Page 70 of The Bratva King

I lean down and kiss him. My lips brush his, and for a brief second, he doesn’t react.

And then he’s standing, towering over me, his hand sliding over the back of my neck and into my hair. His mouth crashes into mine. I part my lips, and his tongue slides inside. Heat tears through me. I didn’t know a man could make me feel like this with just his mouth.

I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He tightens his fist in my hair and tips my head back, taking the kiss deeper. I let out a soft moan against his mouth.

Then he pulls back and puts both hands on my shoulders, holding me away from him.

I open my eyes, struggling to catch my breath. The room is spinning.

“No,” he says.

I freeze.

“No?”

I don’t have much experience, but I know he wanted that kiss.

“That’s not what this is,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“You don’t owe me this.” His voice is calm, but rougher than before. “What I’ve done for you and Luke isn’t a transaction. I’m not collecting on it.”

My face burns. “That’s not why I kissed you.”

“You don’t have to offer yourself to me because I helped you.”

I’m humiliated. Ashamed. Pissed.

“That’s what you think I was doing?”

“I think you’re grateful, and that you don’t know how else to pay me back.”

“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “Stop talking.”

He stops.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” I say. “Not because I felt obligated. Not because I owed you anything. Because I wanted to, and because for the first time in longer than I can remember, I let myself do something I wanted to do. I’m not prostituting myself.” I straighten my shoulders, holding on to what’s left of my pride. “I’ve done a lot of things out of desperation, but that was not what that was.”

He watches me with a blank expression, and I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I am mortified. “I misread something, and I’m sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position. It won’t happen again.”

I turn and walk to the door.

“Gabby.”

Oh my God, the way he says my name. Rough and quiet. Like he wants me to stay but doesn’t know how to ask.

I pull the door open. “I have to get back to the floor,” I say. “My break is almost over.”

I walk out of his office, down the hall, and take the stairs back to the casino floor. I stop in the bathroom, fix my hair, and avoid looking at myself. I can’t believe I just did that. I haven’t been with a man since my husband. I haven’t wanted to.

But Nikolai in his all-black outfits, with those tattoos and those damn eyes, awoke something in me.

Damn him.

His rejection hurts.