He didn't know the fucking half of it. Anton was a murdering thug who sent chills up my spine. I could explain that, but I'd never admit to the sharper chills electrifying my bones whenever my brain was free and unchained at night. I wasn't about to tell a top ten roller in the new wave media that my sick brain wouldn't stop having sex dreams about the fearsome Russian killer.
“I'll get through it,” I promised, taking a deep, silent breath. “These sit downs with him are very intense.”
“Oh, no doubt, girl. And that's why I love 'em. Just keep doing what you're doing. Rest up and be ready for the final act with him next week. I know you won't let me down, Brina. This is your big break. And I'd be saying that without a third act to look forward to.”
“Thanks, Rich. I needed that.”
No answer. I held my phone away and saw it was dead. Great. I angrily slapped the key and headed for the shower.
A nice, hot steamy fog would do a lot to sweat out the fever Anton fed in my skin. Then maybe I'd have the strength to face the next few days sober, right after I called the correctional facility and set up the Wednesday afternoon he'd suggested.
If I wasn't such a scared, high strung virgin, this would've been the perfect time to go out and get laid. In the shower, I couldn't stop craving a man's thick, strong hands roaming my curves, all the dirty yearnings I'd been too scared to face head-on.
Big mistake. Little by little, those imaginary hands became his. Anton's fingers pinched my ass until I cried with pleasure, slamming me against his hard, rough body, pressing my face to his hard, unapologetic lips. His tattoos were a hypnotic world on his skin, alive and dangerous as the rest of him. And his cock – when it brushed against my belly, hot and big and brutally hard, I melted.
Fantasy Anton moved like lightning, fisting my hair in one rough pull, holding my face underneath his. “Stop fighting this shit. I know all the nasty things you think about me. I know you pretend to be a good girl, Sabrina, divorced from the shit you were born into. Stop fucking fighting it. Stop fighting me. You're a crime girl, babe, and a starving little slut to boot. You want your goddamned exclusive? Then I'm gonna give it to you hard and deep, just like those Latvian chicks. I'll pry your pretty eyes open, make 'em see everything with one hard fuck.”
I screamed when he pushed between my thighs, taking me, driving me insane. It should've hurt, but my clit hummed pleasure, throttling beet red ecstasy to my head.
“No. Yes! I mean no!” My fingers were shaking. Wet, clammy, and not just from the water.
The fantasy bad boy was gone.
I jerked in the shower and hit the wall, wrinkling my nose when I pulled my hand out from between my legs, Anton's rough features still burning in my mind.
Jesus.
I had to finish this crap next week and check myself in to see a shrink if the sadistic fantasies didn't stop. I couldn't go on like this. He'd struck nerves I didn't know I had, twisted them in knots.
All these years avoiding the shadows of what my family was and what it did hadn't truly saved me. I was drawn to the darkness like a mirror to my own black soul, and Anton Ivankov promised to reveal everything.
I survived the week. Lots of drinks at home, bad TV, and then some sobering up with good Thai takeout. I got up early Wednesday, ate breakfast at a good greasy spoon place a few blocks down the street, and told myself I'd kick this interview's ass.
I'd kick it so hard Anton would stop invading my dreams. I'd leave my bad boy fantasies to action shows and romance novels, maybe invest in a really big dildo until I was ready to hit the dating scene again. I'd heard those vibrating wands could do wicked things.
The prison was strangely quiet when I arrived. The prisoners tucked back in their cell blocks barely raised their eyes as I passed, too wrapped up in something heavy hanging in the atmosphere, like the charge before a storm. Charlie seemed more solemn than usual as he led me into the visiting room. I noticed a small dent in the glass about half a foot above my head.
“Hey, what happened there?” I asked, pointing. “Don't tell me that's from him last time?”
The graying warden smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Don't worry. Another guy named Rasch went ballistic a couple days ago. His brother told him his wife was screwing around on the outside. He snuck in a hammer, started beating on the glass. Bastard took a few swings at my guys' heads before we managed to get it away.”
I swallowed hard. “It's still safe? Even with this damage?”
“Safe as can be,” Charlie said with a wink. “This glass is designed to hold back a raging bull, Sabrina. Hey, I can post a couple extra guys outside the door if you're worried he's going to try something.”
“No. That won't be necessary.” I hoped to God it wouldn't.
Charlie shrugged and disappeared, locking the door behind him, standard procedure. One more layer of security I should've felt good about – except if something blew through the glass and the guards couldn't get to me in time, I'd be stranded here with him.
I waited, waited, and then waited some more. What was the holdup?