Page 3 of Her Russian Master
“Blond.Built like a fighter.Tattoos everywhere.”Yuri’s black ink extended up his neck, down his forearms, and across his knuckles.
Her smile grew wider.“Okay.”With a flounce, she whirled on her high heels and clicked out.
Lucy followed close behind, slipping past as the brunette wrapped her arms around Yuri’s neck and tried to slip him the tongue.
Lucy ducked down, crawling under cocktail tables toward the emergency exit in the back, praying he didn’t see her.
Over the music, she thought she heard the sound of a smack and squeal, and hoped the Russian hadn’t hurt the woman.
The club was packed and the music pumping.No one even noticed her crawling under their tables.Or, if they did, no one reacted quickly enough to say anything.She emerged at the end of the line of high-tops, just feet from the back door.The alarm would go off if she went out of it, but the bouncer was there and he could disable it.
She made a mad dash for him, but a strong arm caught her around the waist and dragged her back against six feet of solid muscle.Fear coiled with something else—dark interest in the man who’d captured her.
It’s like the captivation she had with villains and anti-heroes.She was the type who always rooted for them to get their day.
The bouncer started toward them, but then recognized Yuri and paled.He shot her a “what should I do?”look.
Not wanting to get him killed, she averted her eyes.
Yuri wrapped one hand around her throat.He didn’t squeeze, but used it to pull her head back against his chest, the threat of asphyxiation obvious and clear.“Little DJ,” he spoke directly in her ear, his thick accent so much sexier that way, “I would love to let you sneak out the back door, except for two things.”
She cursed the trembling in her limbs, which she was certain he felt.To make it worse, his hand at her waist started to roam, slipping inside her tank top and skimming across her belly.It sent ripples of heat and tremors cascading down her inner thighs.“Wh-what things?”she managed to breathe.
His warm palm coasted over her skin, up to one breast, which he squeezed through her bra.Back down to the waistband of her jean skirt, where he insinuated his fingers.“One.Nobody gives me the slip, so the boys would know I let you go.”His lips pressed against her ear so it seemed like he spoke right into her very cells.His fingers wriggled deeper into her skirt, making her clit come alive with the nearness.“Andtwo, I can’t let another one of Don Diego’s thugs pick you up instead of me.Then I couldn’t protect you.”
She wrestled with her breath, trying to even it out, slow it down before she hyperventilated.“P-protect me?”
He couldn’t wedge his fingers any further into her skirt so he settled for grasping the top of her panties and pulling up, tugging them into the seam of her sex, the fabric threading over her pulsing nub.“Yes.Come with me now.I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.You have my word.”
A shiver ran through her, but it wasn’t of fear.There was a solemnity to the oath he uttered that made goosebumps stand out on her arms.She’d long suspected the Russian had a thing for her and this seemed to confirm it.
He gave one last tug of her panties and eased his hold on her, turning her around to face him.“Come.”He took her hand and led her toward the back door, nodding at the bouncer before he shoved the door open.
The bouncer flicked off the alarm.“Good night, guys.”
Really, dude?Not that she wanted him to get killed trying to stop them, butgood night, guyswhen she was being led out by Yuri the Fury?Well, she supposed the way Yuri was holding her hand made it look like they’d hooked up and were on their way to screw like horn dogs, rather than… well, she didn’t know where they were going, but she sure as hell hoped it didn’t involve a pair of pliers and her fingernails being ripped off.
I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.
Beautiful, dark Russian.
He’d once seen a guy squeeze her breast in the club.It had been some drunk stranger, acting like an asshole.She’d batted the guy’s hand away, about to tell him to keep his nasty paws to himself, when suddenly the guy levitated, a set of tattooed knuckles wrapped around his throat.
“Apologize,” the Russian, who had appeared out of nowhere, had snarled in his thick accent.
The guy hung in the air, kicking and choking, too stupid or drunk to even understand what had happened.He turned blue in the face as the Russian shook him.“I said,apologize.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the guy had choked and Yuri had dropped him, glowering and cracking his knuckles as the guy literally bolted like a rabbit straight out of the club.
She’d turned to Yuri and met his dangerous, ice blue gaze.She’d cocked a hip.“That wasn’t necessary.”There were six bouncers she could have called for help—ifshe thought she’d needed it, which she hadn’t.
His resting face always appeared angry, but now it screwed up with fury.“Yes it was,” he growled.“You did not like him touching you.”
She’d swallowed, fighting against the swoon those words produced.She didn’t need a Russian mobster with serious anger management issues taking an interest in her protection, no matter how sexy she found him.“What do you care, anyway?”
For the first time, that intense gaze of his faltered.He looked away, fists still clenching.“I don’t know.”He spoke through tight lips, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Her belly had fluttered, a wash of warm tingles sweeping over her.Did Yuri the Fury have a reluctant crush onher?She’d thought it so highly unlikely it was laughable.No onehad a crush on her.Guys wanted to fuck her, sure.Only because she looked fun and available.But no one cared about getting to know her.No one sat at their table drinking iced vodka staring at her for hours on end while she played.
