Page 28 of Dance of Defiance

Before he met me in the woods—having pretended to be agirlonline for some insane reason, though yours truly isn’t complaining—and groaned when I bit his ear, ground my dick against his gorgeous, tight ass, and breathed against his neck while he desperately humped his erection against mine.

And fuckme, that erection.

Roman is fuckingpacking. I won’t lie, half my distractedness the last few days has been entirely due to that fucking cock of his throbbing and pulsing its way through my thoughts on the daily.

I'm almost exclusively a top. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get turned thefuckon by a guy with a fat dick I can stroke and tease while I pound his ass.

“Dude.”

For an insane half second, I worry that Brooklyn has learned how to read minds, and is thoroughly disturbed by the images she’s just peeked in on involving me, Roman, some thick rope, and a ball gag.

Then I realize it’s not telepathy that has her jaw dropping. It’s the apartment I’ve just let her into.

My new apartment.

I make a face, sliding my hand through the back of my hair.

“Yeah. It’s…a little much, isn’t it.”

Brooklyn blinks as she walks further into the massive Soho loft I've been calling home for the last month. I haven’t brought anyone else here yet, mainly because I knew I’d have no fucking idea how to react to…well…reactions like hers.

It's probably the same reactionI’dhave if she suddenly showed me a brand-new multimillion-dollar living situation.

Actually, there’s no “probably” about it. I literallydidhave this reaction when she first brought me over to her and Kir’s insanely huge mansion in the Bronx.

I mean, the girl was living out of her goddamncarbefore that. Talk about an upgrade.

Brooklyn and I come from similar backgrounds. We both had shit parents, “did time” in the New York state foster care system, and struggled to survive while pursuing ballet as a career.

So for us to be where we are now—her in Kir’s literal Vanderbilt mansion in the Bronx, me in a trendy loft big enough to host a runway fashion show—is…surreal.

“I mean, it’sgorgeous…” she breathes, gazing at the double-height beamed ceilings, massive factory windows, and stunning wide-plank wooden floors.

“…But a little much, right?”

She smirks, tucking a strand of blonde behind her ear as she turns to me, her brow arched. “Do youwantit to be a little much?”

I frown. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that you, having spent most of your life fighting for survival in shitty homes, are having a hard time processing the idea that life is finally not going to be so difficult for you. And because of that, you feel a sensation somewhat akin to guilt, which you assuage by self-sabotaging your own happiness and safety.”

I blink, staring at her as she grins at me.

“Did you…practice that?”

Brooklyn giggles. “Fuck you.”

“No, that wassolid. You know, if ballet doesn’t pan out, and if this whole soulmates-with-a-smoking-hot-gazillionaire-Bratva-leader thing falls through?—”

I smirk when Brooklyn holds up both middle fingers.

“I’m just saying… Therapist might be a decent career path.”

She rolls her eyes. “Talk about the blind leading the blind there.”

I laugh deeply.

“No, seriously, this place isbeautiful, Val. Just don’t forget to allow yourself to believe you deserve it, okay?”