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My cock twitches in response to how pliable she’s proving, but I pay it no mind. This demonstration isn’t for me. It’s for her to learn the rules.
I take a step back, and her gray sweater falls lower, covering the swell of her hips and kissing the tops of her thighs. “Move to the desk.”
Her gaze flicks to the furniture behind me and she licks her lips, desire making her less cautious. Then, in the next second, she catches herself and flinches away from me. “No. Screw you. I’m leaving. I’m here to see my father, not you.” She glances at the ground and picks the safest path toward the door, stepping carefully to avoid injury.
Ezra catches her as she tries to flee, snagging her arm and tossing her toward the center of the room. She stumbles and hits the desk hard, bending at the waist as she slams into the wood, unable to catch herself without use of her hands. Pens clatter to the floor, papers go flying, useless office supplies scatter across the wood.
I don’t give a fuck about any of that.
I fill the space behind her before she has a chance to stand. With one hand on her lower back, I press her body harder against the wood. I use my foot to nudge her own apart, to brace her stance for what’s about to come.
“What are you doing?” she shrieks, fighting against me. It’s no use. I’m stronger than her, and holding her down is easy. Mikhail walks to the other side of my desk and grins down at her, clearly enjoying the show.
“You never told me she was this pretty,” he sing-songs, leaning down to peer at Valentina’s face. Whatever he finds there turns his grin wicked. “I think she likes what you’re doing to her.”
“Fuck off,” Valentina snaps.
That only makes Mikhail laugh. He straightens, pats her head, and leans back to watch. “I like her. Can we keep her?”
Of course, we’re keeping her. That isn’t even a question.
Valentina walked back into our lives willingly.
I’m not letting her leave ever again.
Mikhail’s question, however, makes Valentina freeze beneath me. I can practically taste her fear.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asks, her voice softer, quieter now. It’s reminiscent of the old Valentina, the one wrapped around my finger. The shy young woman I thought was meant to be my wife.
But the woman who walked back in here? Half-naked and demanding an audience with the leader of a Russian crime syndicate?
That woman isn’t shy.
“Speak up.” I spread her legs farther apart, keeping my knee between them. She gasps, and images of her body convulsing as I grind my knee against her clit flash white hot in my mind.
Another time, perhaps.
When she doesn’t answer, I smack her plump ass, leaving a red handprint on her skin.
“I said, speak up.”
“Fuck you!” Valentina arches her back as she tries to glare at me over her shoulder. Little does she know, this only presents her even better for spanking.
Going for the other side, I smack her again.
She hisses, then finally repeats her question. “What are you going to do with me?” There’s nothing quiet about it this time. She’s angry. Probably humiliated.
It’s exactly what I want from her. That feeling? I’ve been living with it for the past five years.
She can endure five minutes.
I consider my answer to her question, combing through the possibilities in my mind. To be honest, or to string her along on false hopes of freedom?
Which would be sweeter to taste?
“If you’ll recall, Valentina, we made very important plans together.”
I refuse to let memories of our botched wedding ceremony creep up. The past is dead. But a promise is a promise, and I think I’m owed something quite valuable...
