“I thought you said we were here for culture,” Nadia said, arching one perfect, dark brow and allowing herself a glance downward.
“We are,” Nikolai growled, turning on the showers.
His heart was racing faster by the minute.
The urge to seize Nadia and crush her naked body against his was overwhelming.
He had no idea how he was going to make it through the next hour.
* * *
18
Nadia
Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold...
Shakespeare
Nadia stepped under the warm shower spray, her breath coming so fast it was making her dizzy.
She couldn’t help stealing glances over at Nikolai as he rinsed himself clean.
His body was insane. It ought to be illegal for a man that handsome to have a body that ripped. Fate might allow him one or the other—the face or the abs—but Nadia really couldn’t handle both.
He was covered in a lot more tattoos than she was used to—probably the Russian Bratva families inked themselves more heavily than the Europeans. As Nikolai turned under the spray, she saw that his whole back was taken up with one of the most beautiful pieces she’d ever seen: a black-and-white Renaissance sculpture of Prometheus chained to a rock. The man who had dared defy the gods.
She had to hand it to Nikolai, this was very sneaky taking her out for a day of “cultural experiences” that culminated in the two of them stripping down naked. It was a first for her—seeing a man nude before she’d even kissed him.
Not that she was complaining. Most women would probably give their left eye for a chance to look at Nikolai with the right one.
Once they’d rinsed off, she followed Nikolai into the steam room, which was about the size of a large closet. The walls were made of rough-hewn wooden boards, which smelled pleasantly of cedar, and the floor was large blocks of sandstone, rough underfoot. She and Nikolai lay on shelves, side by side, like loaves of bread baking in an oven.
In only minutes, the steam opened every pore of her body and she became drenched in sweat, as well as moisture from the air. Her skin flushed pink and became incredibly sensitive over every inch of her, from her head to her toes.
She began to feel even more lightheaded—as if the sight of Nikolai hadn’t done enough. She could smell the warm, clean scent of his skin right next to her. She badly wanted to reach over and touch him.
They were playing an intriguing game of chicken—the tension between them, the desire, wildly apparent. But neither wanted to be the first to flinch.
Once they were slick with sweat, and near delirious with anticipation, Nikolai said, “Now we use thevenik.”
“What’s that?” Nadia asked nervously.
“Traditionally, you use birch tree twigs for flogging—they say that’s best for aching muscles. Oak will moisturize the skin, lime gets rid of headaches, fir branches improve circulation.”
“Let’s stick with tradition, I suppose,” Nadia said.
Nikolai stepped out of the steam room for a moment and returned with two birch switches—little bunches of twigs and leaves, soaked in water.
“Turn around,” he growled to Nadia.
Trembling slightly in anticipation, she turned around to face the wall.
She heard the whistle of the switch moving through the air, and then felt the sharp sting as it whipped across her back. She gave a little gasp of pain.
“How is it?” Nikolai asked.
“Good,” she gasped.
