Chapter 6

Aleksei's POV

I have never met someone so impulsive in my life. She drags me into her room and slams the door, hard, in the face of her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. I don't know. I don't care. Then she turns, and freezes.

A towering stranger stands just a breath away in the dim light of the hotel room. Her shoulders rise, eyes wide, breath caught. Just like a bunny.

My smile spreads with teeth. This little bunny wants me to eat her. But her actions don't line up. She's scared and daring in the same breath, talking about how she doesn't do one-night stands. I step in closer, studying her.

Red hair, too red, like it's bleached, pinned up with little pearl flowers. Pretty. Cute. Her gown, same color, clings to her full chest. My gaze lingers there. I like that part. Everything else? Not my type.

I don't even do redheads. None of the women I fuck have been redheads. And I'm not exactly in the mood to fuck this one either. But the way she keeps dumping herself in my lap, literally, has me reconsidering.

"Y-you're too close," she stammers, backing into the door.

"Look, little bunny," I say, my smile widening. My eyes strip her down with no apology, and her breath hitches. That sound, it's a soft, pretty thing. "When you drag a man like me into your hotel room, it usually means one thing and one thing only."

I lean in. My lips graze her ear. Her scent hits me, something with a hint of flowers and fruit. "To fuck," I pressed directly into her ear.

She squeaks. Her face burns red. I can see it even in the cool blue wash of the lights. That's how pale she is. I like how red she gets. My fingers lift to her cheek. I stroke gently, skin soft, warm, trembling under my touch.

"So," I murmur, "do you want to start? Or should I?"

Her hand comes up, trembling as it presses to my chest. I let her. Step back just enough. Keep her pinned with my stare. She can't meet my eyes.

"I'm sorry for– for leading you on," she says, stumbling over the words. "I really didn't mean to... make it seem like that's what I want."

My brow furrows. I let my voice go cold. "Then did you just waste my time?"

She jumps like I struck her. Another tiny sound escapes her throat, followed by a frantic shake of her head. "I'll make up for it," she says quickly. Swallows. "Just tell me what to do."

I step away from the door, slowly. "What to do," I echo, glancing around the room.

It's cheap. Generic. A hum from the old TV, a low whir from the fan. The air smells like air freshener and damp clothes. The bed looks used, probably by people who don't know how to wash and definitely don't know how to fuck.

My lip curls. What the fuck am I doing here? I followed her with no plan. I'm not even interested in fucking her. I glance back.

She's standing there. Small, trembling and cute. Okay. Maybe I want to fuck her. But not enough to be trailing her like this. What is this? Boredom?

I sit on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath me. I clasp my hands together.

"Then tell me," I say, watching her. "What you'll do to pay for my time."

She clears her throat. Her eyes never leave me. I know that look. Want. I see it all the time. But with her, it's tangled with fear. Shame. She's probably a prude. But not a virgin.

"I could pay for dinner?" she asks with a small hopeful look.

"Dinner." I make a deep, unimpressed sound. "Try again."

"Then what do you want?" she mutters, dropping her shoulders and, finally, the fear. "I'm not sleeping with you," she adds, shifting her feet. "I don't even know you."

"You know my name," I say, as if that counts for something. As if I'm encouraging her. I should leave. There are other places I could be. Other women. Better rooms. But I don't move. I don't even twitch.

She sits on the chair across from me, watching me like I might pounce. My lips twitch, but my face stays neutral. "Just your name isn't enough," she says firmly. "I don't... I don't know what kind of man you are."

Her grey eyes fix on mine like she's accusing me of something.

"What kind of man do you think I am, little bunny?" I ask, bringing my finger to my lips as I study her.

Her eyes travel over me, land on my chest, and narrow. "Is that...?" She doesn't finish.

I glance down and pull out the small black journal I always carry. Her eyes widen. Her mouth parts. "It was a book?" she says, like it's the last thing she expected.

"What did you think it was?"

"I thought it was a g–g, nothing." She flushes and stutters before losing her words.

I place the journal on the bedside table and rise, move closer to her. "You thought it was a gun," I say, "yet you still let me come to your room. Sit on your bed. Talk about what I want." Now I'm in front of her, and her legs are within reach.

"I–It was a mistake," she says quickly, laughing under her breath. "I thought you were Mafia or something."

"Why?" I lean in,"You hate Mafia?"

Her eyes dart to my lips. She licks hers, and something sharp and fast sparks inside me. "They're just... scary."

I touch her leg. "Are you scared?"

She shakes her head, then holds her breath, and nods. "A little. I don't want to get hurt."

"If I wanted to hurt you," I say, my hand trailing up the curve of her leg, fingertips brushing along smooth skin to the hem of her dress, "I would've done it already. You made it so easy."

She shivers. Her leg shifts toward me, almost unconsciously, like it wants more of my touch. She's responsive. I like that.

But why am I doing this? I could have any woman I want, if a woman is what I wanted. So why the hell am I still here, still talking, still touching this naive little foreign thing, trying to convince her to let me in?

"Now," I say, eyes locked on hers, "what else is holding you back?"

She inches closer, gaze steady. "I just broke up with my boyfriend," she says it like she can't even hear herself. "I'm very vulnerable right now."

"So?" I raise a brow.

"So I shouldn't."

"Then tell me to leave."

My hand leaves her leg and clamps around her hip. I grip the chair and drag her closer until there's barely space between us. "You haven't told me to leave yet. Say it now."

It's a warning. A mercy. Something I don't usually offer. I take when I want, leave when I'm done. But this time, I'm trying to give the little bunny an out. A sardonic smile curves my mouth. Maybe I'm offering her what no one ever gave me.

She opens her mouth, nothing comes. She groans instead. "This isn't who I am," she mutters. "I don't bring hot guys to hotel rooms and have sex with them. I'm better than this."

I chuckle, amused by her self-hype. She groans again, hearing it. "But you're so hot, and I don't know if I'll ever get the chance again."

"You're very honest," I say. It's a relief. I hate dishonest people. My tolerance for them is zero. I've put down more than I can count just to remind them that loyalty and honesty are my lines in the sand.

"It's not honesty," she murmurs, giving me a look like I just insulted her. "It's just desperation. Plain and simple."

I watch her lips. Pink. Full. Too pretty. I want to taste them. Which is irrational, because I don't like kissing.

"Let me kiss you," I say plainly.

Her eyes widen. She licks her lips, a nervous action, and I track the motion with my eyes. "A kiss should be enough to pay for my time."

She shifts. Nods. Then just sits there, stiff as a board, like she expects me to lean in, close my eyes, and peck her like some rom-com idiot.

Instead, I drag her off the chair and into my lap. We tumble onto the bed, the springs groaning under our weight.

She squeals, plants her hand on my chest.

"You said just a kiss."

I smile down at her, our legs tangled now. She's not going anywhere. "That's what I plan to do."

She frowns, glancing at the tight space between us, then shakes her head. "We don't need to be this close to kiss."

"I don't know who's been kissing you," I say, eyes drifting across her flushed face, "but they've been doing it wrong."

She opens her mouth to speak. I cut her off with my lips. I catch those full, soft, pink lips in a searing kiss. It's gentle at first. Careful. Nothing special. Until she moans.

The sound is obscene, a deep needy breath, and it vibrates through my mouth straight to my cock. It detonates something inside me.

Hunger. Intense. Endless. Like I've never wanted a kiss before. Like I've never known want. The kiss shifts, from exploring to devouring.

My tongue dives deep into her mouth. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, fingers threading through my hair as she gives in completely. Little shivers run through her body, stirring my hunger.

I kiss her harder. I force it. Her lips bruise beneath mine and it's still not enough. She tastes addictive in the worst possible way.

I pull back, meaning to end it. Leave. Walk out and never look back. But she chases my mouth. And I crack.

I fall on her again, punishing her lips, sucking her in like I need her to breathe.

She clings to me when I try to pull away.

It was supposed to be me locking her in. But it feels like she's locking me in.

I tear myself from her, barely. Her teeth catch my lower lip on the way out. It stings. I rub the spot, and when I pull my fingers back, there's blood. My cock pulses.

What a feral little bunny. I thought she was sweet. Innocent. But she's wild and dangerous.

She's glassy-eyed from one kiss. Pins hang loose in her hair, red strands tumbling around her flushed face. She looks wrecked. And it shoots her beauty through the fucking roof. She looks like something I want to ruin.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

"Are you leaving?" she asks as I climb off the bed.

I can't look at her. If I do, I'll crawl right back on top of her and fuck her into this cheap mattress. I won't stop. Not till morning.

I don't have time for this. I don't have room for this kind of distraction.

"I thought you wanted me to leave," I say, voice clipped. But I look anyway.

She starts to rise. The hem of her dress hikes up her thighs. I swallow hard.

"I'll see you off," she says, stepping closer. Her chest heaves. One breast is nearly spilling out of that damn neckline.

My fingers twitch. I want them in my hands. On my face. In my mouth. Control slips. I'm losing it.

I wrench the door open, too fast, too rough. I'm almost angry. This woman, this bunny, drags out cravings I thought were dead. Desires I swore I wouldn't feel again. And it's the worst part, because she can't take it.

But she grabs my arm. I stop. She's still holding me. Her face is flushed, lips parted, and the hallway light spills over her like a spotlight.

"Can I give you one more kiss for the road?" she asks. Then she does it. She presses her mouth to mine, soft, shaking, hungry.

It wrecks my last thread of control. I grab her waist, yank her to me, lift her clean off the ground. The door slams shut behind us.

I'm going to break this little bunny.