The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(22)

My toes curled. I whimpered, tremors taking me over. Building, coiling, building, coiling—

Release.

My back bowed; I screamed helplessly as my body seized.

He tugged my hair to bare my neck, nipping me hard, snarling against my skin, “Ty svodish’ menya s uma!” You madden me!

I felt his cock jerking inside me, then heat . . . burst after burst as I moaned his name—in a voice dripping with submission.



After I’d collapsed back against him, limp with satisfaction, Sevastyan kept our bodies joined, taking the opportunity to soothe his bite with a tender kiss on my neck.

Soon he started hardening again. I was exhausted, but the feel of him growing within me once more turned me on so much that I was ready for another round.

Yet he lifted me from his shaft, moving me bodily to the top of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you. I forget you were untried before this night.”

I could already tell how sore I was going to be. Probably a good plan to take a breather.

He lay on his back, dragging me against his side. As he held me securely in the cradle of his arms, I rested my head on his chest. With the sound of his heart against my ear, I traced a tattoo, filled with fascination for this man—and a lingering unease.

I’d once imagined that I would be surrendering something when I lost my virginity. With Aleksandr Sevastyan, I might have surrendered . . . everything.

But fatigue was catching up with me.

As I was drifting off to sleep, he gruffly said, “I’ve got a thousand thoughts running through my head.”

He was actually instigating a conversation? About what was on his mind? “Tell me. Even just one.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” he said in a noncommittal tone. “Go to sleep.”

“Just one, Sevastyan.”

He exhaled. “This need I have for you . . . it should unsettle you.”

I swallowed. It did. Still I asked, “Why?”

He pressed his palm against mine, studying our hands for nerve-racking moments. “Because it unsettles even me.”





Chapter 29




I shot upright, waking to the sound of my own scream and boots stomping toward the cabin.

“Natalie?”

I was awake. On the boat. Just a nightmare.

In sleep, I’d relived those bullets spraying. I’d heard Paxán’s treasured clocks shattering, thinking that he would be distraught at the loss.

Then I’d dreamed that Sevastyan had died by the boathouse, his mighty body felled. Raindrops had pelted his lifeless face, his unblinking eyes—

When he burst through the cabin door, I was already on my knees, reaching for him with a whimper.

He clasped me against him, tugging me into his lap as he sank down on the bed. “I’ve got you. Shh,” he murmured, squeezing me against his chest. “Shh, milaya moya.” He began rubbing my back with his big, warm hand, soothing me. God, I needed him. His strength, his heat.

In his arms, with his heartbeat drumming through my consciousness, I wondered how I could possibly have thought of this man as sinister.

When he was like this, I couldn’t make myself regret last night’s surrender. As he pressed kisses against my hair, I felt closer to him than I ever had to anyone.

How could I have regretted giving him anything I could . . . ?

The sound of voices outside roused me. “Where are we?” I asked.

“Docked outside of St. Petersburg.” He tucked me even closer. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

No need to ask what I’d been having a nightmare about. “I . . . relived it,” I said in a broken voice. “Then I dreamed you died.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Natalie. But you’ve been through a lot. You weren’t prepared for any of this.”

“I’d sensed something was off with Filip. Yet I ignored my instincts. I should’ve said something.”

Sevastyan shook his head. “I’d told Paxán about my misgivings, but he was ever loyal to his friends. He felt like he owed more to Filip, wouldn’t heed my advice. I should’ve fought him, made him see reason.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “We’re both blaming ourselves. Maybe we should blame Filip? Or Travkin?”

In a low tone, Sevastyan admitted, “I wish I could kill Travkin again.”

Reminded of what he’d done, I asked, “Why did you walk into the lion’s den to assassinate him? Why not wait?”

“The minute he marked you for death, he ensured his own. No one will ever hurt you. No one . . .” Sevastyan’s hand on my back paused; he tensed all around me.

“What? What’s wrong?”

I followed his gaze, saw my reflection in the dresser mirror. There were fingertip-sized bruises on my hip and ass.

In a hoarse voice, he said, “I did this to you?”

I peered up, saw an expression I’d never seen on his face.

Fear.

Because the only thing that could scare a man like Sevastyan . . . was himself.

He set me on the bed as if I were made of porcelain, then stood to leave, his posture stiff. “I left bruises.” He looked wrecked by this, which wouldn’t do.

So I tried to lighten the mood. “Please. I bruise from harsh language. Besides, this is kind of the nature of the beast, no?” He’d whipped women before, bound them. “Surely you’ve seen this in the past.”