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 towards 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 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.
The knife slips easily from my hand, rotating in the air before reaching the middle of the target.
"Not bad," he nods at me.
He's leaning back against the wall as he watches me throw the knives, his shrewd eyes analyzing everything—from my posture to my breath and to how I'm holding the knife, he has indications for everything.
Vlad might sometimes be an overbearing ogre, but he is a wonderful teacher. The evidence being my insane progress in just a little time.
If before I had trouble even getting the knife to embed itself in a target with its sharp side forward, now I can effortlessly throw it and more or less hit bulls eye.
I know I have a long way to go. Certainly, I don't think there's anyone more proficient in this than him.
He strides to me, grabbing the bag next to him and throwing it at my feet.
"You're advancing fast, hell girl. Time to switch up the blades," he jokes, opening up the bag to reveal even more knives, all different shapes and sizes.
"You've learned how to throw basic knives, but how about we try some daggers?" he plops himself on the floor, sorting through the bag.
Curious, I sit down too, watching closely as he removes the blades and organizes them on the floor, pointing at each one and telling me a little something about it.
"You know what my blades of choice are," he points to the shashkas, the curved blades that he's always using in combat. "There are for close combat only, the curve of the blade making it easy to control movement and slash someone's throat," he explains, taking one shashkas and showing me how to wield it.
"Always aim for the throat and the battle is immediately over," he says, raising his eyes to mine. A mischievous glint and he has the blade against my throat before I can even blink.
Indeed, the concave part of it seems to fit perfectly against my neck, and he moves it slightly, showing me just how easy it is to pierce the skin if necessary.
"See, piece of cake." He grins, chucking the shashka away before moving to the next.
He introduces knives from all over the world, giving me a brief overview of each.
"I also like Japanese blades." He picks up a knife with a thick, triangular blade and a smaller hilt ending in a rounded hollow corner. "This is a kunai, and you might find this easier to handle," he places it in my hand, letting me become familiar with its shape and weight.
"This is more comfortable," I agree.
Not as long as the regular knives, the rounded end makes it easier to hold it.
"Watch this," he smirks, gathering five kunai. Holding one in his hand, the others are wrapped around his fingers.
Standing up, he barely focuses on the target as he throws them, one by one, with such speed and ease that I have to force myself not to blink so I don't miss it.
"Wow." I whisper when my gaze moves to the target. All five are gathered in the same place, their tips millimeters apart, almost as if they are fighting for supremacy.
"Practice makes best," he says as he helps me to my feet.
Gathering the knives back, he fixes my stance, wrapping my fingers carefully around the hilt of the kunai.
Still behind me, he whispers words of encouragement in my ear.
"Now!"
At his command, I put my strength into my arm, aiming the kunai at the target.
"You're a natural," he praises, inspecting the result. A bit off mark, it had still hit the target.
"I love this," I tell
him sincerely.
There's a certain type of rush in wielding a powerful blade, and I can see why it's his favorite activity.
Backing up into him, I feel the contour of his body fitted to mine. Turning suddenly, I place the tip of my blade to his neck.
"Bloodthirsty?" He asks, not even batting an eye at the sharp edge currently lodged just below his Adam's apple.
"Just thirsty," I fire back suggestively, playfully moving the blade around his flesh. "Sometimes I wonder if you're even human," I murmur, danger rolling off him, a predator's eyes watching my every movement. "If you bleed like the rest of us..." I trail off, lowering the blade down his neck and around his collar bone.
He's wearing a black shirt that's completely molded to his muscles, the wide neckline giving me access to his skin.
"You think I'm not human, hell girl?" He asks, his hand on mine as he tightens it over the blade.
"You're... something," I reply.
There's a mythical quality to him, both in the way he presents himself to the world, but also in the way I know him intimately. There is a savageness deeply ingrained in his bones, a ferocity in his gaze as he lays it upon me. It makes me feel wanted in a primal, primordial way. As if there's no space, or time, or anything.
Just him.
It reminds me of the first time I saw him. How the pure danger emanating from his pores had turned me on, the way his promise of death had never been sweeter.
It's inexplicable.
Animal magnetism, primitive attraction, deadly seduction.
He embodies everything I should run away from, not towards.
My hand becomes slack in his, but he doesn't let go. His eyes still on mine, a sensuously wicked smile appears on his face as he digs the knife into his skin, just above the collar of his shirt.
I watch stupefied as the blade cuts through flesh, red drops bursting through the surface and coating the tip.
Eyes wide, I look at him questioningly.
"Tell me," he purrs, his tone smooth and alluring, "do I bleed?"
He doesn't let me answer, pushing the blade even deeper, more blood reaching the surface.
"I do bleed," he continues, low in his throat, "but only for you."
Lifting my other hand, I trace my finger over the small wound, swiping some of the blood and bringing it to my lips.
"Only for me?" I repeat, the metallic taste flooding my mouth.
"Hell girl," he groans as he watches me lick my fingers clean, "you're not playing fair."
"Fair?" I ask, amused. "How is this fair, then?" my lips pull in a mischievous smile as I move the blade into the other hand. He releases me, frowning as he watches me wield the weapon in the air.
Giving him a knowing smile, I set the blade to my own chest, pushing the tip ever so slightly. I feel a small pinch before the skin gives way, red liquid slowly gushing out.
His gaze is focused on my skin, and for a second I'm worried I might have poked the beast. He looks feral as he backs me into the wall, one hand grabbing both arms and raising them above my head.
"Not fair," he growls before lowering his mouth to my skin. I feel the suction as his lips wrap themselves around the small laceration, and he laps at the blood, taking it all in.
The slight sting of the cut coupled with his warm mouth make it increasingly harder for me to breathe, the hairs on my body standing to attention as I want to beg him to have his way with me.
But just as soon as he's on me, he's gone.
Head hung low, he takes a step back, not looking at me. There's blood residue around his lips, and as he starts pacing around restlessly I know I might have pushed him too far.
"I need to..." he drifts off, frowning as if he doesn't know what he needs to do, either.
"Go," I urge him. "I'll find you later."
He whips his head at me, regarding me for a moment before briskly nodding. His face is pale, his features taut and full of tension.
Without lingering, he leaves, heading straight for the blood room.
As I hear the door close behind him, I feel a little guilty about baiting him when I know blood is his main trigger. Still, there had been a moment where I'd wanted nothing more than to offer him mine in exchange for his.
Maybe it's crazy, but his trigger might just be my biggest turn on.
Shaking my head at that absurd train of thought, I continue practicing.
I push myself harder, and two hours later I'm still throwing knives at the targets. My breathing harsh, I stop for a moment, sitting on the floor and grabbing a bottle of water.
A little tired, I end up staring at the wall for a full minute, unable to get myself together.
Out of nowhere, though, a blasting sound erupts through the air, and my hands automatically go to my ears to shield them.
What?
Disoriented, I look around me until I locate the tablet in the wall on the other side of the room, the screen a bright red. Standing up, I hurry to it, plugging in the password to get access to the main frame of the house.
The screen flares to life, and a warning message greets me, the entire area red. I click a few things, and multiple windows appear, each showing a different part of the house.
The live feed.
But as I look through each of them, I realize what triggered the alarm.
My eyes widen when I spot at least five armed men wading through the garden and assessing the perimeter. Another two are already in the house, on the ground floor, and more are going up the stairs.
Shit!
All are heavily armed and in full gear. Some look military, but I can't be sure. All I know at the moment is that I have to get to Vlad.
Refusing to lose my calm, I start collecting as many knives as I can, strapping them around my body. I need to be smart about this. The best I can do is get Vlad and go together to the panic room.
I already know I'm likely to find him naked and unarmed so that will not help against blazing guns.
Checking the feed again to ensure they're not yet at the basement, I steel myself and open the door, heading on to the corridor.
Damn, Vlad!
Why did he have to build this gigantic basement? It's the size of the entire property, probably even bigger than a football field, which means that even though the intruders are not here yet, they might down any moment with the time it takes me to reach the blood room.
Holding tightly onto the knives in my hand, I hurry down the corridor, my senses sharp as I listen for any noise.
I'm halfway across when I hear gunshots. Instinctively, I duck, closing my eyes.
Fuck!
The shots are coming from upstairs, and from the sound of it they're shooting down.
The trap door!
My eyes widen as I whip my head around, looking at the trap door that leads to the basement from the living room. Part of the original construction of the house, it's made out fully of wood.
And it's not bulletproof.
"I'm fucked," I whisper to myself, wildly looking around.
I can run across and hurry to the blood room, but they would undoubtedly make it downstairs before that and I'd be a direct target in an open field. They'd shoot before I could do anything.
No, that's not an option.
Turning around, I catalogue the various rooms around. Even the panic room is too far, but that's out of the question as long as Vlad's not with me. I could never save myself knowing he'd be a living target. No matter how proficient he is in everything, he is not immortal.
A little closer is the shooting range, and as I hear the latch of the wood give, I know I have the best shot of getting there, maybe even arming myself further.
I sprint as fast as I can, getting to the door just as the trap door is smashed to pieces. Closing the door, I will myself not to despair. I just need to find guns and ammo.
Granted, I hadn't had as many shooting lessons as I'd like to feel comfortable with a gun, but I guess today is an exception. Opening up the gun cabinet, I try
to remember Vlad's lessons. I need something that can hold the most rounds, since I know I'm slow at reloading and that's time I cannot waste.
Sorting through various handguns, I finally find a rifle. Checking the cartilage, I'm happy to see it's fully loaded so I won't have to spend time looking for that too.
Armed to my best ability, I head to the tablet on the wall, plugging in the password and accessing the feed from the hallway.
Three people are down, searching the basement, with the rest still upstairs.
Ok, three isn't that much. Three is doable.
But not for me.
Damn, but what am I doing? I'm not a warrior. I'm the furthest thing from one if one takes into account the fact that I've spent twenty years in a goddamn convent. But conflict and death won't care if I'm a nun or a soldier, so I'd better put on my big girl panties and brave this through.
For now, I just need to make it to Vlad.
Releasing a breath, I nod to myself. But as I look at the screen again, I realize the men are already heading to the other side of the level.
To the blood room.
I don't know how they will find Vlad, and if he'll be in any capacity to fight. His moods are so fickle that I simply cannot risk it.
Pursing my lips, I say a small prayer before I open the door.
Rifle under my arm, my stance ready as he'd taught me, I get on my haunches and I aim.
The three men are in formation, one ahead, two behind. I have the advantage that they haven't realized my presence yet, so I focus on the one ahead, since I'm thinking he might be the leader. Since they are all dressed in uniform, likely with bulletproof equipment underneath, my only bet is the head.
Once I have a good aim, the rifle pointed at the back of his head, at the bare skin between his neck and his cap, I squeeze the trigger.
I reel backwards as the bullet flies towards its target, promptly embedding itself right where his skull meets the cervical vertebrae.
It's a split second where he falls to the ground, the other two men immediately on me as they bark some orders.
Blinking rapidly, I realize there's no time to lose. Not when they're also shooting at me. I barely have time to throw myself inside the room before bullets fly past the door.
Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4) Page 54
