The sight of all that ink sends a shiver through my body.
I know tattoos are much more common than they used to be, especially for young people.
Still, the style of his tattoos—classic, mythological, including swallows, roses, wolves, and bears . . . these are the tattoos of a criminal. I hadn’t seen them before, because despite Dom and I fooling around in change rooms and alleyways, he kept them covered up with clothes.
Dom is watching me, his thick fingers lingering around the button of his jeans. He’s waiting to see my reaction. He knows that I know what a Bratva tattoo looks like.
I swallow hard.
I never, never thought I’d fall for a criminal.
Especially not a fucking Bratva.
If that’s what Dom is. He hasn’t actually said it . . . but he’s letting me see his tattoos for a reason. And I guess it makes sense, why he lives with his brother and cousins. Why he’s never tried to bring me back to his house . . .
I have a hundred questions for him.
But right now, I think he just wants to know if there’s a chance.
If somehow, someway, we might be able to make this work . . .
I don’t know if that’s possible. But here’s one thing I do know: nobody except my brother ever gave a shit about my passions before. And nobody ever did a thing to help me, until I met Dom.
So I look into his eyes. And I give him a little smile and blow him a kiss.
Dom grins. He unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the floor.
Now he’s just standing there in his boxer shorts. The shorts are loose, but there’s a noticeable bulge in the front.
And the room’s not just silent, it’s fucking electric. Nobody is moving. Nobody is breathing.
Dom hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer shorts and slides them down off his hips.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Ivanna whispers next to me.
If I liked the top half of Dom, the bottom half is even better.
Narrow hips. Tight, round ass. Legs like a Rodin sculpture. And then, hanging down between his thighs, an absolutely fucking gorgeous cock. Thick, heavy, and uncut. As smooth and clean as the rest of his skin.
If I could tear my eyes away from him, I know I’d see a room full of people who have lost the ability to think or speak. They might also be drooling.
But I can’t look at them. I can’t miss one second of this vision of male perfection.
Dom cocks and eyebrow at me and winks.
My panties burst into flame. Or at least, that’s how it feels. I can’t check right now.
“So, how should I pose?” Dom says to Nataly.
“Uh . . . try raising your arms up,” Nataly says.
Dom clasps his hands behind his neck so his elbows are splayed on either side of his head. The movement pulls his stomach tighter than ever and makes his biceps bulge like grapefruits.
“How’s that?” he says.
“It’s just . . . perfect,” Nataly says weakly.
Now we all start sketching, though I have no idea how successful anybody else is at keeping their hand steady. I can barely grip my pencil.
I’ve never been so consumed with lust. I want that man. I want him so badly I can taste it.
He knows it, too. He’s fucking with me, flexing and angling his body toward me to tease me.
I have no idea what I’m drawing. It might be cubist. I can only stare at Dom. At his smooth, tanned skin. At the powerful lines of his back and ass. At the way the sunlight burns on the gold in his hair and in his eyes . . .
Nataly is standing next to me, but not to critique my work.
“Uh, do you think he might be interested in posing for future classes?” she says. “We pay four thousand rubles to the models . . . and they get free classes themselves . . .”
“Sure,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I’ll ask him.”
Nataly gives us far more time to draw Dom than she did poor Albert.
At last, when Dom is beginning to show signs of growing stiff and cramped from holding the pose, she lets him relax.
“Can I put my clothes back on?” he asks her.
“Oh, yes. Go ahead,” she says in a disappointed tone.
Dom dresses once more, then strolls over to my easel to see what I’ve done.
“Hey!” he says, grinning. “I don’t look too bad.”
“You know exactly how good you look,” I tell him.
“Can I have this?” Dom asks me. “Will you sign it for me?”
Quite honestly, I’d like to keep the sketch. But I feel like I owe him one. Not just for the eye candy, but for bringing me here in the first place.
So, I sign the bottom right corner and rip the paper clear of the easel.
I roll it up and hand it to Dom.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll keep it until you get famous and I can sell it at a profit.”
“Getting in on the ground floor. Good strategy,” I laugh.
The class is supposed to be over, but I see several of the girls lingering at their easels, including Ivanna. They’re casting glances at us, wondering if Dom and I are going to leave together.
Dom doesn’t look over at them, but he does slip his hand into mine and hold it tight.
“Thanks again for the class,” he says to Nataly.
“Thank you, Mister, uh, Dom,” she says.
Dom leads me through the door and down the hallway again. But this time, instead of heading down the stairs, he pulls me into a side room—a tiny bathroom, barely large enough to fit a toilet and sink.
He locks the door behind him. Then he shoves me up against the wall and starts kissing me.
“Did you like what you saw, you naughty little minx?” he growls in my ear.
“Yes!” I gasp. “I can’t believe you’re real.”
“Does this feel real?” He takes my hand and guides it to his cock, straining against his jeans. “Do you know how difficult it was to keep this under control with you staring at me with those big brown eyes?”
“I was so wet I couldn’t even draw a straight line,” I admit.
“Were you?” he says. “Show me.”
I slip my hand down the front of my own pants, inside my underwear. I touch my wet pussy, then I hold my hand up to show Dom the moisture gleaming on my fingertips.
Grabbing my wrist, he brings my fingers to his lips and tastes me. His tongue is hot and wet against my fingertips. His stubble scratches me. The roughness of his beard against the softness of his lips and the wetness of his mouth is incredibly arousing. I remember how it felt with his head between my legs, and my knees go weak beneath me.
“I never knew a man could look that beautiful . . .” I tell him.
“Do you want me?” Dom asks.
“More than anything.”
“Then show me. Show me how much you want me.”
I drop down to my knees in front of him. There’s barely room for the two of us in this cramped little room, but I don’t care if I’m squashed against the door. All I can think about it is Dom—his taste, his smell, and his thick, throbbing cock, just inches away from my face, trapped behind too many layers of denim and cotton.
I unbutton and unzip his jeans, letting it free.
It springs out into my hand, hot, thick, and heavy.
I thought I understood the size of it, hanging down against his thigh. But it’s growing bigger and bigger in my hand. The head pulls free of the surrounding skin as it engorges to its fullest size.