Page 25 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

Even then, I knew he had more of me than I ever thought I had to give.

I spent several minutes, eyes closed, mindlessly twisting them in my ear. Grounding myself. But it feels different now. They’ve become a part of what’s happening with Roman.

Beneath the prints he left, they now also bear his questions about them. His obsession with the story.

He’s circling it, I’m circling him.

How close are we to impact?

Is there a world where we both survive?

Why would I even want him to?

Because he kills for you, and he touches you like you’re worth owning, the echo answers in my mind. Obvious, but painful to face down.

I bite my lip when I take off Serena’s earrings and drop them into the swan dish. It’s been so lonely without them.

The earrings Roman gave me sparkle, catch the light. They rub against the wound Serena’s had left behind, but it doesn’t hurt. I wish it did.

Everything should.

Pain would make more sense than wanting.

Pain wouldn’t have driven me to put on this dress, and it wouldn’t have kept me quiet when I had Roman right where I wanted him.

Pain would hurt me, but there’d be no collateral damage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I should call Teddy. I should call Russo. I should call Ida and tell her to talk me down, remind me who I am.

Instead, I run my tongue over my teeth, roll the earrings between my fingers, and watch the seconds blur. I stare in the mirror, running a finger down my neck, seeing myself through his eyes.

When the knock comes, it’s exactly as I expect it: three harsh bursts.

It still makes me jump.

This is a mistake, you’re making a mistake! Call someone NOW!

Instead, I take a breath and open the door.

No gun this time. Firing pin or not, I know I’m not shooting him.

Roman fills the hallway, a black tailored suit draping his frame. His hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. His shoes probably cost more than my rent. His mask is all black, inky and severe, covering his upper face and bringing out the violent blue of his eyes.

It reminds me of when that was all I knew—just eyes in the darkness that make me feel like I’m see-through.

Christ on a cross, he’s lethal.

Don’t you dare, I tell myself, but it’s too late. My body has already set off that chain reaction of tightening, swelling, and throbbing that pulses with every second I stare at him. Everything inside me—from nipples to clit—cinches tight until everything becomes a single fused nerve.

I feel like a virgin on her wedding night, except the chapel’s on fire and the priest is the devil himself.

Roman doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

He lets his eyes do the talking as it travels from my hair to the tips of my shoes.

His gaze moves up and down, never lingering for too long on anywhere in particular, like he’s making sure I’m still real.

There’s a hint of approval in the tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips.

Those lips had been on mine not so long ago. They demanded, then consumed, and ultimately obliterated any shadow of resistance that might have still remain in me. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and probably never will feel again.

That’s why I’m determined to draw this out as long as I can before putting him away.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

Fuck.

“Seriously? Tonight’s the night you don’t bring flowers?” I try to keep the snark in my voice so that he can’t see how my breath hitches.

He smirks.

“Do I look the part?” I ask.

“You do.” He steps closer, changing the air pressure in the room.

“One more thing,” he says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a long silk scarf: deep red, the color of blood.

He holds it in the hand I bit, the fabric covering the mark I left.

But we both know it’s there.

He steps behind me, drapes the scarf over my shoulders, and slides the ends forward to knot it at my throat. His hands linger, fingers brushing the pulse point.

He could choke me with that, I think, excited and anxious. One tug and my lungs belong to him. My pussy, too, apparently.

I want him to. I want him to take me to the edges of my threshold and then drag me even further. I know he can. He’s proved that. Being around him, I don’t want to inhale and exhale.

I want to explode.

Instead, he ties it in a perfect, elegant knot. The silk is cool against my fevered skin, still burning where he touched me.

“Perfect,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. His muscles are tense, the suit barely containing them. I think, again, about handing Arata the vial. It still feels wrong, like I tilted the board against Roman.

Too late now.

I glance down at the red against the black. It looks like a warning label. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not the only one,” he says with another smirk. Before I can respond, he gestures at the mask on my coffee table. “May I?”

I nod, and he picks it up with delicate care. Far gentler than he’s ever touched me, and I shudder when I think of how that might feel. I shiver.

What would he be like with tenderness?

What would it do to me?

He holds the mask to my face, and I let him tie it behind my head. For a second, his hands are in my hair, tugging it into place.

The world goes dark at the edges, the only thing left is his scent, his hands, and the cold bite of the mask against my cheekbones.

He leans in, voice a whisper against my ear. “Ready?”

No. Never. But I nod anyway.

I follow him down the stairs, the echo of our steps crisp in the dead-of-night silence.

Outside, parked at the curb like it owns the block, is a black Lamborghini. Purring like a jungle cat. It’s overkill. Which, really, is just Roman in a nutshell.

I can’t help it. I laugh. “Seriously?”

He looks at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “We have to play the part.”

He opens the passenger door for me. “After you, little viper.”

What a gentleman.

You don’t want a gentleman . You never have, and you never will. Definitely not now that you’ve had… this.

The seat is butter-soft leather, and the car smells like midnight and expensive secrets. He gets in, starts the engine, and the entire car vibrates. I feel it everywhere, radiating from my thighs to my temples, flooding my mouth with the taste of iron and cum again.

We glide into the night, the city opening up before us.

I look over at him, and for a second I see the man behind the mask: blue eyes, intent on the road, jaw set, every muscle wired for violence and pleasure. He doesn’t look at me, but I know he knows I’m watching.

I try to tell myself I’m in control. This is just another case, another predator to catch and cage.

But as the city lights blur past and the Lambo eats up the darkness, I know it’s a lie.

“Where are we going?”

He pulls back, studying me through his own mask. “To rescue someone.”