Twilight Sins: Chapter 7

Yakov might actually be a prince.

How else could he explain the domed ceiling, complete with skylight, above his entryway? Or the oil portrait of what has to be a child-version of Yakov and his two younger siblings hanging over the fireplace in the living room?

Not to mention the library. Shelves and shelves of books with a wooden rolling ladder straight out of Beauty and the Beast. Yakov comes in with a drink in each hand. He places mine on the shelf next to me. I snatch it up quickly, more worried about warping the perfect wood with condensation than he is, apparently.

“If you’re not a prince, then you killed one and stole his life.” I run my finger along a row of leather-bound books. “This place is insane.”

“That’s what happened. I’m a murderer. You got me.”

I smile and point to a plaque a few shelves down. “I knew it. Even with all the elaborate setup, placing fake awards with your name on it, as if you would ever…” I lean in closer so I can read the engraved text. Then I whip back to him, eyes wide. “You donated a cancer research hospital? Like… a whole hospital?”

“I thought a whole hospital would be better than half of one,” he replies casually, taking a drink.

“I feel like a good person when I round up my grocery purchase to the nearest dollar for…” I frown. “I actually don’t know what that’s for. But it’s some kind of charity. Meanwhile, you’re donating entire hospitals and curing cancer!”

“I paid for the building. The research is publicly funded.” He shrugs. “It’s a tax deduction.”

If any other man I’ve ever been out with or dated had donated a hospital, it’s all they would have talked about. They probably would have taken me to the hospital for our first date. The cafeteria here is first rate. Trust me. I funded the building.

Yet Yakov didn’t even bring it up. I brought it up and he doesn’t even want to talk about it.

Unbelievable.

This man is hot, wealthy, and generous with a dash of humble (despite my crack on the car ride over). He’s ticking boxes I didn’t even know I had.

Yakov leans against the door frame, one ankle crossed over the other, watching me. I bring my glass to my lips, but freeze the moment I get a whiff. “This isn’t water.”

“That’s a sophisticated palate you have there.” He raises his glass in a sarcastic toast. “You should get out of the plastics business and become a chef.”

“Ha ha. What I mean is, I don’t like vodka.”

He stands up and walks towards me. “Did you try it?”

“I don’t need to. The smell alone brought gruesome flashbacks of nights spent hugging the toilet in my college dorm’s communal bathroom.”

He sets his glass down on the shelf nearest and reaches for mine. He swirls it with surprisingly delicate fingers. “Don’t compare this to the cheap American shit you could afford in college.”

“So the men at my school didn’t spring for the nice stuff. Is that such a surprise?”

“Boys,” Yakov corrects. “If you ended the night slung over a toilet, then they weren’t men. They weren’t taking care of you the way they should have.”

I was teasing, but his words slice straight to the heart of me.

And how should I be taken care of, Yakov?

He takes a sip from my glass and then holds it out to me. “Try this. It’s better.”

I don’t want to drink vodka. Partially because my head is already swimming just from standing so close to him.

But I can see where his lips touched the rim of the glass. Even though we’ve already kissed, the thought of putting my mouth in that same spot is exciting. I take the glass and meet his eyes. He watches me closely as I take a tentative sip.

I wait for the painful bite.

But it doesn’t happen.

“That’s… good.” I take another sip to be sure. “Wow. That’s actually good. Smooth. Maybe a little sweet.”

“I told you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re always right. How could I forget?”

He smiles and taps the side of my glass. “If you want to drink it properly, you’d drink it all at once.”

“It’s almost like you’re trying to get me drunk, Yakov. Should I be scared?”

“Of me?” he asks. “Definitely.”

I believe him. I do. He’s dodged so many questions and made so many sly comments that I know there’s something he isn’t telling me. I know I should be worried.

But I’m too busy being drawn in that I don’t have the energy to resist.

I take another drink of vodka. My cheeks are already warm. My entire body is buzzing. Though I don’t think that has anything to do with the alcohol.

“So, is there anything else that’s better in Russia than America?”

“I used to think the women were.” Yakov plucks my glass out of my hands and places it on the shelf behind my head. Before I can wonder why, he presses me back against the shelf and runs his hands through my hair. “After tonight… I’m not so sure.”

Just like in the car, I feel the press of our lips in every part of my body. Unlike in the car, I don’t have to wonder what Yakov wants. When I reach up to wrap my hands around his neck, he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.

He tastes like vodka and I can’t get enough. I strain forward to kiss him harder. To deepen each kiss. To taste him. But he pulls away. He teases me with his lips and his tongue, never quite giving me what I want.

When his lips shift to my jaw and trail down my neck, I groan. I’m not sure if it’s in frustration or because his lips anywhere on my body feels too good to be true.

“You can’t rush me,” Yakov warns as he kisses the slope of my collarbone. “We have all night and I have remarkable self-control.”

I arch against him, desperate to close the gap between us. “Who says I’m staying all night?”

Ha. It’s hilarious. Really. The suggestion that I might walk away from this. From him. Yakov could toss me to the porch right now and I’d probably mewl around outside like a street cat who has a sudden taste for Fancy Feast. I need to explore every facet of this. Of him.

He pulls back and looks at me. In one glance, I know he can see every dirty, desperate thought in my head.

He smiles and releases my hands. “Leave if you want.”

“Okay. Maybe I⁠—”

The words die in my throat, exactly where Yakov kisses my neck. His tongue traces a line down to my sternum and then I feel the soft, cool air of his exhale.

Goosebumps explode across my skin. “You’re free to go,” Yakov murmurs, his lips brushing across the low neckline of my dress. I can’t wear a bra with this outfit, so he knows exactly where to scrape his teeth. Right over the pebbled skin of my nipple. I gasp and curl my fingers through his dark hair.

Heat swirls low in my belly and he hasn’t even ventured under my clothes. He hooks one hand behind my knee and then slides his finger up the inside of my thigh. Higher and higher.

My entire body tightens with anticipation.

He’s so close to where I want him. So painfully close.

“Well, solnyshka, if you’re going to leave, you better go now.” Yakov looks up at me under dark brows. “While I still have control of myself.”

“I thought you had remarkable self-control?” I pant.

“I do.” His mouth finds my throat. His lips press to where my pulse is pounding. “It’s remarkable I haven’t fucked you already. It’s remarkable I didn’t do it in the car. It’s remarkable I didn’t clear the table at the restaurant and devour you there.”

Forget tonight. I might stay here forever.

I grab his neck and bring his lips to mine. We crash together in a wave of teeth and lips and heavy breathing.

Slowly, we shift away from the shelves towards the sofa. As soon as I feel the arm of the couch against the back of my thighs, I fall back and reach for him.

Yakov stands over me. His eyes are pitch black. His top lip is pulled back in a snarl. He looks feral. I should be afraid, but I’m not.

“We can’t do this here,” he growls.

I’m too turned on to be insecure. I feel like I’ll die if he doesn’t touch me. “Aren’t we alone? Are you worried someone will see?”

He strokes a rough hand from my neck to my waist. “I don’t give a shit if someone sees. Let them watch.”

“Then why can’t we⁠—”

“If I’m going to fuck you, we’re not going to do it like horny teenagers on the couch.” Yakov picks me up in one fluid motion and wraps my legs around his waist. His hands bite possessively into my ass. “I’m going to fuck you in a bed, Luna. Where I have space to do it right.”