Inked Adonis: Chapter 2

“You should have seen your face!” Hope is holding her sides as she laughs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Like your brain short-circuited the moment his crotch entered your personal space.”

“If it was anything like your face when you saw him, I’m sure it was hilarious.” I snatch the leashes out of her hand and take off striding down Michigan Avenue like I’m being chased by my bad decisions. “The difference is you didn’t humiliate yourself in front of him. Where did you go, anyway? You abandoned me.”

She catches up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I didn’t want to interrupt that adorable meet-cute.”

“That was not a meet-cute. It was a scene from an HR training tape on sexual harassment.” I glare at Rufus, who’s trotting forlornly at my side, still missing his new friend.

Samuel Litvinov. I feel his business card burning in my back pocket.

“He liked you.”

Even as my heart does a pitiful little flip at the idea, I cough out a laugh. “He was being civil, which is a miracle in and of itself. He should’ve called the police.”

“Exactly! He had his leg humped by a Great Dane, Nova! And not only was he a perfect gentleman about it, but he gave you his card because…” She waits for me to finish the thought, but does it herself when I just stare blankly back at her. “Because he liked you, you absolute potato!”

I bite my bottom lip. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hand me his card.”

White-knuckling the leashes, I fish the card from my pocket. The moment it leaves my fingers, I want to snatch it back.

Hope’s perfectly groomed brows shoot up at the thick cardstock and gold embossing. “Ooh, fancy.” Then she reads the card, and her eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Oh my God!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Even the dogs turn to us, suddenly on high alert.

“Samuil Litvinov! As in the Samuil Litvinov?!”

“Um… am I supposed to recognize the name? Is he an actor or something? Should I be Googling him?”

“You’d get a whole bunch of hits, that’s for sure.” Hope snatches the card back and turns it over like she’s checking for treasure map clues. “Named Chicago’s hottest young entrepreneur three years in a row. Self-made millionaire by the time he was twenty-seven. He owns, like, a gazillion businesses all over the world. And rumor has it he’s got connections to the Russian mob, which honestly just adds to the whole package.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “So he’s not actually famous. You just want to cast him as the lead in your mafia romance wet dreams.”

“Everyone likes a bad boy.” She doesn’t deny it.

My skin tingles as I’m reminded of Samuil’s parting words. Technically, he’d been speaking to Rufus, but those storm-gray eyes had been locked on mine.

Bad dogs have all the fun.

“Is that why you only date sales guys and pharmaceutical reps?”

“I date them for the discounts and the free drugs,” Hope quips. “But I’m guessing Mr. Big Bad Litvinov will have a lot more to offer than cheap over-the-counter cough syrup when you call him.”

“I’m not calling him, Hope!”

She smacks my arm hard enough to leave a mark. “Why the hell not? He gave you his card for a reason.”

“He probably has a dog he wants me to walk.” But even I can hear how weak that sounds. “It was purely business.”

“Sure. Because all my business meetings end with discussions about removing pants.”

I want to crawl into the nearest sewer and die. “You heard that?”

“I heard everything, girl, and nothing about it was remotely professional. You were flirting. With a capital F.”

“I didn’t want us to be hit with a lawsuit the first day we went into business together!” The words come out shriller than intended. “I was just being nice and offering to pay for his dry cleaning bill, that is all.”

“If that was business, why didn’t you give him our business card?” A sly smile plays across her lips. “He’s clearly the kind of man who outsources his household chores. He has rich and important friends that he could have introduced us to.”

Is it too late to jump on Rufus’s back and ride him home? “I… didn’t think that far ahead.”

“You weren’t thinking at all, were you?” Hope winks at me.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would be nice.”

I throw my arms in the air. “Oh, alright, fine. I wasn’t thinking about business at all. All I was thinking was that I wish I had an excuse to hump any part of him I could get my hands on.”

Hope tosses her head back with a cackle that draws the eyes of all of the dogs and a few innocent joggers. I can’t help but join in. Especially when Rufus gives another mournful whine that sounds suspiciously like agreement.

Once we’ve gotten the schoolgirl hysterics out of the way, I pat Rufus on the head. “Okay, that was the least professional fifteen minutes of my life. So, let’s get ourselves back in the game and return these pooches to their owners before any additional nonconsensual humping occurs. I’ve had enough felonies for a while.”

We manage to drop off Patsy, Snide, and Blue without mentioning Samuil Litvinov or the card that Hope conveniently neglected to return to me. She’s probably planning to call him herself—and honestly, good for her. God knows I don’t have the guts after what just happened.

It’s only when we’re approaching the brass double doors of our newest client’s greystone mansion—the kind of place that makes my apartment look like a cardboard box behind a Wendy’s—that Hope brings him up again.

“You’re really not going to call him?”

I fish the spare key from my sports bra and unlock the front door. Rufus rushes inside, almost taking me out at the knees as he does.

“What’s the point, Hope? Nothing can come out of it.”

“How would you know?”

“How would you know if you don’t try?”

“I just know, okay?” I follow Rufus into a kitchen that belongs in Architectural Digest. “Samuil and I exist in different universes. We’re barely the same species.”

“You can’t be serious.” Hope rounds the two-acre marble island while I fill Rufus’s porcelain water bowl. “You’re not really going to let your delusional lack of self-worth determine whether or not you call him back, right?”

I pretend to think about it for a moment. “I think I am, yes.”

Setting down the bowl, I watch Rufus attack it like he’s dying of thirst. Water splashes my feet as I stroke his warm back. “Humping hot strangers is thirsty work, huh, boy?”

“Call Samuil and you could find out for yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “Once again for those in the back: He’s way out of my league. I’m not going to set myself up for heartbreak.”

“Forget about your heart. Let the man break other parts of you.” Hope’s eyes focus in on my crotch, because subtlety has never been Hope’s calling card. I feel the need to cover myself.

Having drained his water bowl, Rufus paws at the French doors that open to the rooftop garden. I unlatch the lock to let him out, grateful for the distraction. “I’m not into casual sex.”

That’s the truth, despite what I told him back at the park. Now that I think about that, the public sex comment was probably why he gave me his card. I basically had a flashing sign above my head that said, Please mount and do me in strange and exotic ways.

Hope and I follow Rufus onto the rooftop, a private oasis sprawling across half the floor, bursting with flowers and offering a view of Chicago that makes my chest ache.

Because this? This is Samuil’s world. Glass and steel and skyline.

Hope settles into a wrought-iron table nestled under a huge umbrella and kicks her feet up. I stand nervously off to the side. “Should we be making ourselves comfortable? Our instructions were to feed Rufus, let him play in the garden, and then leave.”

“Right. And what are we supposed to do while he roams the garden? Stand at military attention?” She gestures impatiently to the empty chair next to her. “Go on. Officer Daddy won’t arrest you for taking a load off.”

The fact that “Officer Daddy” is exactly where my rule-following ways were born makes me want to sit down even more. “This client just seems really fussy.”

Rufus is busy sniffing rose bushes in the far corner of the garden.

Hope snorts. “I got news for you, babe. Hope’s Helpers is all about offering personal assistance to people with more money than manners. They’re all fussy.”

I reluctantly sit down. “Remind me again why you want me to date someone with more money than manners?”

“Who said anything about dating?” Hope’s eyes glitter dangerously. “I’m suggesting you live a little. Have some fun. You can’t let Rufus have all the adventures.”

“I’ll admit, it’s not untempting.”

“Is it now?” Hope sits up straighter, scenting blood in the water.

“He’s hot. You know it; I know it. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“But it is a big deal!” she argues. “This is the first man you’ve shown any real interest in. And you’ve been in a dry spell.”

“It hasn’t been that bad…”

“Honey, there was snow on the ground the last time you went out on a date. Last winter’s snow.”

“God.” I bury my face in my palms. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

I slide deeper into the uncomfortable chair. “Honestly, the not dating part has been pretty nice, but… I miss sex.”

“Of course you do. What normal twenty-six-year-old wouldn’t?” Her smile turns wicked. “And if you won’t make use of the card Samuil gave you, at least you can make use of him in other ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” She makes a lot of crude gestures with her hand that I don’t understand. “—use the man. If not in real life, then at least in fantasy. You do own a vibrator, don’t you?”

“Ew! Hope!”

Hope waves me off. “That imagination of yours is a waste if you’re only using it for sensible stuff like business plans and career goals. You need to get freaky with it.”

“That’s more your ballpark than mine.”

“Well, then it’s time to try something new.” She folds her hands in her lap and stares at me with mock seriousness. “Think of me as your sensei, your personal fantasy guide for the evening.”

“I hate everything about this.”

“It’s a cool summer evening.” Her voice dips low, sultry, soft. “You’re in a gorgeous penthouse apartment—elegant and spacious, like this one—” She looks around the gaudy garden and all of its fat cherub statues with a grimace. “—but you know, with actual taste.”

I snort but Hope keeps going, undeterred. “You’re alone. Or are you? No! You turn around and find yourself face to face with none other than Samuil Litvinov.”

“I’m riveted.”

“Close your eyes,” Hope snaps. “I’m not doing all the heavy lifting here.”

I close my eyes, if only so this can be over sooner. But when the breeze kisses against my face, I actually find myself leaning into it. Imagining it’s someone else’s touch.

“It’s just you and Samuil. All six-foot-four of him. Pure sin. Those broad shoulders and his eyes burning into you like you’re his next meal. It’s up to you now, Nova. What do you want to do?”

My heart pounds a war drum between my thighs. “I throw myself off this rooftop.”

“Liar!” Hope smacks my arm. “You nearly got us sued and didn’t even bother passing our card to one of Chicago’s wealthiest men. The least you can do is play along.”

“Fine! Fine. What do I do? I give him the Rufus treatment and hump the life out of him.”

Hope chuckles. “Okay, here we go, but you’re skipping over the good part. Let’s rewind a bit.”

The fantasy builds easier than I’d like to admit. I can almost see his silhouette filling the doorway, commanding every inch of space.

Even in my dreams, it’s hard to look him in the eyes.

“I’m the one in control,” I whisper. “He follows my lead.”

I’d want to touch him. The same way I wanted to grip his arm in the park just to feel how sturdy he was.

But not yet…

“And then?” Hope prompts.

“And then…” I chew my lip. “When he’s standing right in front of me, I strip. I stay out of arm’s reach, disrobing slowly so he can appreciate my body. He tries to grab me, but I don’t let him. In fact, I order him to get naked. Only when his suit and shirt and boxers are on the floor… Only then can he touch me. Once he’s naked, I place a hand on his chest and walk him back towards the sofa.”

He’d dwarf the little couch in my living room. My entire apartment would feel like a dollhouse with him inside. I’d seem so fragile in his hands.

“I push him down and climb on top of him, straddling him. I run my hands up and down his body. He might as well be carved out of marble.”

“I bet he’s ripped,” Hope interjects.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” I confirm without opening my eyes. “The man’s got muscles that would put Hercules to shame. Once I’m done exploring, my hand drifts lower and grabs his cock.”

“It’s big?”

“Huge. I’m worried he won’t fit, but he grabs me by the hips and drags me down onto him. I take him whole.”

My body is warm and my breathing is labored. I should stop, but we’re so close to the finale.

“I ride him hard, and he encourages me, whispering everything we still have yet to try in my ear.”

“And do you cross the finish line?” Hope presses.

“Twice. No, three times, before he explodes inside me. We’re just getting started, though,” I decide, eyes fluttering open. “I’m not done with him yet.”

Hope is smiling down at her phone, typing up a storm. “I bet not.”

Something pings in my head. A vague realization that something is amiss. “What are you doing?”

“Just sending off a little message,” she says, all breezy and nonchalant.

That’s when my gaze drops to Samuil’s business card perched on her right thigh.

Oh.

My.

God.

“Hope…” My voice is strangled. “What did you just do?”

There’s a familiar little whoosh, the telltale sound of a message being sent, and then Hope flips her phone around so I can see the screen…

Including the audio file she just sent.

She gives me a guilt-free shrug. “When Samuil makes your fantasy a reality, you can thank me later. I accept cash or check.”