Page 32 of Bratva Hunter

“Come for me!” He plays my body like a Stratovarius, using his cock to make my heart sing with pleasure. I don’t know how much time passes until my body soars into a life-altering orgasm. I forget myself as I cry out. “I love you.”

Rory continues to give me everything his magnificent cock has to offer, pumping in and out as he climbs the climax cliff. He didn’t react to my outburst, and embarrassment embraces my soul. I’m screwed. I’m sure I’m pregnant. He didn’t ask about birth control, and I haven’t shared. Emotions swirl my soul as he cries out.

Damn. No exclamation of love as he climbs off the bed. Before he gets back, I’m on my feet, ready to enter the bathroom as he strolls out. Slipping by him, I turn on the shower and pee while he stands in the doorway with a frown.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. You’re not the relationship kind of guy. I get it.” Stepping into the shower, I will myself to hold back the tears brimming in my eyes.

Turning off the shower, I step out to Rory’s thoughtful eyes. “Let me dry you.”

“I can…”

“No.” He focuses on me as I comply. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t.”

“Damn it. You will just do what I want.”

I pull the ends of the towel from his hands and wrap it around myself, taking a pose. “Look. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s obvious that this isn’t what you had intended. I get that. Once we get to New York, I’ll figure out a way to handle my family. Who knows, maybe the Russians might want the information I have for protection.”

Rory tightens his jaw while crossing his arms. “I’m protecting you.”

My heart can’t take any more, so I turn to leave the little bathroom. His hand grabs my upper arm, turning me into his hard chest. “Just let me go.”

“Never!” He lifts my chin to take my mouth in a sensual kiss, exploring with his tongue as his hand slips under the top of the towel, dropping it to the floor. “I want you.” He stares into my eyes. “I didn’t want any relationship, but you matter to me. I’m unsure what the future will bring, but you’re mine.”

I can’t argue because he’s carrying me to the double bed to ravish me again.

RORIC

The Lincoln Tunnel runs under the Hudson River. My heart picks up speed as my palms dampen. It’s only a mile and a half; you can do it. It’s the same mantra I chant in my head whenever I go through this. The fear started in my childhood when we ran from a shooting at my brother’s birthday party. The actual shooting didn’t seem to register as much as being in a dark SUV racing into a tunnel. It took forever to get through the mile and a half. I’m so lucky that my mother understood and walked me through it whenever we came this way. My father, the Pakhanof our bratva, wasn’t so patient. His idea of mastering your fears was total immersion. He had a closet built in the basement of our home, just to ‘help me with my fear.’ I shudder. I thought a lot about killing in that room.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand grazes my arm. Guilt and resentment bubble up. I haven’t been able to brush away her feelings the way I want. Papa will kill me for getting involved with a cartel princess.

“I just want to get you somewhere safe and talk to Fingers about what he found on the drive.” Her head pivots to look out the window at the concrete walls as I steady my nerves to get through the last hundred feet.

We pull into the parking area for the apartment complex on east Sixtieth Street off Third Avenue. A small gasp brings my attention to Rosa. “I didn’t think I’d be back in New York.”

“It’s safe. We’ll stay here. Fingers arranged it, so there is no way anyone is going to find us.”

“If you say so.”

Twenty minutes later, a knock on the door lets me know our takeout food has arrived. Rosa’s face lights up when she sees the bags. I beam at her. “You know Donna Margherita?”

“Duh. Food from Donna Margherita is to die for.” She rummages through the bag and sets the food out on the table, turning her attention to the pizza box. “I love their pizza.”

“I love their meatball panini. I’ve missed this.”

Rosa finishes her fourth piece of Napoletana pizza and leans back in her chair. “This makes up for the slop we’ve eaten lately.”

“It’ll be better.”

“I hope so.” Rosa’s warm pink cheeks decolor into a beigey-green as her hand thrusts up to her mouth. She bolts to the back of the apartment, throwing open a door. The slam gets me moving faster. She’s emptying out her stomach into the toilet as she tries to keep her hair back.

“Let me.” I run my hand through her hair and hold it gently at the back. I reach for the small hand towel and hand it to her when she leans back on her heels.

“Oh. God. You saw that.”

“You’re sick. I’m here.” I scoop her gently from the floor and place her on the edge of the counter, grabbing a clean washcloth to moisten. “Wipe your face.”

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