Page 55 of Trapped By the Bratva

I wanted her to grope me. To grip me. To grab me and hold me tight like she did when she kissed me so hard I swore I’d pass out, those times when her tongue was fucking magical and addictive and her taste too enticing to pass on.

I got nothing. Hannah was firmly locked in professional mode, and it was about to drive me insane.

None of my business, huh?

I asked Ivan about where she went, and he gave me such a quizzical look that I felt like I was missing something.

“Where’d she go?” I asked yesterday, three days after she’d taken off after I… well, after I told her to leave me alone. My anger about the Feds interfering with taking down Avilov had faded to a lower burn. In hindsight, I was a dick to take out my anger on her, but I’d look like a bigger dumbass to apologize about it now, days later.

“She didn’t tell you?” Ivan asked, brows raised.

I shook my head, rushing to decipher why he thought she’d tell me. I wasn’t her keeper, but I wanted to be hers now.

“Where’d she go?”

He shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

“For fuck’s sake, man.”

“She seriously hasn’t talked to you? About any of it?”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why I had to be the one in the dark. “No.”

“You gotta ask her about it.” He held his hands up in a surrender move and backed up.

“Ivan.”

He shook his head.

“Throw me a bone. A fucking clue.”

He smirked. “Just talk to her, you ass wipe.”

Ever since he’d left me with that stellar advice, I stewed on it. Conversations with Hannah only seemed to go two ways. We argued and butted heads during therapy sessions, or we fell into grunts and moans as we fucked.

“I saidslow,” she said, again taking hold of my arm and adjusting my posture.

“It’s harder to go slow.” I hated the whine in my voice. IknewI had to take it slower, but I was too damn weak with this specific move and my instinct was to rush through it.

“Because it’s still relearning how to work,” she said of the stitched up muscles I’d lost to the infection in my forearm.

Ask her. Ask hersomething. Anything. Just bite the bullet and fucking start a conversation.

I couldn’t handle this pent-up pressure and tension. The attraction was a living force between us, sparking and snapping, about to catch fire. We couldn’t fuck again, not until I made it clear to her that she wasn’t going to matter in any long-term sense of a relationship. I needed to clarify that my priority had to be seeking revenge, not starting something up with her right now.

If sex was out of the question to relieve this tension, then talking, like Ivan advised, had to be a smarter solution.

“I think that’s enough,” she said, stopping my arm.

“That was only fourteen,” I argued.

“Fifteen,” she corrected. “I was watching and counting.”

Whatever.I was distracted. Again.

I sat on the nearest ottoman and sloped forward. Letting my back curl forward wasn’t comfortable, but I suspected it would help the ache in my shoulder after working it so hard. The chair behind me would be cozier, but once I leaned back in it, I wouldn’t want to get back up.

“It’s been a while since we had the masseuse in here for you.”