She shakes her head. “There isn’t anyone worse,” she says.

To stop her worrying, I lean down and kiss her. Her mouth tastes as sweet as ever, even though we haven’t been eating funnel cake this time. Her lips are the fullest I’ve ever touched—it makes kissing her incredibly satisfying. I could do it for hours.

But god, I want to do so much more than that.

As we kiss, I can’t help letting my hands drift down her body.

She’s wearing a pale blue cotton sundress with buttons up the front. I let my fingertips trail down her long, slender throat, to the shelf of her collarbone, and then a little lower to the top swell of her breast. I feel her suck in a gasp of air as I touch the space between her breasts, which is exactly the width of my middle finger.

Without the piano, the room seems intensely silent. All I can hear is her breath, and my own heartbeat. Gently, I trace the shape of her breast, letting my fingers dip down the front of her dress.

She isn’t wearing a bra. My thumb passes over her nipple, which is stiff, standing out against the thin material. Yelena lets out a little moan.

I can’t stop.

I drop to my knees in front of her, so she’s seated on the piano bench and I’m kneeling on the hard wooden floor. I unbutton the top three buttons of her dress, letting those beautiful breasts spill out.

Her tits are creamy white, tear-drop shaped, with tan-colored nipples. I take them in my hands and Yelena moans, pressing her breasts hard against my palms. I can tell she’s incredibly sensitive.

I take her breast in my mouth and I start to suck. Yelena moans again, grabbing my head and pressing my mouth harder against her chest.

“Oh my god,” she groans. “Don’t stop.”

I go back and forth between her breasts, sucking one nipple and caressing the other with my hand, then switching places, until her nipples are swollen and throbbing, and her pale breasts are flushed pink.

Yelena throws her head back, arching her back to present her breast to me more readily, groaning with pleasure.

I know she must be soaking wet. Kneeling between her thighs, I can smell the sweet, musky scent of her pussy. It makes me salivate.

I hadn’t planned to take this further—not just yet. But I can’t hold back any longer. I shove her thighs apart and push her skirt up. She is wearing panties—white cotton. I pull the crotch to the side, revealing a shell-pink pussy, gleaming wet.

I can’t resist it. I bury my face between her legs, inhaling that intoxicating scent. It turns me into an animal. I have to lick and rub my face in that sweet cunt, I need to taste her, touch her, make her scream.

“Oh! Oh!” Yelena gasps, thrusting her hands into my hair. She doesn’t have to urge me on—I’m eating her pussy like a starving man. I’m pushing my tongue all the way inside of her, then gently sucking on her clit.

While I’m doing that, I reach up to caress those breasts again.

Yelena can barely stand the combination of the two. She tries to hold back her cries, but it’s impossible. She’s writhing and grinding on my face, while I keep hold of both breasts, squeezing and tugging on her nipples, massaging the whole breast and then pulling my fingers all the way down to the tip.

Her thighs are resting on my shoulders and she’s squeezing around my head, her clit grinding back and forth on my tongue. She’s breathing faster and harder, crying out, “Pozhaluysta!”

She gives one last convulsive clench of her thighs, her back arched and her entire body taut and shaking. I squeeze her nipples hard, heightening the intensity and pleasure for as long as I can.

Then, at last, Yelena relaxes, her face flushed and her skin glowing warm.

“Ohhh, what are you doing to me . . .” she groans.

“I need you,” I tell her. “I need more of you. I can’t wait any longer.”

8

Yelena

Oh my god, I’ve never experienced anything like that.

I’ve never been touched like Sebastian touches me.

He sets every nerve in my body on fire. He’s got me gasping, panting, desperate for more.

That wasn’t an orgasm. It was a glimpse at Nirvana.

When we leave the Gallo house, I can barely walk in a straight line. Sebastian can’t stop grinning—he’s pretty fucking pleased with himself. As he should be.

It’s starting to get late. I should really head back home. My father knows I’m still seeing Sebastian—on his orders—but he doesn’t know how often. I sneak out to meet Sebastian multiple times a week, because I can’t get enough of him. But I don’t want my father to know how close we’re getting. That’s not part of his plan.

I don’t know what his plan actually is—all I know is that it doesn’t involve falling head-over-heels for our enemy.

Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

I’m so confused. Part of me thinks I should break things off with Sebastian. I know this can’t possibly end well. If I actually care about him, I should end it now, and tell my father Sebastian doesn’t want to see me anymore. That will put a stop to whatever idea he’s got in his head.

But the idea of cutting this off . . . I can’t stand it.

This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever felt happy. When I’m with Sebastian, I forget about my father, and his soldiers and lieutenants, and our house that’s like a gilded prison. I forget about the constant pressure and constant disapproval. The unspoken threats. The total lack of privacy and the assumption that I’m just an accessory that can be used as my father sees fit.

Sebastian makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe. He takes me to beautiful places, so we can experience new sights and smells and tastes together.

When I’m with him, I feel like myself. Not like a daughter, or sister, or Bratva princess. Just Yelena.

I want to tell him the truth. At the very least, I should tell him that it wasn’t chance that we met that night. That I wasn’t actually being kidnapped. I’m embarrassed by that deception. I was following my father’s orders—he thought it was crucial that Sebastian and I seemed to meet by chance. And he thought the best way to captivate Sebastian was to make him think that he “saved” me.

Now I realize that it only worked because Sebastian is a good man. He intervened to help a stranger. He protected me, before he knew a thing about me.

He had no idea that I was a shiny lure, with a hook concealed inside.

I have to tell him.

But I’m afraid.

We’ve only known each other a few weeks. If I tell him I was lying to him from the moment we met . . . why would he ever trust me again?

I’m in a hole, and I don’t know how to get out. Every day that passes, I dig down deeper and deeper. Every time I stay silent, it’s like I’m lying to him all over again.

He’ll be angry. I know he will. He won’t want to see me anymore.

I can’t go back to the way my life was before—dull and lonely. Without even a glimmer of hope.

Besides, if Sebastian breaks up with me, if my father finds out that I ruined his plans . . . I don’t know what he’ll do to me. His temper is horrifying. When he goes into a rage, nothing and no one is safe from him.

I’m in such an awful position.