Page 36

SISI

" T ighter," he commands, his voice stern as he hovers behind me, his eyes sharply assessing the shape of my fist.

"Like this," he tsks, coming closer. His front fitted to my front, he wraps his hand over my fist, dwarfing it.

It's not the first time I've noticed that his giant hands seem to swallow mine.

He carefully organizes my fingers in a tighter fist, his feet knocking at mine as he arranges my stance, too.

I wobble slightly as he kicks my feet apart, my position now emulating his.

"When someone tries something," he whispers, his voice deep and grave, "you kick first, ask questions later. Or even better," I feel a smile pull at his lips, "kill first, ask questions… never," he chuckles, and my own lips twitch.

"Come on, you know I've gotten better," I complain slightly, half turning my head to bat my lashes at him. The action catches him by surprise, as I knew it would, his eyes zoning in on my poor attempts at flirtation.

Still, it's enough to have him wholly enthralled, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows forcibly, his pupils dilating.

Taking advantage of the millisecond his guard is down, I grab on to his shirt, positioning my hands and legs the way he'd taught me in order to balance weight much greater than my own. My grip solid, I throw all my strength into moving him.

He's like a rock—heavy and unbudging. And even though my technique is flawless, I can see I'm not likely to gain the upper hand on him. Not even by using his weakness—batting my lashes at him.

There's a split second reaction as I note the corner of his mouth tugs up before he lets his body become slack. Barely realizing what I'm doing, I'm kicking him to the ground, his body falling effortlessly—suspiciously effortlessly.

Vlad even has the gall to complain about the pain as his back hits the hard floor.

I simply raise an eyebrow at him, knowing he just did it to please me.

"Again." I cross my arms in front of me, beckoning him to resume a fighting position.

Almost from the beginning he'd insisted on teaching me how to fight, saying he'd feel much at ease if he knew I could take care of myself.

We'd done some basic training in New York, but ever since we got here, he'd been more rigid with the training schedule, giving me lessons in shooting, knife fighting and fist fighting.

To my great surprise, he hadn't been kidding when he'd said the entire basement is custom made.

There's a shooting range equipped with everything to ensure I become proficient in hitting my targets, but there are also a couple training rooms—one specifically designed for knives, and one resembling a gym.

I'd been dumbstruck about the size of the basement, but Vlad had recounted he'd expanded it under the gardens too, not only under the house. He's essentially imitating his own underground bunker from New York.

Sometimes this gives me pause, and it makes me wonder if this is all he knows—living underground and away from people.

Certainly, he seems more comfortable under a layer of cement.

"Stop treating me like I'm fragile," I tell him. No matter how much he wants to train me, he can't help himself from holding back.

"You're not fragile," he says as he gets back to his feet. "You're anything but fragile, Sisi." His hand cups my cheek as he brings me into him. "But I'm a brute, and I know my strength. So I can't not be careful with you."

I roll my eyes at him, a little annoyed that he's not trying harder, but understanding where he's coming from.

"Fine," I huff out, taking a step back and assuming a fighting stance again.

We do a few more rounds where he teaches me some parrying moves and how to evade capture before we focus strictly on building my strength through weightlifting.

"You're doing great," he praises when I finish one set, my arms already sore.

"You're not a bad teacher." I shrug, taking the towel he offers and wiping the sweat off my face and body.

Vlad had thought of everything, and he'd bought me an entire set of gym clothes, most of them involving yoga pants and a sports bra, which retrospectively hadn't been the best decision.

Not when he can barely take his eyes off my boobs when we're doing an exercise. Or the way I know he's staring at my ass when I squat.

I might have even gone out of my way to tease him a little, flexing my ass or bouncing my boobs when I know he's looking, but pretending not to.

The reaction is immediate and he's promptly caught. He's not the only one with betraying clothes, and his sweatpants do little to hide just how affected he is.

After hours of training, we finally finish for the day, quickly showering before going out in the city for dinner.

"Tomorrow we're doing knives," he speaks as the waiter brings us our food.

"Yes," I exclaim, bumping my fist in the air.

He'd made a strict schedule for me, with every day accounted for. Somehow, though, he'd decided that the focus should be on building my strength and learning hand to hand combat. So he'd only set up one day for knives and one day for shooting.

"A weapon can always be taken from you," he'd remark whenever I'd pout about it. He knows that I've developed an affinity for knives—probably because of him. Still, he hadn't budged in his conviction.

Vlad's lips pull up in a smile at my excitement and I cannot help but notice how handsome he is, freshly showered and wearing a dashing suit. Dressed all in black, it only serves to emphasize his striking features even more.

His hair is longer, refusing to cut it ever since I'd complimented him on it. And I do like it. It makes him seem younger, more carefree. Especially with the way it curls around the end, giving it a tousled appearance.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he suddenly says, taking me by surprise with the change in subject. His eyes are fixed on me and it's like he's devouring me with his gaze.

A blush creeps up my cheeks at his scrutiny.

When he'd told me he planned on taking me out on a dinner date, I'd tried to put some effort into my appearance.

Since I hadn't had a lot of practice with make-up and dressing up, I'd quickly searched the internet for some ideas. I'd managed to put on some eyeliner and mascara as well as a reddish lipstick to contrast with my pale hair.

I'd also chosen to go with a lacey off-white dress, not too long, but not too short either since Vlad had been very vehement in his refusal to let me leave the house if there was too much skin showing.

"You should have been a poet, not a killer," I retort, bringing my glass of lemonade closer and placing my lips around the straw.

"Can't I be both?" He raises one eyebrow. "Although imagine if I could kill people with my words," he says pensively, going in depth about the merits of personally killing someone personally versus via proxy.

"There's this manga, Death Note" he starts, explaining it's some Japanese comic book, "and the protagonist acquires a notebook in which once he writes someone's name, they promptly die."

"Don't tell me you'd like one of those too?" I ask, a little amused. Although, as he excitedly recounts the events from Death Note, I find myself invested in the story and its twists. Certainly, I can see the appeal to someone like Vlad, who might just be the nerd of nerds.

"I don't know. Depending on my goals," he adds after spending some time thinking about it.

"If my aim was world domination, then a death note would definitely be more helpful than my bare hands.

Especially when it comes to the evidence left behind, since forensic science is evolving and the tech is more sensitive than ever to the smallest amounts of trace evidence. "

"But you don't want that," I say confidently, because I know him. He'd never opt for world domination because it would be too boring for him. Maybe he'd enjoy one day of it, but after that he'd want to return to his usual routine of murder and mayhem.

"Indeed," he drawls, his lips spread in a wide smile, his white teeth gleaming in the dimly lit restaurant and making him look like the predator he is.

"World domination is for the weak," he adds. "I prefer to do things my own way." He brings his arms on the table, cracking his knuckles.

My eyes are drawn to the veins bulging in his arms, the way his big hands could snuff the life out of a man without even trying.

"I may like to be in the loop, but I rarely interact."

"That's because for you , power isn't in numbers," I note, "but in knowledge."

"Exactly." He smirks. "You know me well, hell girl," he mentions, and I shrug.

"I've been studying you. After all." I lean forward, pushing my boobs out as I do, his eyes immediately snapping to my cleavage. "The devil you know is better than the devil you don't."

"Is that what I am to you, hell girl? The devil you know?" He comes closer, and even though we're on opposite sides of the table, we're so close our faces are almost touching.

"Hmm," I murmur, letting him stew a little. "You're the only devil I want to know."

"Good," he breathes out, his eyes focused on me in a way that has goosebumps appear all over my skin.

"Otherwise I might have had to change your mind," he rasps out, and for a moment I can only imagine what he has in mind.

His gaze holds me captive as I see myself spread out on the table, and him working hard to change my mind.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" the waiter's voice brings me back to reality, my eyes widening at the way I'd lost track of everything.

Vlad is watching me amused, swirling his glass of red wine.

"It's wonderful. Thank you," he tells the waiter, pure charm dripping from his voice.

I don't even pay attention as the waiter mumbles something before taking his leave. I'm still focused on him, and the way my heart is beating insanely fast.

"You know," he starts, a wicked smile on his lips, "there is something else I'd love to dominate," he says suggestively, and I cross my legs, moisture already pooling between my thighs.

"Is that so?" I ask, almost breathlessly.

It dawns on me that we've barely touched our food. Engrossed in the conversation, we'd simply forgotten it was there. And especially now, when he looks at me as if he'd eat me, I can't muster any appetite.

At least not for food.

"But I wouldn't need any notebook for that."

"Really?" Shaking off one shoe, I lift my leg toward him under the table, my foot touching his thigh before I move it slowly towards his crotch, feeling him hard and ready for me just as I am for him.

He stifles a groan just as I brush my toes across his length.

"I only need these," he raises his hands to show them to me before sneaking them under the table, catching my foot and stroking it gently.

My breath catches in my throat as he slowly massages my foot before taking it and placing it right on top of his cock.

"Vlad," I half-moan, impatience growing inside of me.

Snatching my foot from him, I quickly put on my shoe before standing up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I say, a little too abruptly. But as I take two steps away from the table I turn to look at him, his eyes are on my ass.

A daring smile playing on my lips, I use one finger to give him a signal. Then, I just head to the restroom.

I barely get inside when he bursts in, closing the door and locking it.

One step and he has me backed against the sink, my back to his front as he quickly lowers the zipper of his pants. He roughly lifts the dress over my ass, bending me over the sink. One hand in my hair, the other on my hip, he enters me swiftly, a brutal thrust that has me almost coming on the spot.

"You can't help yourself," he grits, his movements gaining momentum, his cock moving in and out of me at lightning speed.

"You have to tempt me every fucking second.

" He continues, savagely imprinting himself on my body.

His hand moves from my hair to my throat, squeezing gently as he brings me closer to him, still.

"Look at you," he prompts me to look in the mirror, seeing us tangled together, our cheeks flushed, our hot breaths fogging the glass. My mouth parts on a moan, but he slips his thumb inside, blocking the sound.

"Look how you drive me so crazy…" he speaks, his breath on my cheek. "So out of control," he continues, each word accentuating his vicious thrusts, "completely insane."

I'm barely aware of anything else but his invasion, trying but failing to keep myself from screaming out his name as I'm coming, my walls closing in around him and causing him to shout my name as he fills me with his cum.

"My fucking temptress," he speaks against my cheek, sweat clinging to our skin from the brief albeit laborious act.

It's only when we're back at our table that we finally dig into our food, our appetites seemingly returned.