Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

V adisk stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist, praying he had the strength to follow through with what he'd just signed on for. Watching his spouses touch was going to be next level in terms of torture, but even knowing that, he couldn't deny himself this time with them.

He walked into his bedroom, heading straight to his suitcase to pull out a pair of lounge pants. They were his most comfortable pair and so well-worn that they hung low on his hips. Which was good considering his cock was still half hard, and that was following a cold shower.

Vadisk started to reach for a T-shirt, then changed his mind. Even with the storm raging outside, protecting them from any people or cameras that might be watching, this felt risky, so he grabbed his knife, intent on keeping it within arm's reach. He was already pissed at himself that he hadn't heard the doorbell earlier. He'd been on a call with Grigoris, discussing security for Nikolett, and hadn't realized he wouldn't be able to hear the bell on his side of the villa.

Dahlia was smart enough not to answer the door, but she'd been right there. If they'd broken in, maybe they would have grabbed her before he could get to her.

He was tired of keeping his distance from them.

All he had to do was remain close enough to the door that he could exit the room should anyone break into the villa. He reassured himself that he wasn't making one hell of a mistake by taking a weapon with him. At least this way, he'd be prepared to defend them.

Slipping out into the dark hallway, he paused outside the door to Montana and Dahlia's bedroom, the sound of the rain reassuring as it beat against the wall of glass and the stone balcony. They'd turned off the lights and left their door open just a crack. He took in a slow, deep breath, then gently pushed the door open.

Montana and Dahlia were in bed together. They'd left the nightstand light on, so he had a clear view of the bed. He suspected they'd done that for him and for Dahlia, who had mentioned the symptoms of her disease and confided that night vision was the first thing her mother had lost. Dahlia then admitted she was starting to notice her night vision was getting worse.

His wife and husband watched him curiously as he slipped inside the room, leaving the door open just enough so he could exit quickly if needed. Remaining in the shadows, he stood next to it, leaning against the wall a few feet from the foot of the bed.

Dahlia glanced in his direction.

" Sonechko ," he said in a low voice.

She gave him a soft, sexy smile, clearly understanding from his tone it was a term of endearment, even if she didn't understand the Ukrainian word. Neither of his spouses had bothered to crawl under the covers, instead pulling the duvet down while remaining on top of the sheets. They'd ensured Vadisk would be able to see everything, nothing hidden from his sight.

Montana was dressed similarly to him—bare chested with only a pair of soft pajama bottoms on. Dahlia had gone the opposite route, covering herself with a large T-shirt Vadisk suspected was Montana's, her trim legs bare.

He took a moment to soak in just how sexy his spouses looked together. Montana's hair was still damp from his shower, and it looked as if he'd trimmed his beard. Dahlia's hair was dry and hanging loose over her shoulders. He loved the pink tinge in her cheeks, which told him that—like him—the shower hadn't dampened her desire.

She'd been drunk when they left the winery, but she'd had a couple of hours, a short nap in the car, and some water to sober her up a bit.

"Vadisk," she whispered impatiently. They were waiting for him. For his commands.

"Take off her shirt, Montana. I want to see our wife's breasts."

Montana wasted no time doing exactly as he asked, he and his husband gasping softly as they saw their wife without clothes for the first time. The sexy minx hadn't bothered with panties, so in one fell swoop, she was completely naked.

Vadisk's dick thickened. "Get up on your knees, Dahlia. Let us look at you."

Dahlia's confidence in front of the camera didn't disappear in the bedroom. She rose up onto her haunches, her arms hanging by her sides.

Vadisk drank in every inch of her luscious curves; her tits were round and full, her waist nipped in before her hips flared back out. The perfect hourglass.

His gaze locked onto her tight, pink nipples, erect and just begging for him to wraphis lips around them.

Like him, Montana looked his fill. "Tell me what to do next or I'm taking over, V."

Vadisk chuckled. "So impatient."

"He's not the only one," Dahlia said, slowly lifting her hands, cupping her breasts, and holding them up.

Vadisk's eyes narrowed, not that she could see that. "Put your hands down."

Dahlia hesitated, and he wondered if she'd obey. After a few moments, she lowered her arms again.

"Let's put your hands to good use," he said to her. "Take off Montana's pants."

Dahlia's face lit up as she reached out. Montana gently grasped her wrist before she could tug them down. "Carefully."

Montana's dick was as hard as his, pushing against the soft cotton. Dahlia pulled the elastic, tugging it over Montana's impressive erection.

"Oh," she whispered, distracted by Montana's cock.

He grinned as he stood for a moment, shoving his pants off completely. Before returning to the bed, he spoke to Vadisk.

His voice was low and hungry when he said, "Your turn."

Vadisk started to refuse, but Montana's tone was serious when he said, "All three of us are getting off tonight."

Vadisk had intended to direct his spouses to their own orgasms before slipping back to his bedroom to take care of himself. He liked Montana's suggestion better, so he pulled his pants down to mid-thigh, the elastic waist catching on the knife sheath, holding it in place. It would only take him a second to pull them up if he needed to, but even so, he was finding it difficult to keep his wits about him, too fascinated by the actions on the bed. All his reasons for not doing this came back as he struggled to remain focused—not just on them but on keeping them safe as well.

Satisfied, Montana returned to the bed.

"Those nipples need some attention," Vadisk said.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Montana murmured as he lowered his head, taking Dahlia's nipple into his mouth.

Her hands flew to Montana's head, her fingers closing as much as they could around his auburn hair. Since leaving the military, Vadisk had let his hair grow longer, shaggier. While Montana wasn't still sporting the high and tight, his hair was fairly short, cropped closer to his head.

Montana took her breast in his hand, plumping the generous flesh as he played with her nipple.

"Harder," Dahlia breathed.

Fuck.

Unable to hold himself back, Vadisk wrapped his hand around his own thick erection, gripping it tightly but not stroking. He was already too close to the edge, and jerking off would only bring about the conclusion far too quickly. Anticipation would make the coming climax all the sweeter.

Montana switched to her other breast, offering it the same rough suction, tormenting bites, firm squeezes, all while Dahlia groaned and begged for more.

Vadisk clenched his cock, moaning as well.

The sound drew his spouses' attention as they glanced in his direction.

Montana lifted his head but retained his grip on Dahlia's breasts, cupping them in his large hands.

"Lay her down on the bed." Vadisk considered adding more details, trying to figure out which position offered him the best vantage point.

Before he could say more, Montana took care of it, laying Dahlia sideways across the bed. That way, Vadisk would have a clear view of what Montana was doing.

"Touch her." Vadisk's voice was husky with need.

Montana was halfway there before he even finished speaking, drawing his finger through Dahlia's slit. Her hips lifted toward the too-soft touch and her breathing became choppier, shallower.

"Soaking wet," Montana said, lifting his finger so Vadisk could see the shine of her arousal on it.

Before Vadisk could issue the next command, Montana took his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. Vadisk was three hard pulls in before he managed to stop himself, the tip of his cock dripping with precome.

Shit. Time to move things along, or he was going to come before Dahlia and Montana even got started.

"Take her clit into your mouth," Vadisk demanded. "Give it the same treatment you just gave her nipples."

"Yes," Dahlia hissed.

Montana slipped off the bed, grasping Dahlia's thighs to drag her until her ass was right at the edge of the mattress. Kneeling between her outstretched legs, he glanced over at Vadisk. "Move two steps to the right."Montana tilted his head to where he wanted him to go. "You'll have a better view."

Vadisk wanted to assure Montana this view was deadly enough to his libido, but his feet were moving before his mouth could form the words. He was doing a lot of negotiating with himself, reassuring himself that even with his pants around his thighs, even moving a few steps away from the door, he could still get to the hall if he needed to. No more concessions, he decided, only half certain he could follow that directive.

Still standing in the shadows, Vadisk had to swallow deeply as he took in the sight of Dahlia's perfect pussy.

Then Montana lowered his head and drew her clit into his mouth. Dahlia jerked slightly at the first touch, as if she'd received a shock. Then her legs fell farther apart, her body undulating as Montana used the flat of his tongue, driving her arousal higher.

She needed more.

Vadisk swallowed heavily. "Touch yourself. Push two fingers inside, Dahlia. Show us how you like it. Fast and hard? Slow and steady? Rough?"

Montana lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb on her clit, shifting slightly to ensure Vadisk had the perfect view.

With his other hand, Montana reached down, grasping his cock, tugging and pulling it the same way Vadisk was.

As Dahlia drove three fingers inside herself, Vadisk realized he and Montana were matching her speed, stroking themselves.

Vadisk imagined it was his cock buried balls deep, fucking her to oblivion.

Dahlia's hips gyrated as she added a fourth finger, her eyes pressed tightly closed, her breathing labored.

"God," she gasped when Montana began stroking her clit faster.

"I'm close," Montana confessed, a hint of pain in his voice.

Vadisk jerked his dick harder, running his forefinger over the head with each return, precome coating it. His balls were full and tight and…

"Fuck," he muttered, his climax imminent.

His curse was the catalyst as Dahlia's back arched and she cried out, coming hard. Montana was a mere second behind her, his free hand landing on her thigh, squeezing it as he came as well.

That was all Vadisk saw before his vision grayed out, the room going fuzzy around the edges. Catching his come with one hand, he continued to stroke himself with the other, drawing out every drop of pleasure. He leaned heavily against the wall, locking his knees to keep himself upright.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was the three of them fighting to regain their breath.

When the brain fog lifted, he focused his attention on his spouses, his lovers. Montana was still kneeling on the floor at Dahlia's feet. He'd grabbed some tissues from the box on the nightstand. After cleaning his hands, he lowered his head, placing a soft kiss on Dahlia's inner thigh. She giggled, and Vadisk wondered if she was ticklish or just happy.

It took a moment before he realized he was smiling too, and only a moment longer before it faded away. How many minutes had passed since he'd…paid fucking attention. He'd let himself get too swept away in the moment, thinking—like a fool—that he could watch from a distance and still remain alert to the danger surrounding him.

There were still miles to go, a thousand obstacles standing between him and these two people.

Dahlia sat up slowly, looking in his direction.

"Vadisk," she said softly. He could see in her eyes that she wanted him to join them, wanted him to stay.

Sadly, it was something he couldn't do.

"Hold our girl," he said gruffly to Montana. "I need to leave."

Dahlia opened her mouth, and he could see the arguments lining up in her mind.

"Vadisk is right," Montana said, guiding Dahlia to her side of the bed before picking up the T-shirt they'd discarded earlier and drawing it over her head. He pulled the covers over her, then donned his lounge pants before joining her. "We've taken a big enough risk tonight."

Vadisk nodded, glad that Montana understood why he needed to return to his own room.

Pulling on his pants, he silently slipped to the bedroom door. He told himself to keep walking, but he couldn't resist one last look.

Montana and Dahlia were reclining against the fluffy pillows, half sitting, half lying down. Montana's arms were wrapped around her shoulders, her hand resting on his bare chest.

He hated leaving them, but he didn't have a choice. For now, all he could do was look.

"Good night," he whispered as he walked back into the hall, closing the door behind him.

He was getting sick and tired of always being on the outside.

Dahlia read the message twice before grabbing a pillow and slapping Montana with it. She only clipped him, as he was all the way on the other side of the massive bed. He sat bolt upright, yanking the pillow out of her grip. His bare chest caught the morning light that filtered in around the edges of the curtains, highlighting the planes of his pecs. Tempting view.

Now wasn't the time.

"Dahlia?" he rumbled in a sleepy voice.

She turned her phone to face him. "The resort director will meet with us. Today. Now."

Dahlia was out of bed and out the door before Montana had finished processing her words. She raced to Vadisk's room, skidding to a stop in the hall.

Vadisk had just stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his bare chest wet and glossy. His arms were thick with muscle, and she knew exactly how strong he was from the few—too few—times he'd touched her. She gave herself a moment to admire his tattoos, wishing she had time to study every inked curve and swirl. One night, she promised herself she would ask him what all the symbols meant and why he'd chosen them.

Unfortunately, they needed to get this mystery solved and get out of Crimea so they could fuck. Last night had briefly taken the edge off, before making her crave the menage even more.

Vadisk arched a brow, a smile playing across his lips before he frowned at her.

Dahlia held up her phone once more. "The resort director said she'd meet with us this morning."

Vadisk's eyes widened, and he darted across the hall into his room. She doubled back to get dressed, and ten minutes later, they met at the foot of the stairs.

A little tingle of anticipation slid through Dahlia. This meeting was one Montana had proposed months ago during the initial planning. The blackmailer was someone with access to the resort, most likely an employee, though that wasn't the only option. She'd been able to schedule everything else, but this meeting had eluded her.

"Should we wonder why now?" Montana asked. "Why are they suddenly willing to meet with us?"

"Yes." Vadisk finished clipping a sheathed knife to the back of his pants, hiding it under the loose, long-sleeved dress shirt he wore.

"But we still go," Dahlia said, and both her husbands nodded.

The tension lessened considerably as they piled into the golf cart. Watching Vadisk fold himself into the driver's seat was slapstick worthy.

"Shut up," he muttered as Dahlia snickered and Montana tried to cover his laugh with a cough.

Montana put his arm around Dahlia, and her amusement faded at the reminder of the parts they had to play. Vadisk put the cart in gear, and they started up the long drive to the main resort building.

Like the villa, the main resort was made of two types of contrasting stone. An expansive lobby, bar, restaurant, and spa were in the center, while two long halls branched off the lobby and led to the hotel rooms that were almost affordable. At least when compared to the per-night price of the villas. Vadisk parked their cart in one of the small spaces near the front door, and then fell into step behind her and Montana as they walked into the lobby.

Since they'd gone straight to their villa upon arrival, and been nonstop busy ever since, they hadn't actually seen the main resort. Several expensively dressed people lounged in the lobby, drinks at their elbows. They were speaking Russian and watching Dahlia and Montana as they passed. Her simple sleeveless dress was cut loose enough that she could wear it almost anywhere, with a shirt underneath that would cover her arms, but the curved seaming gave it interest, and those in the know might recognize it was from a famous Moroccan designer.

Expensive as it might be, she wasn't dripping wealth the way the other women in the lobby were, and Montana…

Well, Montana looked American. Even in his logo-less, generic slacks and short-sleeved button-down shirt, his nationality was identifiable in the way he wore his clothes, the cut of his hair, and the way he held himself.

Dahlia felt restless and exposed in a way she wasn't used to.

Masha, the same woman who'd met them at the villa to give them their keys, came out from behind the front desk, greeting them in English, her consonants crisp in a way that said her teacher had most likely been British. "Please follow me."

Dahlia pulled away from Montana to walk beside the women. "After I talk to Ms. Ivanova, I'd like to talk to you too."

Masha blinked, looking alarmed. "Me?"

"Yes. I'd love to hear what it's like to work somewhere like this."

She shook her head, but Dahlia couldn't tell if it was in surprise at being asked or denial of the request.

They stopped at a door with a small brass plaque, and their guide knocked once before inclining her head and making a hasty retreat.

Dahlia had time to exchange a look with Montana—she didn't dare look at Vadisk—before the door opened. A tall woman with dark hair and smooth features ushered them in, smiling.

"Welcome, Ms. McKean. Please come in." They shook hands, and Dahlia moved deeper into the lush office.

"Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Ivanova. This is my partner, Dr. Kingston."

Montana shook hands with Izolda Ivanova too, as he followed Dahlia into the office.

"And this is our guide and translator, Mr. Vadisk Kushnir."

Vadisk shook Izolda's hand briefly, then immediately positioned himself beside the door, back to the wall, looking more like a bodyguard than a guide.

Izolda closed the door, then motioned for them to join her at a small seating area. The office was large and, surprisingly, one wall was entirely windows. According to Dahlia's mental map, this was an interior room, and it was, but the windows looked out over a small courtyard that hadn't been shown on the resort maps. It made her wonder how many other things weren't on the maps. There could be whole buildings that weren't shown, and given the hilly coastline and trees, those buildings could easily be hidden unless you went looking.

Izolda perched on an armchair, while Dahlia settled onto the small two-seater couch, her back to the window. Montana had stopped to look at a picture on the wall.

"It was my understanding that you didn't need a translator," Izolda said with a smile. The comment was clearly meant to intimidate her—to show that Izolda knew things. But it didn't quite ring true. The woman was younger than she'd first seemed, the heavy foundation she wore aging her. As Dahlia watched, she tucked her fingers under her thigh, almost sitting on her hand, probably to stop any nervous fiddling.

"I do speak some Russian," Dahlia said with a self-deprecating smile. "But it has been a long time, and I didn't want to miss anything important due to my own deficiencies in such a beautiful language."

"And I don't speak any Russian," Montana said as he joined her. "So Vadisk is mostly here for me."

"Ah, well, you should learn Russian, Dr. Kingston."

"I should," Montana agreed with a smile.

"What we've seen of Crimea so far is beautiful, and the history is so complex and rich," Dahlia said, laying the compliments down thick.

They chatted for several minutes about the history of Crimea. Izolda skirted any mention of the recent conflicts or the current occupation, and referred to Crimea as if it was now, and always had been, a part of Russia, populated by Russians, ignoring that Crimean was its own unique entity with a native population that had been systematically displaced.

Eventually, Dahlia was able to steer the conversation back to the resort itself. "Tell me more about Crimean Sky. I chose this resort because, based on my research, it's one of the oldest resorts in Crimea."

"It is. The first building—a small hotel with only ten rooms—was constructed over sixty years ago. The private cottages, which are now villas, were added about ten years later."

"That's the original resort?" Montana pointed to the picture on the wall. The landscape in the grainy photo was recognizable as this section of the coast, but the building in the center of the photo was far different from what now stood on this location.

"Yes. As you can see, it was extensively remodeled."

"When was the resort remodeled?" Dahlia asked.

"About fifteen years ago, when we were at a point that the current owners could reinvest in the property."

"Can you tell me more about that?" Dahlia asked mildly, hiding her excitement that they might finally be getting to the good stuff.

"The current owner purchased the property thirty years ago. Prior to the sale, the resort had been closed for several years."

"That's unfortunate. Was there some damage or…"

"The original owner wasn't Russian, and there was no explanation as to why it suddenly closed."

She'd closed it because everyone was getting blackmailed.

"That must have been hard on the local economy," Montana said, his voice tight. Dahlia put her hand on his leg, and Izolda tracked the movement.

"It was. The resort was the main employer for the local village. When it closed, many people were left to starve."

Montana frowned. "It's terrible that the owner didn't think about the impact to his employees when he closed."

"It was terrible." Izolda nodded so violently, Dahlia worried about her neck.

"I'd love to talk to someone about that, really dig into the impact something like that can have. Are any employees from back then still around?" Dahlia asked.

"Not current employees, but a few had family who were staff back then."

"Wonderful. Could you put me in touch with them?"

Izolda rose, going to a bookcase behind her elegant glass and stone desk and plucking out a slim volume. "I can, and I have photos."

Dahlia wasn't sure if it was their criticism of the original owner, or if Izolda had just been nervous at first and was now more relaxed. When she returned to her seat, Dahlia transferred to the other armchair, pulling it up next to Izolda. Page by page, they went through the photo album, Dahlia peppering compliments in between questions about the photos.

"This is the oldest photo I found." Izolda touched the page just under the small image. The colors had faded, the whole image tinged yellow. In it, a dozen people stood in front of the main doors of the original hotel, all wearing what looked like brand-new uniforms and distinct hairstyles from that decade. In the center was a smiling woman with her hand on the shoulder of what looked like a young teenager, tall but gangly and awkward.

"These are all employees?"

"Not him." She pointed to the tween. "The original owner wouldn't employ children, but he came to work with his mother so often they made him a uniform. She was the head housekeeper."

"He might still be alive," Dahlia mused, watching Izolda from the corner of her eye.

"He is." Izolda tapped her finger on the page. "This little boy is Sinaver Abduramanov. He's the Minister of the Interior and head of the Crimean Security Force." There was pride in her words, as if the resort was somehow responsible for the man's success.

Dahlia shot Montana a glance, and the set of his shoulders told her that he was thinking the same thing she was. The head housekeeper probably had access to every part of the resort.

And now he was in a leadership role within Crimea. Someone like that would be well positioned to blackmail foreign guests.

"Sinaver," Dahlia said. "I don't think I've heard that name before."

"He's a Crimean Tartar. His family is from the local village and has been for many generations."

Meaning, that when the resort shut down and economically gutted the area, his family would have suffered.

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, Dahlia asked about the people in several other pictures, as well as current employees who had family that worked here under the original owner. There was one other possibility—a woman whose great-aunt by marriage had owned the local bakery that supplied all the breads and cakes to the resort. When the resort closed, the family had been forced to move to Russia or starve, but the great-niece returned to Crimea and was now one of the masseuses.

An hour later, Izolda had fully relaxed and called for tea. Dahlia lightly teased Montana about drinking his tea straight, and then Izolda showed him how to hold a sugar cube between his teeth and drink the tea through that, an old custom that was rarely seen anymore, though Izolda said her father still drank it that way, or put a spoonful of jam in his mouth before drinking.

Dahlia waited until they were fully relaxed to ask if they could have a tour, and if she could film. Izolda didn't hesitate, and Dahlia carefully filmed the pages of the photo album as she flipped through them, then continued to film as they were given a tour, occasionally passing her small camera to Montana so he could film her and Izolda showing off some features of the resort.

It was afternoon by the time they were done, and Dahlia asked Izolda to join them for lunch. She declined, citing that she had to work, but walked them to the restaurant.

When Izolda told the restaurant host they needed a table for two, Dahlia swallowed the urge to countermand that and say they needed a table for three. Some of the struggle must have shown on her face, given the narrow-eyed glare Vadisk shot her. But in the end, she and Montana sat at a table with a beautiful view of both the pool and, beyond that, the sea, eating several versions of meat-filled pastry, plates of fresh fruit, poached fish, and a sweet nut and honey treat for dessert.

Dahlia filmed their meal, discussing the flavors and textures of each dish as she looked at the camera. She had to ignore the small voice inside her that was desperate to rush through this, run back to the villa, and discuss what they'd just learned.

Lunch took nearly two hours. Once they realized she was filming, the kitchen started to send out things they hadn't ordered. Eventually, she got Vadisk to sit at the table beside them, under the guise of wanting to film his reaction to the food. Vadisk wasn't a great on-camera personality, saying too little and frowning too much, but at least that way, she knew her husband got a chance to sit and eat something.

She ended with a quick interview with the chef, then after a round of thank-yous, they finally made it back to the golf cart. Silently they climbed in, no one speaking until they made it back to the villa. Vadisk pressed a finger to his lips once they were inside, then went to grab his equipment, doing another bug sweep. Montana nodded, going for his own gear.

Dahlia went upstairs to the bar and opened a bottle of white wine, pouring herself a glass as she watched them.

When both men were finally satisfied, they joined her in the upstairs living room. Dahlia poured them each a glass, and silently they sat.

Montana was the first one to break the silence. "We're all thinking the same thing?"

"The head of the Crimean Security Force might be our blackmailer?" Vadisk rubbed his face.

"Yep." Dahlia slumped. "On a scale of one to really fucking bad, how bad is this?"

Vadisk downed the whole glass of wine. "Really fucking bad."