Page 15 of Dima's Vision
Large thumbs brush over my cheeks, tucking the wet hair over my ears, out of my face. Keeping my eyes tightly closed I let Dima take control. His lips gently brush mine, in the barest of touches, but one that makes my whole body come alive. It must have the same effect on him because a low rumble reaches my ears before his lips land on mine, hungry, greedy. He licks across my bottom lip, pulling a moan from me, gaining entrance. His tongue slides over mine, in much the same way my hands slide over the hard planes of his body. Over his abs, his pecs, before moving down and gripping his firm ass.
He tears his mouth from mine. “Kristie,” he whispers in awe.
Staring into his eyes I can see he’s battling with himself. Maybe he’s saving himself for someone better? Someone normal?
“Let’s get cleaned up. I need you so bad.”
Well. OK then. It seems the problem was how clean we both were. We rush through washing ourselves, soaping up, bumping into each other, moving this way and that so we can both be in the water stream without me being waterboarded.
Dima is covered in bubbles and we move to switch places, only because he’s so slippery his long legs shoot in different directions. His face is a slow motion montage of shock, horror and fear and his huge hands grasp onto the first thing that he thinks can break his fall. My tits.
We freeze, there in the shower, his legs spread wide, feet against the walls of the shower stall, his hands on my boobs and it’s so ridiculously not sexy that I can’t help but snort in his face before breaking down into wheezing laughter. His face is beet red, his mouth agape and I actually think he’s too afraid to movein case he falls flat on his ass but that doesn’t stop my legs from collapsing. I land on my ass in the bottom of the shower, limp dick and balls in my eyeline and I cackle until I can’t breathe and there are tears running down my face.
I try to stop but I just can’t, the events of such a weird fucking day wash over me, and in mere moments a gruff, low laugh rumbles out of Dima until he too is in fits of laughter but faring slightly better than me. He hooks me under my arms, lifting me to my feet, making sure there are no suds on us before shutting off the water and wrapping me in a towel.
We continue to snicker and giggle all the way to his bed, where he pulls me down into his warm, strong arms, not caring that we are still wet from the shower.
“Thank you,” he says, through his chuckles.
“For what?” I ask, brows pinched.
“For making me laugh. My job, mylife, it isn’t very funnyved’mochka.”
I turn to look at him, resting my chin on his chest. “Mine isn’t either.”
“Then we make quite the pair.”
I lean up, holding eye contact with him until I press my lips to his, my eyes fluttering closed. Kissing Dima shouldn’t feel as good as it does. It feels peaceful. Warm. Breaking the connection I search his handsome face.
“So.” My voice comes out huskier than usual so I clear my throat. “Virgin, huh? How does that happen when you look like this?” I wave a hand down his long, hard body.
The tips of his ears pinken, and it’s damned adorable. “I, just, ah, never got around to it.”
I frown. “Nope. There’s no way a guy that looks like you, a total gentleman like you, doesn’t have women throwing themselves at you, dropping their panties left, right and center.”
He rolls his eyes. “First I was a poor kid in Russia. Then I followed my big brother here and I was too busy trying to prove myself to the Bratva.”
I sit up at that. What? “Wait, back up, big man. What do you mean by Bratva?”
“The Bartashev Bratva. My brother married the Pakhan.” I stare at him, stunned. Worry mars his handsome face. “Kristie? Are you OK?”
I let out a huff, then a giggle. Of course, of all the good little Mancini Mafia girls it’ll be me that not only is a spinster, and a hitwoman, but also the one who somehow manages to find and give a quarter of a blow job to one of the Bartashev Bratva. I put my head in my hands and groan. “You do know that it’s like, illegal for us to be together unless it’s been arranged, right?”
He gently removes my hand from my face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m Italian Mafia. You’re Bratva. You know we’re not meant to mix unless the head of the families deem it so.”
His lips twitch. “La Strega, are you scared of some silly Mafia rules?”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t care for rules. But I also don’t care for any lectures from the family.”
“Would it help if I told you I’m no longer Bratva?”
I eye him suspiciously. “No one leaves the Bratva.”
He tips his head side to side. “True. I’m more Bratva adjacent these days.” He takes in the bored look on my face. “I don’t work for them anymore. But, if I come across information they may need, I pass it on. Besides, my brother loves me. He’d never let his husband kill me.”
The way Dima’s face softens when he talks about his big brother tugs at my heart. I want to meet him, the man that Dima fan girls over and yet I know that isn’t in the cards for us. Onenight, that’s all we’ll have before I have to leave. I have to break ties with him. It’s the only way to keep him safe.
