A/N: This one is hot and steamy. I'd rather warn you now.


Chapter 8

When the oven dinged and they went to eat the infamous lasagna, Camille couldn't help but being satisfied. She had asked one of her three questions and she had gotten an answer. A scary but honest one.

"Alexei told me you were chirpy as fuck all week." The Russian commented as they ate. She gave him a big smile in return. Partly because of the subject he had brought up. Partly because he was talking about her with Alex and learning about it made her want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

"My mom and my sister are coming here for Christmas!" She was excited. It showed. Vladimir's eyes glinted with laugher at her childish mirth.

"That's good. Family is important. You miss them." It wasn't a question.

"Funny how Piotr said the same thing yesterday. Some kind of Veles Taxi's value?" She teased in return. His expression turned sour at the mention of Piotr. She had done it on purpose. She still wasn't above aggravating him as payback for the whores.

"You talk to Piotr," he said testily, "you talk to Sergei…"

"Yes, Vladimir. I work in a bar. The Veles Taxi's employees' favorite bar. Of course, I talk to Piotr, to Sergei, to Dimitri and to a looooot of other guys. All night long."

He grunted and she laughed at his expense. He didn't like it. It served him right. She hesitated to say more… But, as per her habit, she would always choose to walk through the fire instead of around it. One question down, two to go.

"If you are so worried," she went on as he chewed a little too hard on his lasagna, "maybe you shouldn't leave me all hot and bothered in front of my porch next time." He choked on his food, so hard she thought she saw tears at the corner of his eyes. "Are you okay?" She poured him a glass of water and held back a smirk. After a few coughs, he managed to catch back his breath.

"What kind of dinner talk is that?!" He stuttered, gulping down water right after it. She couldn't hide her satisfied smirk now. Camille rarely got embarrassed while talking about sex, during dinnertime or whenever. He'd better learn that sooner rather than later.

"The kind a girl has when she has been left wondering for days what that was about."

He wasn't the only one who liked things straightforward. By now, they both had set their fork aside. They were back to another staring match. Despite her bravado, Camille blushed when faced with his unwavering expression. She might get the upper hand on him from time to time with the element of surprise on her side, but he was still the one with the best self-control.

"You sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

She didn't hesitate. She had thought for far too long about this already. Come what may.

"Ok, then. I know you are mourning someone." She froze. She hadn't expected that. Juliette had tried to tell her, but she had dismissed it. She shouldn't have. "You were thinking about him that night. I could tell."

A long, heavy silence fell upon them. Her throat constricted painfully. She drank water to try to swallow the lump down. He waited, patiently, his eyes never leaving hers. She backed down, focusing on his plate instead.

"I'm trying to get over it." She whispered, her voice wavering despite her best efforts.

"I know."

He emptied his glass of water, helping himself to a new shot of vodka. She watched his tattooed, scarred hands as they filled two small glasses with it. One slid to her side of the kitchen counter. She grabbed it, thankful.

"When you are ready, really ready, I won't let you hot and bothered in front of your porch."

She nodded before emptying her glass. He stood up, grabbed the bottle on his way, before coming to her side to refill it. She was lost in thought and barely noticed when his body heat warmed her side. Despite the summer warmth, she was shivering. What was she getting herself into? This… Whatever this was, it was clearly not a one-night-stand prelude. She was at a crossroad.

She could stand up now, excusing herself and going back home. It would be the smart choice, the one where she wouldn't end up involved with a Russian mobster-king more than she should, more than what was safe. She would go back to her sad little daily routine. And maybe, maybe, in a few months or in a few years, when time would have healed her wounds, she would find a normal, boring guy to date. One who wouldn't have seen death so many times that he would see it etched on her face in the heated end of their first date.

It was also the coward road. The one where she wouldn't ask herself any difficult question. The one when she wouldn't be forced to face her demons head on and fight them off.

Then, there was the second road. On this one, she knew she would end up playing with fire so bad that she would go down in a blaze. As a reward, she might feel her heart beat hard against her chest again, just as it was beating now. She might hurt and she might cry. She might shiver in fear and in lust. She might laugh and she might smile so hard her cheeks would hurt.

She would be alive, not just surviving.

At the moment, she was sincerely tempted to the take the former. It would be so easy. But it would also be betrayal. Betrayal of whom she had been, of whom she yearned to be again. She downed another shot, Vladimir still silent at her side.

"His name was Thomas." She started, unsure of where she was going with this.

She felt it was time though. Vladimir took her hand and led her on his couch. They sat side by side this time, his arm gently wrapping around her shoulders as she got comfortable, her head on the hollow space between his shoulder and his neck. His shirt was soft and warm against her skin. She let her sandals fell on the ground and tucked her feet under herself.

"I met him when I was nineteen at a friend's birthday party. I had heard about him before. All his friends, whom I already knew, told me he was some kind of badass. Well, as badass as a teenager could be, I guess." Vladimir snorted beside her and she smiled fondly.

"When I finally got to meet him, I didn't really want to, thinking the guy could only be trouble. I knew he had set fire to a barn when he had been drunk, once. As I arrived at the party, everyone was already sitting on couches around the living room's coffee table of my friend's parents' house. I knew who he was right away. He was the only one invited that I didn't know. When I got closer to him, he turned around, a giant grin on his face and said "Hi, I'm Thomas!" in a cheerful, almost childish voice. I burst out laughing. I mean, that was the devil I'd heard so much about?"

She paused to grab Vladimir's glass on the table. She had forgotten hers back in the kitchen. She filled it with vodka and took a few sips once back to her place snuggled at his side.

"The night went on. To everyone's surprise, we got a connection right away. It might sound cheesy, but it's true: I knew I had met someone who would change my life forever. I just didn't know how much at the time. Our couple took a rocky start. We were young, I was only thinking about partying, and he was a stupidly proud boy. But once we got together, we were indestructible. Both in our relationship and in our way to lead our lives. Nobody could tear us apart, and quite a few boys and girls tried. We trusted each other completely. And we were both resolute to have as good a life as we could. He worked on construction sites, starting at the bottom, since he couldn't study at school to save his life."

Another small grunt echoed beside her. She guessed someone could relate.

"When we reached 23, he was already one of the place's managers thanks to his hard work and brilliant mind. I had studied four years at college to be an accountant and managed to get myself a good spot in a well renowned firm."

"You were an accountant?" Vladimir asked, surprise clear in his tone.

"I was. Surprising, right?" He chuckled lightly before kissing the top of her head. She went on. "He bought a house for us, asked me to marry him in the most unromantic way possible, as per his habit." She smiled at that. He had been so sensible he'd known anything romantic would have made him cry. And he had been far too proud to tolerate it. Still, she had been so miffed she'd almost said no just to teach him a lesson.

"One day, we were driving back from a fast-food and bickering about him saying he looked like Loki. I said he was a very cheap, very small version of him. He said I was blind. We laughed and he bent toward me for a quick kiss. In front of us, a truck driver had fallen asleep behind his wheel. Our car collided with it, sending us both tumbling in the field nearby. I…" She had to take a big gulp of air. Vladimir's hand on her shoulder pressed her a little more against him. "I don't remember exactly what happened then. Only that it went very fast. When my brain got back in working order, all I could see was Thomas, his legs crushed by the car and his guts opened. He was trying to hold it back inside. I tried to help. He was crying, begging not to die. He kept saying he didn't want to die."

She sobbed. She couldn't help it. No matter how hard she tried not to. That memory was the one haunting her at night. She kept hearing his voice, cracked by pain and fear.

"I saw when the light left his eyes. It was over in minutes. The ambulance came and people got me out easily. The car had mostly been hit on the driver's side. Thomas was harder to get out. They had to cut the car open with some kind of saws. When a doctor was checking on me, I saw the truck driver walked by me, surrounded by police officers. He was crying. He was unharmed."

She could still see his face, terrorized and in shock. But unharmed. She wasn't crying anymore. Her teeth clenched.

"I wanted to kill him."

"Did you?" Vladimir asked eventually as she sipped on some more vodka. She almost laughed; despite the terrible memory she was reliving. Only a man like him wouldn't automatically assume that she did not.

"No. I would have ended up in jail and Thomas wouldn't be any more alive." She cleared her throat. "After that, I couldn't stay there. Thomas had made some papers in case something happened to him, so the house would be mine. With his parents' agreement, I sold it. I couldn't even get past the front door anymore without having PTSD. I quit my job, went back to live with my family for a while. But it wasn't enough. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was drowning in water all day. So, when my psychologist told me I was good enough to have a little freedom back, I decided to come here. I only had happy memories of New-York-City. That part was true. I thought it would help. And it did. I packed a bag, filled a vacation visa, found a job. You know the rest."

She felt him nod against her hair, some of it getting caught in his stubble. He had also taken off his shoes, his sock clad feet were on the couch too. She watched his long legs as they bent in front of her.

"I'm sorry." She eventually said. "This is not really date-talk material."

Another silent moment passed, before he whispered in her hair.

"I think it is."

"Thank you." She snaked an arm around his middle. She guessed they were sort of cuddling now. "It felt good to let it all out."

They stay like that for a while, silent, enjoying each other presence, letting the ghosts of memories fade little by little. Eventually, Camille decided she had had enough gloominess for one night.

"I think I'm drunk." She stated, giggling. She was. She really was. Very tipsy at least.

"Do you want me to bring you home?" he asked, his voice still strangely raw.

"No." She didn't want to let it end that way. If their first date was anything to go by, she didn't know when she would see him again. "Let's play video games."

She searched the table for something they could play both and find some car race game. That turn out to be a good idea. Eventually, the mood went back to something playful. They had played normally for about an hour when Camille got fed up with losing. So, as Vladimir drove ahead, on his way to win again, she got another one of her cheeky ideas. She let the controller go and tried to tickle his ribs. His car crashed.

She burst out of laughing as he swore in Russian.

"You cheated!" He accused, half-offended, half-joking. He kept talking in Russian, probably more swearing, and she laughed harder.

It didn't last long however. So quickly that she didn't have time to react, he grabbed one of her ankles and pulled her toward him, starting a tickling war she was sure to lose. She had always been ticklish. Soon, she was laughing and screaming, kicking and flailing, as she tried to broke free. It was no use. The man wouldn't budge. She even tried to shoot a couch pillow at him. He just caught it and sent it flying somewhere far away in the living room.

Eventually, she ended up lying on the couch, with him above her, arms on each side of her head, his legs between hers. He had stopped his tickling torture, his eyes growing serious again, even if he was still smirking. She could feel the beginning of an erection against her core. It was still light, but not enough so that she could mistake it for something else.

"Oh." She just said, stupidly.

Then, he was kissing her, his body's weight crushing her in a delicious way. It was a curious sensation at first. Being tall herself, she had never been with a man really taller, or larger than her. Of course, there were plenty men out there who were, fate just wouldn't have her with them, to her teenage-self great despair. Until now. She felt small in his arms. It felt good.

As his tongue went down her throat, playing with hers, letting her taste his vodka and tobacco, a mix she didn't mind, her legs moved on their own accord around his hips. She wanted, needed, to feel him closer to her. She whimpered when a movement of his hips, prodded by her legs on his back, sent his crotch colliding against hers. Her core was pulsing with need, so much it was almost painful. She would have done crazy things right now just to get some release. However, last time was still fresh in her mind.

She pulled none too gently at his hair. It seemed it was a place her hands would always end up in. He let go of her lips, arching an eyebrow at her, his eyes darkened with lust. She shivered but fought back her own lust to stay focused.

"Vladimir," she warned, "if you're planning to let me down again, now would be the time to say so. Because I solemnly swear that past that second, if I so much as detect a whiff of backing up on your part, I'm gonna tie you up to your bed and have my way with you anyway."

His smirked, cocky and amused by her half-serious threat.

"Tie me up, hm?" His voice had dropped another octave with lust. As he bent down on her neck, kissing and softly licking the sensitive skin there, she closed her eyes, hands back in his hair pushing him down on her, hips rocking against his.

"Vladimir," she tried, her voice a pathetic needy whisper. She had planned to tell him she was serious, but in the meantime, he had snaked a hand between her legs, pressing down on her panty. She lost what she was about to say and could only moan in the crook of his neck. She knew only one thing. She wanted to feel more of him.

"Take off your shirt." She ordered, already grabbing at the thing to push it over his head.

Thankfully, he obeyed. He sat back on his haunches and let her pull the black shirt over his head. She took a minute to stare at him, her hand following her gaze on his skin. Another jolt of lust rocked her when her hand passed over his abs. His skin was warm and soft. Softer than the one on his face or neck. Underneath it, hard muscles made her hand draw small mountains on his belly. She followed the lines of the cross on his chest. Quite a few scars and burns were there too. She traced them, slowly, until an almost feral growl brought her back to reality.

In the blink of an eye, her hips were grabbed and she was sitting on his lap. Then, in one swift movement, he took her ass with both hands and lifted them both up.

"Bedroom." He grumbled. She had no problem with the couch but the bed would do just fine too. And she had definitely no problem with being in his arm like that, his jeans-clad erection against her core, her arms around his neck and his hands on her ass. Not even the cold metal of his belt biting at her tender skin could get her out of pleasure then.

He stopped halfway to press her against a wall, kissing her almost violently. There would be no stopping this time. She shivered in anticipation; the previous anxiousness gone. Maybe he had been right to left it at that last time. Maybe some things needed to be said first. Or maybe he was just a pussy.

She almost laughed but his teeth were scraping her throat as his hands were pushing the straps of her dress aside. It fell down her body, stopping at her thighs where his leg between hers stopped it. Once again, he pressed harder against her and she was left panting, his knee the only thing keeping her standing upright. She was assaulted by senses.

His smell, so special she would recognize it anywhere, surrounded her. His heartbeat, steady but faster than it normally would be, echoed against her chest. His hands were on her naked hips, his tongue on her neck, his thigh between hers, steady too as she rocked against it in a desperate need to feel some kind of friction where she wanted it the most, not caring that his belt's buckle was hurting her hip now.

One of his hands slid behind her back to undo her bra, he didn't have time to finish that she had already unclasped the damn thing in her need to feel her nipples, already hard, against the soft skin of his chest.

"Impatient." He commented against her neck, letting his tongue slide up to her ear.

"Shut up." Even to her own ears, she sounded squeaky, the last syllable lost in a strangled moan when his tongue stroked an especially sensitive spot along her neck.

"And rude." He added, biting that same spot gently.

She reached for his damned buckle, undoing it in three sharp movements. She undid his jeans buttons just as quickly.

"Experienced, aren't y-"

The end of his sentence got lost in a groan as she grabbed the length of him in one hand. He kept his mouth against her neck, sending shiver straight to her lower belly with each slide of his tongue, each touch of his lips and each breath that brushed against her wet skin. Not to be outdone, he also let one of his hands slid between her legs. Soon, his own leg let way to his fingers, rubbing gentle circle around her most sensitive spot atop her panties. It was a strange mix of sensation between the roughness of his tongue, of his moans, of the way he was pressing her against the wall and the gentleness of his hand. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out.

At some point, the rubbing got her so tense with pleasure she had to let go of his cock to grab onto him for dear life, the spasms in her legs threatening to let her fall.

However, it was too soon. She could have closed her eyes and stayed focused all she wanted; she couldn't reach release yet. These things had always taken some time with her. It was very frustrating. Every time she felt it coming, she focused on it and, right when she thought she could have it, it slipped away, out of her reach. With Thomas, it had even become an issue. She would focus so hard on it, afraid not to manage to come that she would block herself. She whimpered in frustration when she felt the pleasure waves slowing down once again.

Vladmimir must have felt it too. Contrary to her previous lovers, maybe, probably, because he was older, she didn't perceive any frustration coming from him. He just stopped rubbing her clit long enough to carry her to the bed where he laid her down on her back. She hoisted herself on her elbows to watch him get out his pants and boxers. Naked, he was a sight to behold. Muscles, scars, tattoos and most of all, his damned blue eyes glinting in the shadows of the room.

She didn't have much time to stare as he got back on top of her, kissing her lips with a revenge. She gave back as much as she got until he started to move down her body. He kissed her neck once more, biting and then licking the skin he had bitten, before moving down to her collarbone. He stopped a while longer at her breasts, licking her harden nipples until her clit almost hurt with desire, her core pulsing in time with his tongue. She was out of breath and panting.

Her panty was removed right after this. She watched it slide from her legs before his hand ran from her ankle to her knee where it stopped, his eyes following his hand every step of the way and then going up. They stared at each other for a while, him on his knees between her legs wide open while she looked down at him. She kept watching as he kissed her left knee, then her thigh and she knew where he was going with this.

Her head fell down on the mattress, eyes finally closed, unable to form a proper sentence, as he went down on her. The first thing she felt between her legs was his breathe, cool against her hot and overly sensitive skin. She moaned more loudly than what she had anticipated when his tongue had its first taste of her. Her knees buckled, trying to close in on instinct but he held her firmly open. Almost too open for comfort. They were plunged in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the living room but still, the man had his head between her legs and he was keeping them wide open!

When she felt the next lick of his tongue, a muffled scream came out of her throat. He kept going. Her back arched. One of her hands fisted his hair, the other did the same with the sheet. She couldn't breathe. It was almost too much. Pleasure was rolling inside her in waves but, as usual, she blocked. Her lungs were stuck, so was her voice and so was her release, sadly. She must have pulled too hard on his hair. He looked up and watched her. She stared back at him, almost apologizing. She wasn't getting to where she should.

Vladimir went back up and kissed her softly. She could taste herself on his lips.

"You think too much." He commented, not pissed off or impatient, just matter of fact. And maybe, just like for the dance, he was right. "Look at me." She did, holding his gaze as he went down again. "Watch me doing it." He ordered again. She never had but, curious, she did, raising her head a little to do so. "Good." He went back to licking her. First her lower lips. Then, around her clit. Slowly, at first. Almost featherlight.

"Breathe," he said, between two licks, his own breath sending shivers through her whole body. "Focus on keeping an even breathing and keep watching."

Once again, she followed his orders. She had to force herself to keep breathing evenly. Every movement he made would have her stop breathing but she held on. As he went faster, it got harder to keep breathing, the rolling wave of pleasure taking more and more force. It got harder still when one, and then two of his fingers entered her to move in rhythm with his tongue. She found that moaning in rhythm helped to keep her from holding her breath. Her legs were shaking more and more.

Suddenly, she knew her orgasm was coming and, short of Vladimir stopping, it would come for certain. She didn't dare to say anything for fear she'd lose her focus but she prayed he wouldn't stop. God, she hoped he wouldn't! She wouldn't be able to survive it. She let out one last breath before the jolts of electricity got her whole body spasming stronger than it ever had before. A satisfied scream of extasy filled the room, as she fell back against the mattress, a huge relieved smile on her face. Vladimir kept his tongue moving but it was going slower and slower as the waves rocking her slowed too. At last, she stopped moaning and was just panting heavily. Sated. She stared at the ceiling, a content grin spreading on her face. Her hand, still in Vladimir's hair, moved up with him, his warmth covering her once again.

"Feels good?" he asked as he got back on top of her. His cocky smirk was back in place too but she kept smiling like a fool. She was in utter bliss as her legs fell, limp, against the sheets.

"Yeah." She whispered, playing distractedly with the soft strands of his hair. There was no point in denying it, even to smother that damn expression from his face. She was simply too content for it. She absentmindedly kissed his jaw, reveling in the starchy feeling of his stubble grazing against her skin as he settled himself over her, his legs between hers and his cock at her entrance.

She knew she was ready for it and, despite being fully sated, she somehow still yearned for the feeling of him inside of her. Her legs wrapped around his hips again and she took him gently in her hand to position him right.

When he finally entered her in one slow movement, they both groaned in relief as he slowly but surely went all in. He stayed like this for a few seconds, savoring the feeling and kissing her gently. Then, he began to move.

Camille lost focus once again, the only thing on her thoughts being his movements inside of her. She wrapped her arms around him and arched her back. It quickly became obvious that Vladimir wasn't the gentle kind of lover. Which was fine by her.

Once he had made sure she was ready for it, he grabbed her legs, settled her knees on both of his shoulders and started pounding into her. She took the assault with pleasure and let go of every last shred of control she had. Every time he hit a special spot inside of her, she saw stars and screamed nonsense by his ear. His hands held her tighter around her hips, steadying her as he pushed harder and harder. She was vaguely aware she might get bruised from it but she didn't care. For as long as he held her like that, his chest would have to rest against her, almost crushing her and his face would stay in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, growling like an animal, and sending shivers down her spine.

Finally, after what felt like seconds and hours at the same time, he came in a loud groan as she held him, whimpering in unison with his final pushes.

She let him catch his breath while still slumped on her as she tried to unscramble her brain. He was heavy and far too warm and too sweaty to objectively make a comfortable blanket but, despite this, she still held him close, playing with the small hair on the nape of his neck and gliding a finger along his clammy spine. When he eventually pulled out, she let one last whimper lose and watched him fall by her side, totally spent.

A few minutes later, once both lovers had sorted themselves somewhat, they laid back on the bed, Camille's head on Vladimir's chest while she drew small circles around his abs. She smirked as every curve she drew got one of his muscle twitching. Either he was ticklish or he'd be ready for another go in a few minutes. In any case, the result pleased her.

She was drawing along the cross on his chest when she finally found her voice again.

"Does any of your tattoos have meaning?" She asked, raising up to look at him with a curious stare. It was one of the first thing that had fascinated her about him and she'd been wondering about it for a while now.

The man under her groaned and muttered something in Russian before he resigned himself to open his eyes and stare at her through the semi-darkness of the room.

"They all do." He replied, his voice still scratchy. It sent another jolt down her belly. She was beginning to hope for an encore but tried to refrain it for now. "Which one do you want to know about?"

She traced the lines of his cross with one fingertip, smirking as he spasmed again.

"What about this one?"

"It means "Prince of Thieves"." He explained, stopping her caresses by entangling his hand with hers. "It means I earned the highest rank in my… profession." He trailed off, rubbing gentle circle against her wrist. Camille could see he was waiting for her reaction but, contrary to what her list of questions said, she realized she wasn't ready, or willing, to broach that subject yet.

"These ones?" She asked instead, pointing to the numerous X marks, dots and barbed wires intertwined on his hands.

"Number of years stuck in prison." He replied, point blank.

Then, she showed him his other hand, where a crowned skull filled a good portion of the skin.

"You get that one for murdering someone significant." He dropped it like it was nothing, like he just told her it was one of those cliché memento mori. She froze for a few second before shaking herself up. How many times would he have to say it before she got it? He was a dangerous man, and not necessarily a good one. Take it or leave it. She chose not to think about it for now.

Searching his body for something that looked less sinister under his amused gaze, she finally settled on a sort of pinup girl on his ribs.

"What about the girl?" She wondered. He moved his arm around to look at it himself and shot her a devious smirk. His hand left her wrist to brush along her arm until it landed on her jaw, cupping her face tenderly. She leaned against it but resist the urge to close her eyes and sighed, too anxious for his answer.

"This one means that I don't do anything half-assed. More precisely, it says "If I steal, I make it a million. If I sleep with someone, I make her a queen"." His smirk only grew wider as he went. The light in his eyes getting cockier and cockier with each word.

Camille couldn't help the unfeminine snort that escaped her throat at his last sentence. She shook her head derisively against his palm before her eyes found his again.

"Yeah, right." She smirked back at him. "You wish."

He arched an eyebrow at her, his hand caressing her cheek with a tenderness she wouldn't have expected from him. Once again, her lower belly constricted in lust. When he talked again, his voice was getting back to that lower tone he had gotten earlier when excited. Her insides were in knots.

"Didn't you feel like a queen right before now?" His looks said he knew she had. And she guessed her looks right now, with flaming cheeks and bright eyes, said the same. But she wasn't above bad faith in the matter.

"I'm not sure." She started, faking hesitation. "Maybe I need you to refresh my memory?"