Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)

The front door opens, but I stay curled up in my favorite armchair in the library. I don’t read a single word on the page in front of me. I’m too busy listening to the familiar sound of Yakov’s heavy footsteps down the hall and into the kitchen.

If he wants to see me, he’ll come find me.

I am aloof. I am mysterious and elusive. I am not going to throw myself at a man who barely tolerates my presence in his house.

Then I smell pizza and I toss my book to the side and casually walk my aloof, mysterious, elusive ass straight to the kitchen.

Two pizza boxes sit on the counter next to a line of shopping bags. I stretch onto my toes to peek into the bags just as Yakov walks through the doorway.

“Hello. Hi. How’s it going?” I jerk away from the island like it’s on fire.

He flips open one of the pizza boxes as he passes. “Dinner is served.”

“Pizza?”

“I assume you’re familiar.”

“Obviously. Especially the off-brand frozen variety. I just didn’t know if you would be.” I pull out a slice and start to eat it over the counter.

Yakov slides me a plate. “Even pakhans eat pizza. It’s the great equalizer.”

There is nothing equalizing about the way he tips his head back to catch the strings of melted cheese hanging off the edges of his slice. It’s a peek at what it would be like if Zeus himself deigned to eat human food.

I look away before I can’t see pizza without thinking of Yakov. He’s already ruined sex for me. I refuse to give him pizza, too. “I thought death was the great equalizer.”

He nods. “Death and pizza. They come for us all.”

We eat in oddly comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Yakov drags the shopping bags down the counter until they’re sitting in front of me.

I look from the bags to him. “Am I supposed to open these?”

“Don’t get shy now. I saw you trying to peek when I walked in.”

I flush. “I wasn’t peeking; I was just⁠—”

“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I know. You’ve made it a habit.” He grabs one of the bags and drops it in my lap. “Luckily, everything here is for you.”

I would question why Yakov got me anything, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Nothing beyond some grunt of acknowledgement and “because I wanted to.” So I take the path of least resistance and open the bag.

“A Kindle?” I blurt.

“My card is attached to the account. Buy whatever books you want.”

My eyes go wide. “The five most romantic words ever spoken. You have no idea the kind of damage I could do.”

He waves me away. “Do your worst.”

I want to. I really want to. Having a credit card and an ebook store is my version of Julia Roberts shopping for clothes in Pretty Woman. This is my romcom montage moment.

But I’ve taken enough from Yakov already.

“You have an entire library here, though. This is too much.”

“Romance novels are not going to wipe me out, Luna.”

My name in his deep baritone voice… Make that the sixth most romantic word ever spoken.

“Still, you didn’t have to⁠—”

“I know. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

I groan. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Then stop forgetting it. I bought you that because I know exactly what books are sitting on your nightstand. My library is a touch light on Fondled by the Forbidden King.”

My cheeks are so red that I could stand at an intersection and direct traffic. “You saw those?”

Benjy hated that I read romance. He said it was unrealistic. Probably because he didn’t hold a candle to any of my fictional boyfriends.

But since meeting Yakov, the heroes on paper aren’t quite as interesting as the man standing in front of me.

I hug the Kindle to my chest and force myself to smile. “You’re going to be so surprised when I buy every romance in existence and you go bankrupt.”

He hands me another bag. “Keep opening. There’s more.”

A lot more. An iPad, a journal, a rainbow assortment of pens that would make Tweenage Luna absolutely giddy, gardening gloves, and a red and black gift bag stuffed with red tissue paper.

“This one is fancy.” I pull out the red tissue paper and immediately shove it back in. “Oh. Underwear.”

“Pajamas,” Yakov corrects.

“I don’t know what kind of pajamas you’ve seen recently, but—” I stop and shake my head. “Actually, this makes perfect sense. Any woman spending the night with you is probably wearing exactly what is in that bag.”

They’d be stupid not to. Yakov rips off his shirt and looks the way photoshopped models on fitness magazines wish they looked. It’s hard to be in the same room with that without feeling self-conscious. Satin and lace are the kind of armor a woman would need.

“You said you ran out of pajamas, so I made sure that wouldn’t happen again.”

It’s the first—albeit vague—reference he’s made to what we did the other night. I was under the impression we were going to tiptoe around it until the next time the sexual tension became too obvious to ignore. Then we’d tear through each other’s clothes and spend another night doing things we wouldn’t talk about the next day.

But a bag of lingerie feels like he wants to do a lot more than just talk about what we did. It seems like he wants a repeat.

I laugh nervously. “If this is your way of telling me you don’t want me wearing your t-shirts, message received.”

“I don’t want to have to rip through any more of my favorites.”

Damn. I was going for aloof and mysterious, but I should have known better. Yakov is the king. Does he want me? Does he not? Hell if I know.

“So the lingerie is really a gift for you then.” I realize what I said a moment too late and hurry to explain. “It’s insurance to protect your closet.”

“No, it’s all for you, Luna. Only you can decide how to use it.”

There’s really only one way to use lingerie. Then again, he could be talking about the Kindle. I want him to be talking about the Kindle, don’t I? That’s a lot less complicated than the alternative.

Yakov clears away our empty plates. Dinner is over. He’ll probably retreat into his office or wherever it is he hides away while I’m in his bedroom.

On the hot-and-cold teeter-totter that is our relationship, tonight was heating up. We were almost friendly. I’m not ready for that to be over.

He inhales like he’s going to say something, but I interrupt before I can stop myself.

“How about a game?”

He arches a brow. “Another rousing game of Truth or Truth?”

There are still a million questions I want to ask him. So many things I want to know. But what I want more than all of that, even if just for tonight, is to go back to when we first met. When our situation wasn’t nearly as complicated. When Yakov was nothing more than the most attractive, interesting man I’d ever met.

“I’m less interested in baring our souls tonight. I was thinking poker?”

“I like to play games with stakes. There’s no fun in poker for me.”

“I wasn’t thinking we’d play for money.” Slowly, I reach for the red and black gift bag. “You said it was my gift and I could decide how to use it. Strip poker is my decision.”

Yakov is unreadable. He studies me without revealing even a hint of what is going on inside of his head. Then he nods. “I’ll get the cards.”

The room is warm, but every inch of my exposed skin is covered in goosebumps. Which, right now, is a lot of skin.

I shuck off the hat I found in the back of Yakov’s closet. It lands in a heap with the rest of my clothes. “You’re cheating.”

“Says the woman who added three layers of clothing while I went to find playing cards.”

When I changed into the lingerie he bought for me, I may or may not have added a few things. Like a second shirt, a jacket, a hat, some gloves. Not that any of it helped. Yakov has taken me for everything I’m worth. I’m down to a black lace cami and my jeans. One more hand and I might as well have bared my soul by answering his questions. I’ll be baring everything else shortly.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to play Truth or Truth.”

Yakov is about to deal out the next hand when he stops. He tucks the cards into a neat stack in front of him and nods. “Fine. But it’s Truth or Strip tonight.”

“That’s not the game!”

“I already told you, solnyshka. I like to play games with stakes.” Desire flashes in his eyes as he looks me over. “Plus, I’ve made an investment. I’d like to see it through.”

If we keep playing Poker, I’ll be completely naked in three rounds. At least with Truth or Strip, there’s a chance I can take Yakov with me.

“Okay, but it’s my turn to go first.” I lean forward, not missing the way Yakov’s eyes drift down to my chest. “Who is trying to hurt me?”

Yakov growls and reaches for the hem of his shirt. “That question is not in the spirit of good, clean competition.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” I sit back and admire the new expanse of tan skin. This man’s abs could make steel look soft. I want to scratch him with a diamond and see which cracks first.

“My turn.” He runs his thumb over his jaw. “Okay, how about you tell me why you wanted to play strip poker.”

“It sounded fun.”

He shakes his head. “Strip poker isn’t fun. It’s foreplay. How about you try answering again.”

I cross my arms. “Why should I? Sounds like you think you already know the answer.”

“We could have done a puzzle or gone to a wine and paint night.”

“Oh my god. You’re joking. You would never do that.”

“No,” he admits with a smirk. “But you could have asked. Instead you wanted to get naked. Why?”

Because it’s the only way I knew I could get him to stay. Because the way he looks at me when he wants me makes my chest ache in the best way. Because I might be a masochist, too. Touching Yakov is my favorite kind of pain.

Without breaking eye contact, I stand up, unbutton my jeans, and shimmy them down my thighs.

The black cami falls to the tops of my thighs in a lace ruffle, but there are high slits up the sides. I know from looking at myself in the mirror before I came down that he can see the curve of my hip and the thin strap of the mostly sheer matching panties.

It’s exactly where Yakov’s eyes are fixed when I look back to him. “My turn.”

“A real question this time,” he warns darkly. “One I can answer.”

“Why did you bring me back to your mansion?”

“You were in danger.”

“You could have taken me somewhere else,” I say. “You have to have other houses, right? You could have put me on a private jet and sent me to some unknown island somewhere. But you brought me here… to your house… where you haven’t brought any other woman before. Why?”

Yakov leans forward. For a second, I think he’s going to stand up and pull his jeans off. If he isn’t going to answer, at least I’ll be left with a nice view.

Instead, he curls his finger under my chin and down my neck. He rubs the black satin bow on my shoulder between his fingers. “Because you intrigue me.”

“That’s not a real answer.” My voice is shaky. I hope he can’t tell.

“It’s the only one you’re going to get.” He slips a finger under my shoulder strap, following the line down to the curve of my chest. “Does this mansion really feel like a prison cell?”

I want to take off another layer. I want Yakov to rip it off of me with his teeth. But my brain is short circuiting. Before I can stop myself, I’m answering his question.

“No,” I breathe. “No, it doesn’t. It hasn’t for… for a long time.”

He slides his hands under the lace ruffle and over my ribs.

“But I answered the question.”

He drags his calloused hands over my skin. “I think that deserves an award, don’t you?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

He peels the lace over my head. His mouth trails the fabric. He bites the underside of my boob and circles his tongue around my nipple. I arch forward, and he takes me into his mouth.

“I still get to ask another question.” I plant my hands on his chest, trying to give myself space to think. Instead the only thing running through my mind is how good his hot skin feels. How I want to touch more of him, all of him.

“The game is over. We’re playing a new game now.”

He drives his hand between my legs. For a second I let him distract me with friction I feel in my bones. I spread my thighs apart and slip to the edge of the chair. I could let him finish me like this. It wouldn’t take much. I’m already so close.

But I don’t want to wake up tomorrow feeling the way I did this morning.

“Okay, a new game,” I rasp, pushing him back so he settles on the edge of the coffee table. I unzip his pants slowly, making my intentions perfectly clear. “I’ll play if you will.”

He fists his hand in the back of my hair with a growl. “Ask your fucking question.”

“Why do I intrigue you?”

I lean in and take him in one hot stroke. My tongue drags along the underside of him while his hand tightens in my hair.

It’s a self-serving question maybe, but I’ll reward him for indulging me. I need to know what we’re doing here.

“Fuck, Luna.” His thigh clenches under my hand. There’s a strain in his voice I haven’t heard before. His hips shift as he thrusts into my mouth.

He pries my hand off his leg. “Touch yourself.”

There isn’t room to be embarrassed. Yakov may not want me, but he wants this as much as I do. My sheer panties are soaked through. I shove them aside and circle a finger over the ache between my legs. A moan slips between my lips.

“Faster,” Yakov orders. He tightens his hand on the back of my head and pulls me onto him. “Don’t stop until you come. I want to watch.”

That isn’t a hard order to follow. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

His eyes are locked on me and the attention makes me feel drunk. I hold his gaze, stroking myself while he takes my mouth. The orgasm hits suddenly. The only reason I stay upright is because Yakov has me by the hair.

“Fucking beautiful, solnyshka,” he growls.

I’m still coming down when Yakov slides out of my mouth. He bands an arm around my lower back and takes me to the floor. My hips are lifted up and up until he slams into me. “I’ve never wanted to claim a woman like this before.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. Who he is talking to. I’m clawing at his arms and angling for a better grip so I can meet him halfway. So I can do something more than just take him.

“I’m intrigued by you,” he says, reminding me of the question I asked. “We’ve already fucked, but I still want more. I want to take your mouth and your pussy and everything you’ll give me until there’s nothing left.”

I’m nodding before he has even finished. I want that, too. All of it.

I hook my legs behind his back and Yakov twines his fingers through mine. He pins my hands to the floor and drives into me. “I want to be the only man who makes you come.”

“Please,” I gasp.

I tighten my legs around him, keeping him buried in me as I ride and ride. Yakov growls at me in Russian and I don’t need a translation to know what he’s saying.

Just like that.

His body goes rigid, but I feel him twitch inside of me. His pleasure pulls me over the edge with him.

When I’m too weak to stay wrapped around him, Yakov lowers me to the floor. He falls over me and kisses my jaw and my thundering pulse. “What’s intriguing is that I’m still inside of you… and I’m already thinking about the next time. I want to fuck you again.”

I curl my hand through his hair and smile. “Then do it.”

So he does.