Page 134 of Dance of Devils

A lot.

I discovered early that sex was something to be feared and that you had to keep to yourself, or else some man would forcibly take it from you. That was my daily reality after I hit my teens in the system, and it’s been like that my entire adult life on my own.

Until him.

There’s a certain comical irony that the brutal,literalBratva kingpin who's into bondage and pain has been the first man to show me what tenderness could look like—what it means to have control and agency over your body and sex.

But here we are.

“Thanks for the ride, Matvey!”

Kir’s man, who spent the first three or four times we met pretending to be an Uber driver, turns to nod at me through the partition as I open the back door of the Range Rover.

“You are very welcome, Miss,” he rumbles in his heavy Russian accent.

I feel myself tingling as I skip across the stone driveway toward the back door. But I pause, my brow furrowing when I spot it.

Next to Kir’s Aston Martin, there’s a matte black Lamborghini Revuelto sitting in the driveway that I’vedefinitelynever seen before, with blacked out windows and a small pink skull and crossbones painted onto the back fender, right above the Lamborghini logo.

Odd.

My brow is still furrowed as I walk inside. I texted Kir earlier about dinner ideas, but I’m guessing he’s still neck deep in work, because I haven’t heard back from him. I almost head up to his office, because, well, I missed him today. I’m a huge dork and I miss himallthe time when I’m not with him.

The less flowery reason is that I’mseriouslyhorny, and I’m more than slightly curious to see what he’d do if I tried to fuck him while he’s on a work call.

I head upstairs to my room first to drop off all my dance crap. I grunt, easing the bag off my shoulder just as I swing the door open?—

Reality shatters around me, my heart tensing and then breaking as a girl whips around with a gasp on her lips, staring at me with wide, horrified eyes.

Close to my age.Gorgeous, with super pale skin, jet black hair, and a bit of a gothy look. She’s got a myriad of tattoos, including a stunning koi fish swimming up her arm.Her fucking nipples are pierced.

I know all this because she’s standing inmy fucking bedroomin lacy black lingerie with the bra pulled down while she poses for selfies, her arm extended.

“Fuck!” she blurts as she stares at me.

I can’t even say a word. All I can do is drop my bag and slowly back away, my heart shattering as my throat closes.

Did you really think you were the only one…

I hate him. I hate the tears that sting my eyes as I whirl and bolt down the hallway, half falling down the stairs before I rush through the house and out the back door.

Matvey is just pulling away but his brake lights flash when he sees me chasing after the car.

“Miss?”

“Midtown!” I blurt. “Quickly, please.”

“Yousureyou’re okay?”

I look up miserably from my drink, meeting Roman’s eyes.

“I'm fine,” I shrug, taking another heavy sip of my overpriced rooftop bar martini.

He looks at me dubiously.

“Riiight. You and I arealwayshanging out when there’s nothing wrong,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I smile glumly at him.