this”—I gestured at the pillows—“was okay?” I said, wishing I could drop through the floor from embarrassment, but needing to know what he thought, what, if anything, he had felt.

He cupped my cheek, worked his thumb against the bone, the motion drawing my gaze to the spots of ink on his wrist until he tilted my head until I met his gaze again. “You know why I’m leaving?” he asked.

I went with my first thought. “Because I’m clinging?”

“No,” he said, moving his thumb a little faster. “Because I want to take you again. And again. But you’re not ready. So I’ll go and not risk the temptation.”

“Oh,” I said, warmth suffusing me as I processed what he’d said, that warmth becoming full, bone-deep happiness when I finally did. “I think I could. Take you again, I mean.”

In a blink, his patient gaze turned hot with desire. “You tempt me, Lily. But no. I’ll leave. Come, make sure the door is locked behind me,” he said.

I watched him dress and then stood on shaky legs, not bothering to dress when I saw the way he looked at me, his clear appreciation stifling any nerves. He kissed me one last time, then left, though I didn’t hear his steps until after I’d bolted the door.

I exhaled when he left, not having realized that I’d been holding my breath.

I made my way back to my bedroom and fell into my bed, my body the best kind of tired it had ever felt, my mind racing.

Being with him, enjoying it, craving it again…it was wrong.

Being with him, enjoying it, craving it again…it felt so very right.

Calling it physical, tossing it off as a simple sex act, a base human action detached from feeling, would have been easy, and preferable, but that felt wrong. Untrue. Because what had happened here tonight was more than that.

The way he’d touched me, kissed me, talked to me. The way he’d cared for me. All of it had been more than sex.

And that was terrifying.

Because in those moments, I’d seen beyond the tattoos, beyond Clan Constantin, beyond my hate, seen a man, a kind one, one I could care about.

One who could put my heart and my quest at risk.