Sasha & Andriena #1 (Lovers & Sinners) by Marita A. Hansen

again—”
    “I’m not! I’m talking
about comfort. Our situation is bad enough without you making it worse. Why
can’t you make our time in here a little more bearable rather than arguing with
me all the way?”
    “You irritate me.”
    “You irritate me! But
at least I try to be friendly, and if you tried, maybe we wouldn’t argue so
much.”
    He shifted in his
seat, looking like he didn’t know what to say.
    She pressed on,
“Also, stop sending me mixed messages. If you want to kiss me, kiss me, instead
of getting snippy with me.”
    “You don’t understand
my background.”
    “ Everyone has
a background.” She breathed out, hers a Pandora’s Box of trauma. Her mind went
to a group of soldiers who’d gotten hold of her during the mafia war. She clenched
her hands at the memory, wishing she could forget what had happened, like she
did with so many other things. It was ironic that she forgot about things she
wanted to remember, yet she could recall every detail of that day. Maybe that
was why she talked so much: to blot out all the shit her mind failed to purge.
    “I’ve been hurt by a
number of men,” she pushed on, “yet I refuse to let that stop me from doing
what I want, because I refuse to let those bastards define my whole life.”
    “Then why do you want
to have sex with me?” he asked, his expression tense. It looked like he was
also remembering something from his past, something he most likely wanted to
forget too.
    “I told you this
isn’t about sex.”
    “Everything is about
fucking sex!” he snapped, his unexpected outburst making her jolt.
    “It’s not to me.”
    “Don’t give me that
bullshit. All this talk about comfort and friendliness is a ploy to make me
cave into you. Next thing I know you’ll be climbing onto my dick.”
    She screwed up her
face. “You have major issues if you leap from me being friendly to trying to
fuck you. Have you been abused?”
    He scowled at her. “Don’t
try to put this one on me. You constantly come onto me.”
    “I do not.”
    “You did when you
were drunk, even whacked my ass.”
    “I lose control when
I get drunk, do things I normally wouldn’t. Plus, you lose control constantly.
You’ve got one hell of a temper.”
    “Because you keep
pushing me, like everyone else does, until they get what they fucking want.
Well, you’re not getting shit from me, so fuck off!”
    Andriena placed her
elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands, unable to hold back the
tears, his cruel outburst the last straw.
    “Stop crying,” he barked.
“I’m not putting up with another day of it.”
    “I can cry if I
fucking want to,” she yelled, flinging her hands away.
    “There’s no need to
lose your shit just because you can’t get your way.”
    “That’s rich coming
from you!” She pushed out of her seat. “And I never get my way. I’m here,
aren’t I? Sharing a room with a complete bastardo , who can’t understand
I was just trying to get through another hour in here without losing my fucking
mind.”
    “Looks like you’ve
already lost it, cyka, ” he snarled.
    “You think this is
crazy? You’ve seen nothing yet, baby.” She picked up his bowl of porridge and
threw it at him. He ducked, the plastic bowl narrowly missing his head, only
the spray of porridge hitting him.
    He jumped to his
feet, flinging a glob of porridge off his face. “You crazy cyka ! What
the hell is wrong with you?”
    “You! This place. Every-fucking-thing!”
    She picked up one of
the water bottles and threw it at him too. He caught it, squeezing it so hard
she thought it was going to burst. But instead, he popped open the cap and
washed the porridge off his face. As he did it, he babbled in Russian,
repeating the same word.
    “What the hell does pizda mean?” she snapped, knowing it couldn’t be good.
    He sneered at her.
“Cunt.”
    She clenched her hands,
wishing the porridge bowl had hit him in his asshole of a face. “The only cunt
here is