It was the manacle on one of his wrists that really brought it home.

He’d been to prison.

A Russian prison.

I traced the US dollar bills on his shoulder and wondered if he knew, while getting this tattoo, that he would end up here, thirty-one-thousand feet in the air, on a United States government airplane.

His abs tensed as I ran a hand down them.

“Will you tell me what they mean?” I asked.

“No.” The word was hard.

I trailed my fingers over him, knowing these symbols sometimes meant the wearer had done terrible things to earn them, yet somehow, I was still fascinated by every one of them. Maybe because I already knew he was far from a choir boy.

“Tell me what one means.”

“No.”

I couldn’t stop touching him. Not only because he was hands-down the sexiest man I’d ever seen, but because he was the most fascinating. A cold-mannered professional on the outside, and a dirty-playing criminal below the surface.

I wrapped my hand around the manacle tattoo on his wrist. “This one. Tell me what this one means and then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

“Whatever is a strong word.”

The way he said it, slightly threatening, sent a shiver through me.

“I’m aware.”

“I’ll humor you, but only because we have two hours of this flight left, and I’d prefer to spend it fucking you. Not because I’m opening up to you. Understood?”

Asshole.

I sighed. “And here I thought I was getting closer and closer to a proposal.”

“It symbolizes a prison sentence of five years.”

Five years?

I had so many questions, but I kept them to myself. I knew if I made a big deal about what he shared with me, it would just make him more resolved not to tell me more.

I did a quick math problem in my head. I’d known this man for eight years. It had to have taken him years before that to build a reputation significant enough to hold the position he did now. He was, what, thirty-three? He’d had to have been young when he went to jail. Early teens, maybe?

God, Russia was barbaric.

I trailed a finger down his cheek, horrified to think about what he’d gone through in prison with this face. He read my thoughts again.

He grabbed my wrist in a vise, his voice harsh. “I don’t need your pity. I held my own in prison. I was already bigger than most men at fourteen. Not to mention, colder, thanks to—” He cut himself off.

Thanks to who?

My attention caught on something. I dropped my gaze to his grip on me, to the elastic band on his wrist.

“What is . . .?” I trailed off when I realized what it was. And only because I’d worn the same wide-banded black hair ties since I could remember. My heart picked up as the memory came back, of him slipping that hair tie into his pocket while I was naked in his bed three years before.

The surprise hit me so hard I went on the offensive.

“That’s mine,” I accused, like it was something important he’d stolen from me. I reached for it as if to take it back, but he stopped me by grabbing that wrist, too.

“It’s mine now.”

He’d kept it—worn it—for three years? I couldn’t figure out if it was slightly disturbing, or . . . hot.

“Fine,” I sighed, like I didn’t care. “You can keep it.” Then, I leaned in and kissed him before he could read the conflicting thoughts on my face.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” He nipped at my lip.

The kiss went deeper, with a hot glide of tongue. Heat drifted between my legs, and I was losing my breath, but somehow, I still found the resolve to mess with him. I smiled against his lips, pulling back to say, “It’s cute that you wear it.”

He smacked my ass hard enough to sting.

“Almost”—I gasped as he sucked on the sensitive spot behind my ear—“romantic.”

A darkly amused noise came from him. “I was going to give it to you nice and easy, malyshka.” His lips trailed down my neck, voice nothing but a rumble. “Now, I’m going to make you scream.”

A shiver trailed down my spine.

He carried me to a bedroom in the back, dropped me on the bed, undid his belt, and stripped down to nothing. He hung his clothes neatly on the back of a chair, while I would have tossed mine into a pile on the floor. I had no idea what I was doing with this man, but, as I watched him with half-lidded eyes, my skin buzzed with anticipation to feel him against me.

I lifted a leg and rested my heel on his bare stomach. He undid the strap around my ankle and set the stiletto on the floor. But, before reaching for the next foot, he kissed my instep. I didn’t know if that was an erogenous zone, but my body lit up like it was.

His body came down on mine, and the feel of his skin against mine for the first time sent a low moan up my throat. A shudder rolled through him as he kissed me softly. My dress was still tangled around my hips, and he merely pulled my panties to the side before pushing into me. I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders and arching my back to take him deeper.

He was so serious and intense when he fucked, as if he was there to do a job he secretly loved. But, every once in a while, something soft and sexy showed through—the rumble of approval against my throat, like he was showing his appreciation of me lying there and taking it. The, “Made for me,” he rasped against my neck as he slid into me deep and slow. The press of his lips against mine and the softness of his caresses, even while he fucked me hard enough I could black out.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I’d lost the rest of my clothes and lay flat on my stomach, while he held each of my wrists beside my head and fucked me from behind.

He stilled, breath heavy, as he brushed his lips against the back of my neck. “I want to come inside you, malyshka.”

My mind groaned in protest while my body screamed, YES.

I’d started my period the day after our last encounter and had just gotten over it two days before, so, statistically speaking, it was fairly safe. Though, what we were doing was risky to begin with; I didn’t even have the confidence he wasn’t sleeping with other women.

But, at the moment, he was hitting a spot so deep, so intense, it was bringing me to a point I’d never gone to before and tears to my eyes. His bodyweight was heavy as he held me down, sending pure pleasure through my blood. And then there was this feeling in my chest, a lightness and a heaviness all at once.

It was too much.

As I tumbled toward the edge of release, I lost all sense of reason within me.

I suddenly wanted him to do it. Needed him to. Would beg for it.

“Come inside me,” I pleaded.

He pressed his face into my neck and growled with satisfaction.

The sound was all I needed to fall right over the edge.

I might have forgotten some feelings over the last few years, but I knew what this one was.

Bliss.

I HAD NOW BECOME JUST another third.

I knew it.

He knew it.

The freaking stewardess probably knew it.

He sat on the foot of the bed, his elbows on his knees. The presence emanating from him didn’t feel like regret, but something very, very thoughtful. Deliberative. I imagined this was how plans for world domination were made.