“Your nipples are rubbing against my chest,” he whispers diabolically, “so stiff. I want to suck them into my mouth. Bite them. I think you’d like that too, wouldn’t you?”
My hips are moving on their own, pressing hard against him, and I think he’s right, damn him. I’m going to come on his cock and it’s not even inside me and when I do, my thighs tighten convulsively and my nails dig into his skin. It must hurt but he doesn’t stop me, he just keeps whispering dirty suggestions into my ear as I gasp and shake, the warmth threatening to sear through me and it’s so much better, so much stronger than anything I’ve ever managed to achieve on my own.
Lucca groans, his hands tightening enough that I know I’ll see bruises tomorrow, and I’ll silently gloat over each one. “So pretty when you come,” he says, biting my shoulder.
When he lifts me off him, I see, to my extreme embarrassment, that I have not only left a wet spot on his shorts I have soaked them. And also, that he’s still hugely hard. “Can I help you, um…” I gesture at the very obvious bulge, “Can I take care of you?”
Kissing me, he helps me up with a groan. “I’ll handle it later. Our reserved time is up and no one is going to see you like this but me.” He pulls his shirt on, an act I watch with some regret because I have so many questions about his tattoos and it seems like a crime to cover a chest so perfectly sculpted.
We’re almost to the student housing building when he asks, “Why didn’t your father make an alliance with an arranged marriage for you?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said slowly, “after all, Mariya was only fourteen when she was promised in marriage to Konstantin. I always got the sense that I was…” I’m waving my hands, trying to think of the right phrase, “An asset he held back, like a royal flush to pull out at the end of a game of poker, or something.”
He’s frowning and I feel like he’s judging my parents.
“My father and mother loved me,” I said a little defensively. “I know I was never a key piece on the Bratva chessboard. They did love me though, and my brothers do, too.”
Lucca chuckles bitterly, and it makes me sad to hear it. “We’re all fucking pawns on this chessboard. Just pawns.”
He stops just out of view of the building, light blazing from the windows against the early night. “One more practice session tomorrow, I am confident about your skills. You’re smart, and you’re strategic. I don’t want you to worry tonight. Get some sleep.”
I know him well enough now to know that he does not give out compliments freely. If he says he’s confident about my skills, then I must be, too.
“Okay,” I take a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you, Lucca.”
Kissing me on the forehead, he gifts me with one last, gorgeous smile. “Goodnight, piccolo bacio.”
Chapter Twelve
In which Tatiana goes low.
Tatiana…
The sun is breaking through the typical Irish cloud cover and the bright rays feel like they’re mocking me. If the weather matched my mood, we’d be in a violent storm with lightning strikes and a vicious downpour. Zimmerman has never hidden his contempt for me. If this isn’t a decisive win, he’ll have an excuse to kick me out.
It feels like I’m walking to my execution.
“Take a deep breath and let it out,” Lucca leans in, almost whispering in my ear. “Do it.”
Shakily doing as he says, I feel the tightness in my chest loosen, just a bit.
“Do it again.”
Blowing the breath out between my pursed lips, I force my shoulders to relax.
Lucca puts his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing gently. “This isn’t a fight to the death,” he said, “you just have to prove you’re capable of holding your own.” He kisses the top of my head. “And you are capable, okay?” We pause in the middle of the path as he puts his hands on my shoulders. “Say it.”
“I don’t-”
“You fire with the accuracy of a military sniper, you’re already ahead of your class in computer hacking and the dark web, you-”
“How did you know all of that?” I interrupt.
“The point here,” he said patiently, “is that for someone who got dumped onto this campus four weeks ago, you’re moving ahead, not falling behind. Physical combat may not be your strength, but you’ve made more progress in a month than anyone I’ve seen. You can do this.”
Staring up into his amber eyes, I feel oddly grateful. I know Lucca well enough now to know he wouldn’t sugarcoat it for me. If he thought I was going to get my ass kicked, he would tell me. As ego-crushing as it would be.
“Okay,” I nod, “thank you.”
“Say, ‘I can do this,’” he persists.
Rolling my eyes, I repeat, “I can do this.”
“Just for that eye-roll,” he whispers, “I’m turning your ass red tonight.”
I make an incoherent, whiney little noise and he laughs, urging me down the path to the combat class.
“Miss Aslanova,” Professor Zimmerman stands in the middle of the gym, arms folded and biceps bulging in his clean white t-shirt. “You were given a month to develop even the most basic combat skills. Let’s see what you’ve learned from Mr. Toscano.”
My blood pressure is so high that it’s a miracle I’m not having a stroke. “Yes, Professor,” I manage, after clearing my throat three times.
“Mr. Tanaka, join Miss Aslanova on the mat.”
A murmur flows through the group like leaves scattering in the wind. Hiroto Tanaka is the second son of one of the most dangerous leaders in the Yakuza. He’s already sporting dozens of tattoos indicating his rank. I know from watching him that he’s not the strongest fighter in class, but he’s definitely a step above Ania Jankowski, and even she is looking at me with concern.
That bastard Zimmerman. What did I ever do to him? Why does he want me out of here so badly? Squaring my shoulders, I stare at his expressionless face. I can still sense his smug satisfaction.
Lucca casually walks behind the professor so that my gaze moves to him. His mouth curves into a gorgeous smile as he nods at me.
Bringing up my fists to protect my face, I plant my feet. Lucca taught me countermoves for most of the fighting styles I’d seen in class. I’ll never take down Tanaka with his martial arts skills, so I have to go dirty.
“You never stop fighting until they’re down,” Lucca had told me. “The fight is not over until they’re incapacitated.”
My only advantage here is that Hiroto hasn’t really seen me fight at all. I’ve only practiced a few moves in class, so he’s probably assuming I’m nearly as helpless as I was on that first day. He’s eyeing me calmly as he takes his place on the mat.
Please let him underestimate me, I prayed.
Swinging his elbows back and forth, loosening up, he watches my stance. I hope I don’t look as terrified as I feel. Realizing I’m not going to make the first move, he gives the slightest of sighs and charges me. This time, I don’t flinch. I watch his eye movements as he looks down at my ribs and I know he’s going for a kick to incapacitate me right away. He probably thinks of it as merciful.
As his foot comes up for the blow, I surge forward, sliding to my knees and punch up at his crotch with everything I have. My fist lands solidly and I hear a chorus of “Oh, fuck!” from the male portion of the class. Hiroto’s face pales as his mouth drops open, but I can’t trust that this is enough. As he bends over, clutching between his legs, I bring up my elbow and slam it into the back of his neck, and he blacks out for a moment, dropping to his knees.