Page 57 of Bratva's Mercy
Those green eyes.
Those lips.
That tight ass around my dick.
I clenched my jaw and threw my head back. My hand slicked back and forth over my dick, moving rapidly as my breath hitched. A low grunt escaped my lips, and my release shot forward, staining the wall. Staining my marriage vows.
No. Till death do us part. That was the promise we’d made. But I still couldn’t stop the guilt from gnawing in my gut.
I quickly washed up and turned off the water sharply. Water dripped onto the floor as I impatiently snagged a towel and wrapped it around my waist without drying off. I had two days before I had to report back to the hospital, which meant going through my emails and checking for any updates so I could hit the ground running once I was back.
I stepped out of the bathroom, fingering my wet hair, and drew to a halt. My suitcase was no longer where I’d left it.The window was open, the curtains stirring from the wind. Sergei stood there, back half turned to me, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around him.
I wasn’t prepared at all to see him so soon. My last night in Florida, I’d rehearsed a dozen things I would say to him. Maybe I would apologize for running out on him. Maybe I would play hard to get for a while. Maybe I would kiss him and pick up right where we left off.
I did none of that.
Silence fell between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
My breath caught in my chest as my gaze swept over him. He seemed to have come straight here from the gym, dressed in a tank top that showed off his bare arms and the breadth of his back and a pair of black joggers that molded nicely to his backside.
Had he been doing squats? That would explain a lot.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Despite my release in the shower, a sharp, familiar awareness lit up every nerve ending. And dammit, but nothing had changed. I still wanted to pull the waistband of his joggers down and slip my fingers between his cheeks. Was he still soft and pliant back there? Had he fucked anyone else while I was away?
Where the hell did that thought come from?
Disappointment settled in my gut, thick and unwelcome. I wanted to shun the attraction, but I reluctantly accepted that it could only work in my favor to convince Sergei I was really interested in him.
I straightened slightly, forcing my shoulders back, forcing control where the instinct to retreat wanted to take over.
“Smoking’s bad for your health,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Since I was having trouble addressing him as a man, doing so as a doctor was my next best bet to sound normal.
He took another drag, the ember at the tip flaring. “Iknow. I quit last year after being an addict for twenty years. Was quite proud of myself.”
Twenty years? I frowned. He couldn’t be older than thirty-five, which meant he’d started smoking from an early age. Most teenagers at that age experimented, but if he was addicted then…
“Started back up recently.”
My heart picked up, thudding harder than it should have. He still hadn’t looked at me yet. Not once.
“Two weeks ago, to be exact.” He slowly turned and waited as if expecting me to say something. “Don’t you want to know why?” he asked.
I swallowed around my scratchy throat. Two weeks ago, we had sex. Two weeks ago, I took a plane to get as far away from him as possible after he’d told me he liked me.
Sergei took another drag, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring it. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against his thigh. The fabric hissed. A small, dark hole formed instantly, and I knew it had gone through and reached skin, but he didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch.
When the cigarette was out, he flicked it out the window. Then he walked toward me slowly, each step measured. He stopped right in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice low. “Ask me why, Leo.”
The way he said my name in his thick Russian accent made my stomach flutter. I stepped back instinctively, shaking my head. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
I turned, intent on putting space between us, but his hand shot out, gripping the corner of my towel and yanking me back against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
“Now you’re sick of the games?” he snarled, his voicesharp and cracking. “What would you call disappearing for two weeks? Because it seems like you were hiding and you wanted me to seek.”
I twisted in his hold, refusing to shrink back. What right did he have to be angry with me? I hadn’t promised him anything, and with our colorful history, he would be a fool to think otherwise.
