Prologue

Prologue

Alissa

At twenty-two years old I was drinking my first martini ever. I felt proud as I settled in at the little corner table in the bar. My parents would have lost their minds at the prospect of me drinking alcohol, and doing so in a public bar would have been unthinkable.

Ever since leaving home at eighteen, I’d slowly come up with a game plan for my life. Junior college, work, a comparative religions class, therapy, and a series of experiments with different vices—I guess you could call it reverse brainwashing.

My parents’ list of what constituted as vice had sounded crazy tame when they’d read it to me when I was ten, and sounded even tamer now that I was using it as a to-do list. Most of my experiments had left me wondering what the big deal was. But I’d been having a lot of fun along the way.

I had watched dozens of R-rated movies, tasted beer, coffee, soda, and all kinds of desserts and junk food, and stayed up after midnight on countless occasions.

I didn’t like short skirts too much, as they made me feel too exposed, but I loved baring my arms. Especially in such hot weather. I actually had a tan, and thanks to all the exercise I was getting sorting and making deliveries at my job, I even had some nice muscle definition going. I had clipped my hip-length, ash-blonde hair into a pixie cut in another act of wild defiance and donated almost two decades of uncut hair to a wig charity.

The makeup was a sin, too, along with the hint of rose perfume. I couldn’t walk well in heels yet, or I would have been wearing those as well. And I couldn’t afford luxuries like silk or gold, aside from the odd secondhand scarf or dress. One day, though, I would. I had promised myself a better life than I had ever dreamed of while trapped with my parents.

Working and earning my own money? Sin. Reading fiction? Sin. Dating? All the sin. Not that that had been anything to write home about so far. But I was still hopeful.

I loved being free. It was hard and scary sometimes, and even after a few years a lot of it was unfamiliar. I stumbled over social rules I didn’t know, and my shyness didn’t help things. But even though there were mistakes, mishaps, and even acts of malice that hurt so much along the way, I never regretted leaving.

The worst part of my new life had been figuring out how to handle my social life. After spending almost my entire first two decades being told to shun outsiders, I had started out painfully shy and awkward. I had always been worried that I would say or do something the person I was talking to would find offensive simply because I didn’t know better. Sometimes I still worried, though I had gotten a lot more confidence along the way. I even had five really good friends I could count on.

Aside from being out at the bar and having a stiff drink, I was also looking to check something else off my sin list, and that had me a little more nervous than I had felt in over six months.

The big sin. The one my mother would have really lost her mind over.

Having good sex.

I had slept with all of two guys in my years of freedom, and it had been pretty underwhelming. I was tired of bad lovers. From now on, I would find out if a guy was good in bed before getting into a relationship, and if he wasn’t, whether he was willing to learn and do what I liked. I absolutely refused to go through an orgasm-free long-term relationship.

After watching the insanity of my parents’ marriage, I was determined to hold my partner to some actual standards. The tired speech my mother had given me at seventeen about ‘marital duties’, with resentment simmering in her eyes the whole time, had been a warning in itself. I was done with the idea of ‘lying back and thinking of Jesus’ while some jackass used my body like a sex doll. I just wasn’t willing to settle for a man who was selfish and inept in bed.

The problem there was that I didn’t yet know what I liked. Nobody had explored that with me. I knew from the books I had read what things sounded sexy or fun, but I didn’t have any idea which ones would actually feel good. I needed a man who liked pleasing women to help me figure all of this out. But I didn’t want to burn through a whole relationship just to learn what my body liked.

My martini arrived on a thin cork coaster printed with the bar’s logo. I scooped it up and took an experimental sip.

A few seconds later, I set it down with my eyes watering. Holy crap, that was pretty much straight gin.

It tasted herbal, aromatic, slightly citrusy, and like liquid death from all the alcohol. I dabbed at my eyes carefully with my napkin so my mascara wouldn’t run. It occurred to me, between this and the beer sampler I had choked down a week ago, that I simply might not be much of a drinker. As I took another swallow of the martini and almost gagged, I just couldn’t see how this stuff could appeal to anyone.

By the time I had thoroughly confirmed that the tastiest thing about a martini was the olive, someone in the bar had caught my eye. He had settled into a seat at a table near mine. He was huge and Slavic-looking, with a strong, high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and deep-set gray eyes. His hair fell to his shoulders in black-brown waves. Wrapped in a light overcoat of some slightly shiny black fabric, his sleek, powerful build caught my attention in a way that made my stomach do a little flip.

He caught me looking right away, his eyes flicking up to meet mine so quickly that it startled me. He smiled, looking amused—I smiled back, feeling incredibly awkward. That seemed to amuse him more. Was he into shy nerds? Only one way to find out.

He was drinking an iced Irish coffee that looked a lot tastier than the waste of money I was slowly choking down. I made a mental note to try that the next time I walked into a bar. I was captivated by his large, long-fingered hands, and by his thin, well-shaped lips. I wondered what he thought of the young woman half his size who kept taking peeks at him.

Just as I was trying to work my way up to walking over and trying to talk to him, he grabbed his drink and stood up. Before I knew what was happening, he had stepped over to my table and stood across from me, gazing down at me with that same small, amused smile.

“May I sit?” he asked, his voice deep, raspy, and cordial in tone. He had a very slight accent, almost imperceptible.

I nodded, and he pulled out the chair and slid into it, setting his glass down on the coaster in front of him. “Call me Dimitri,” he said mildly. “What should I call you?”

“Alissa.”

He took a swallow of his drink. “Well, Miss Alissa, what brings you out tonight?”

“Looking for company and trying my first cocktail.” I touched my glass for emphasis, but no force on earth could have convinced me to take another mouthful. My stomach felt a little pickled already.

“Your first? Did you just turn twenty-one?”

“No, I just hadn’t ticked it off my list yet.” I winced slightly. “I don’t think martinis are my style, though.”

“Gin is an acquired taste. Not everyone likes juniper. Perhaps something sweet would be more to your taste.”

“Maybe.” I had avoided any sweet drinks so far because I was still getting used to sweets. Many of them were overwhelming to me. Even an ordinary mango had surprised me with its powerful flavor. “I just always thought the martinis made people holding them look more sophisticated, I guess.”

“Ah. But sophistication is in the mind and the manner, not in the glass.” His gaze swept over me, taking in everything from my earrings to my dress to my shoes before settling on my eyes again. “You manage fairly well without the martini glass, little rose.”

My cheeks prickled with warmth, and I covered my smile with my hand shyly.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you always hide your mouth when you smile?”

I blinked and lowered my hand a little self-consciously. “I guess it’s a habit. I barely notice it.”

“I see.” He glanced around briefly. “I’m surprised you’re here on your own. Don’t young ladies tend to travel in packs in bars?”

I laughed a little. “Um, I guess so. All my friends were busy tonight, though, and I was bored.” Besides, I didn’t want a bunch of friends running interference. I wasn’t sure all of them would have approved of my plan.

“You’re not concerned for your safety, alone in a bar in this neighborhood?”

“Not really. I know how to defend myself.” Self-defense classes were another item I had knocked off my Sin List, for obvious reasons. This was Chicago, the big city. I couldn’t rely on a man, my family, or God for safety all of the time. I had to know how to take care of myself.

“Good to know.” His eyebrows were climbing his forehead slowly, he didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah,” I joked, forcing a wry little grin, “so you’d better watch your manners, or your ankles are toast.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, I see! I shall have to keep that in mind, little rose. I would not wish to feel your thorns.”

I smiled and looked down into my glass, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, well, don’t underestimate us tiny girls.”

“I never would. My own mother was quite small.”

I looked him up and down. “Did she marry a giant?”

“No, she married a mill worker. He was rather tall, though.” He chuckled and took a swallow of his drink.

We were still in the small-talk zone. I thought I was doing okay, but my desperate inexperience with flirting was adding to my nerves. Could I actually seal the deal with a guy I didn’t know like normal women did all the time?

Maybe. No way of knowing until I tried. “So, what do you do, anyway?”

He hesitated for just a moment, long enough for me to see his expression shift, and become a touch more guarded. “I’m in private security,” he said smoothly enough. “Yourself?”

I shrugged. “I do deliveries and work some online as well.”

“I see. What do you aim to do?”

“Well, I have a list of things I’ve wanted to do since I was little. As soon as I got away from my parents, I started checking things off. But if you’re talking career, I’m still figuring that out.”

Free.If I had to boil down what I wanted to be in one word, that was it. I didn’t want to be smothered by my parents or in some marriage they arranged with a guy twice my age. I didn’t want to be someone’s property. I wanted my own money, my own home, my own ability to choose and control my own life. “Whatever will keep me living independently is fine with me.”

He took a sip of his drink and then looked up at me. “You said ‘got away from’ your parents.”

“I did. Yeah, they were…not fabulous. We’re not in contact.” It had taken the threat of a protection order to stop my father, but I had won myself eighteen months and counting, of peace away from them.

“Ah, I see. It is unfortunate that some people are blessed with a child but do not treat it as a blessing.” His way of constantly watching me unnerved me a little. He seemed to loom, even perched on his chair. But it didn’t seem to be something he could help. He didn’t have a menacing air, and he wasn’t setting off any alarm bells. He was just a touch overwhelming up close.

But that only made me want him more. I wanted to know how those large hands would feel on my skin. I wanted to know what his weight would feel like pressing down on me. I wondered if he used his teeth in bed, and what he would do to me.

“It’s not even that they didn’t care about me. They were that flavor of Jesus freak who thinks a girl just living her life the way most people do is unforgivable.” I hesitantly took another sip of the martini, but it just never got any better.

“Kindly stop torturing yourself, little rose. I’ll order you something tastier.” He raised a hand to get a server’s attention and ordered me some kind of coffee liqueur mixed with cream over ice. I blushed, though I knew I didn’t really have a reason to.

“Thank you.” I examined the drink as it was set in front of me; it looked more like a dessert than booze.

“So, what else is on your list?”

I smiled shyly at him. “Mostly things like visiting New Orleans, learning to scuba dive, getting a doctorate.”

“In what?” He had a way of watching me while I spoke that made me feel really listened to. A lot of men, my father included, mostly seemed to just wait for me to stop speaking, sometimes even with a bored look on their faces. At first, I had thought I must be terribly boring, and had gotten even shyer. Then I had realized that every guy who did that had later proven himself to be an asshole.

“I’m still figuring out what I’m good enough at to go all the way with,” I admitted. “I don’t even really know what all my interests are yet.”

He blinked, and his intense eyes filled with a mix of confusion, curiosity, and a touch of pity. That last one, I hated.

“I mean, I’ve figured some things out. But I’m playing catch-up on learning about a lot of things.” I was talking quickly now, embarrassed by the pity, wanting to erase it.

“It is good that you have gained the opportunity. What else of the outside world’s pleasures have you yet to sample?”

The way he put words together told me he was foreign, even if he’d mastered English better than I ever had any other language. It made him seem exotic, and even more mysterious.

I got a little desperate from him smoldering at me, and that made me bold. “Men.”

“Ah.” He nodded, a certain masculine interest in the curve of his smile. “I see. I may be of help in that department.”

My breath caught and my heart pounded in my chest. Oh boy. Okay, I could handle this. “I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”

“You know that after tonight, we’ll probably never see each other again,” he warned me gently.

My mouth went dry. That was part of the whole point, but he intrigued me so much I immediately felt a twinge of regret. But there was no backing out now. I didn’t want to miss my chance with him.

My gaze flicked to his left hand almost unconsciously. No ring, and no sign that he normally wore one. That was what would have stopped me, hurting someone else in the process.

“I know,” I said firmly. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What are you looking for?”

“I want…” This was hard. I steeled myself, wondering why saying such a simple thing was somehow so difficult and embarrassing. “I want to know why so many people will risk so much just to have sex.”

He blinked, then drained the rest of his Irish coffee and set the mug aside. “You have not before?”

Now I was really blushing. “I did. I mean, not much. But so far, I just don’t see what the big deal is.”

Mild horror flickered into his expression. “I see. Well.” His smile returned slowly, almost lazily. “Again, I believe I can be of assistance there.”

I took a deep breath and let it out, then took a swallow of my drink. It tasted like a mix of coffee ice cream and having someone shove a lit match into my sinuses. I choked slightly and set it down carefully, eyes tearing up again.

“Okay,” I sighed. “It’s official. Alcohol and I do not like each other.”

He laughed softly, the intensity in his eyes gentling. But the heat between us didn’t waver. “Perhaps we should skip straight to leaving, then.”

***

His car was a dark blue old-model Mercedes with tinted windows, and he drove like he’d lived in Chicago all his life. I sat in the passenger seat, somewhere between dizzy with desire and praying I hadn’t just made a terrible mistake. He hadn’t even touched me yet, and my whole body hummed like he’d been stroking it, my nipples so tight they hurt a little.

He brought me to a hotel room far enough from home I knew I’d have to Uber back to my tiny rental. The desk clerk seemed to know him, they chatted together in Russian before Dimitri took his key card and led me up to the twentieth floor.

Inside, the bed was right next to a broad window that showed the whole glittering skyline. I walked over to admire the view as he turned the air conditioning up.

I heard the rustle of him removing his coat, and shifted my gaze to watch his reflection. He was bending down to lock something in the hotel safe underneath the table, his crisp dress shirt straining just a little across his broad back before he straightened. I bit my lip, struggling to catch my breath again.

He moved up behind me, the heat from his body sinking into me. He leaned down until I felt his warm breath on my neck and then kissed my pulse. His teeth scraped my skin very lightly, and I let out a whimper, caving in to the urge to melt back against him.

Dimitri was now sliding my rose-pink dress off my shoulders as he kept kissing my neck. When the silk slid down off my breasts, my nipples showed through my satin bra in impatient little points. Gasping for air, heart pounding, I started to tremble when he unhooked my bra. He was still completely clothed except for his shoes, which he’d stepped out of by the door.

His large, warm hands cupped my breasts eagerly once the bra fell away, stroking them nimbly while I arched back against him and panted for air. He was huge and solid behind me, holding me effortlessly while his fingertips teased my tight nipples until I squirmed.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I turned and pressed against him, his kiss stealing my breath. His hands slid down to cup my ass and lift me against him. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, lost in his kiss, already craving his bare body against mine.

He carried me to the bed and laid me down on it, trailing kisses down my neck to my collarbone and down to my breast. He teased my nipple with his lips and tongue before sucking until my breath came in sobs and I was shaking all over.

I dug my nails into the fabric of his shirt. I wanted to touch him, to feel his skin, but his mouth was trailing over to my other breast, and then teasing my other nipple until I thrashed under him. My coordination was gone, my breath was gone, my vision swam. All I could do was feel.

And then he was moving away, and I moaned in disappointment until I saw what he was doing. He stripped impatiently, unbuttoning and shouldering out of his shirt, pulling the tank top under it over his head, revealing pale muscle crisscrossed with black tattoos. In the dim lighting, I couldn’t even sort out the images.

When his pants dropped, I did my best not to stare, but it was tough, especially when he rolled the condom on. He looked like I couldn’t have fit my hand around him.Dimitri was a big man, and his cock was no exception. I hoped he was careful with it.

He loomed over me, caressing my skin with warm sweeps of his broad, callused hands. I could feel his excitement, hear the shudder in his breath. But he didn’t just push in like I was used to, though we were both naked now and the rubber was on.

His mouth joined his hands and trailed over me, making me moan and twist and ache inside in a way I had never felt. His tongue flicked nimbly against my nipple, making my toes curl. Then he lifted me to his mouth and sucked until it almost hurt. My voice broke in hoarse cries as my fingers tangled in his hair. Then he eased off and started exploring me again.

By the time his fingers parted my folds and his tongue found my clit, I was already so turned on that I found myself begging and digging my nails into his shoulders. My thighs wanted to squeeze together but he held them open, delving in and licking me in slow, delicate strokes that gathered speed and strength.

I’d never felt anything this good. My muscles got tighter and tighter and I shook uncontrollably as he found a fast rhythm and flicked it over my clit until I couldn’t catch my breath. I lifted my hips against his face as he feasted on me, hips jolting with every velvety swipe of his tongue. Inside, I felt the most beautiful tension, a mix of bliss and a hunger for even more sensation growing and growing until he had to hold me down with both hands.

It was good, it was amazing, it was unbelievable, it was too good, and then suddenly I couldn’t think or feel anything else. Ecstasy exploded outward from my clit in waves, and I lost all control, crying out wildly.

I collapsed onto the mattress, everything hazy, body aglow. Only then did he settle over me, his girth sliding easily into my relaxed body. The fire he’d stoked in me rushed through me again, and I felt my flesh tighten around him. I moaned and gasped with every thrust, feeling my muscles tense toward orgasm again. He kept driving me toward it, tireless as a machine, but with his breath starting to come in hoarse little groans. His passion fed mine, then he let out a moan that pushed me over the edge in the same moment.

His deep voice murmured encouragement in my ear as the pleasure made me thrash under him. “Yes, little rose, there you go, yes…” was said with such tenderness that I almost wept.

But then I arched and ground my hips in time with those delicious spasms and he went wild, speeding his movements until we were both trembling and groaning and straining together. In the middle of losing my mind again, I felt his cock jump inside me, and he shouted hoarsely in time with every stroke until the last spasm rolled through us both.

I lay there under him, stunned, wide-eyed with this new revelation of what my body could do in the hands of a skilled lover. My past lovers had cheated me of more than I had ever realized.

I wanted to stay awake, knowing that morning would come too soon, and after that he would walk out of my life. I didn’t want that. I wanted this bed, this room, and this man for far longer than a few hours. But he had exhausted me.

I fell asleep in his arms, understanding now why some women chased certain men, fought over them, and stayed stuck on them when they behaved badly. There was more to it than just ride-or-die love. And now that I had tasted it, I didn’t want to go back to selfish, mediocre lovers.

But Dimitri was still leaving. And as I slipped off into sweet dreams, I understood that I would never see him again.