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Which I’m thankful for because the last thing I need is for the men I’m supposed to be leading to think that I’m having sex with their boss.
Sometimes, however, he sends me these sexy texts out of nowhere that leave me hot and bothered. The worst part is that they usually happen when we’re surrounded by others.
It’s things like:
You look tense. Want me to loosen you up with my cock?
I can still taste your greedy little cunt on my tongue. I’m coming back for more tonight.
You better not be tired, because there’ll be no sleep until you’re all choked up with my cum.
Are you sore? You look uncomfortable. Should we ghost my cock and let my tongue take care of you?
Be in my room in ten. Naked. Lie on your back, legs apart. If I don’t have a clear view of my pussy when I walk in, you’ll be punished.
It’s hard to remain as unaffected as he is when I get those texts. And the asshole smirks at me as if he knows the exact effect he has on me.
I can’t help feeling a sense of relief at the routine Kirill and I have fallen into. I don’t think he completely trusts me yet, but I never expected that anyway. The most important part is that he looks at me as if he can’t get enough of me, like he can’t wait to kick everyone out just so he can have me wholly to himself.
He can be a bastard about it, too, not bothering to be amicable to the men who respect him a great deal.
But with this strange stability comes the fear that it’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan again. And I don’t mean about the Bratva wars or the rocky relationship with the cartels. I can handle shoot-outs and chaos.
What I can’t handle, however, is the possible implication of my family and having Kirill find out about everything I’ve been keeping neatly tucked behind my ribcage.
It’s been months since the Russia incident, and nothing else has happened since. My uncle hasn’t gotten in touch, and there have been no clear attempts on Kirill’s life except during that drug shipment episode. Or…the other month when some of the Irish soldiers specifically targeted him. Or a few weeks ago, when someone attempted to assassinate him while we were getting out of the club.
But…those are normal, right? The first two were gang wars, and the third could be because he offended someone—which is more common than not.
At least, that’s what I choose to think of them. I don’t believe that Uncle Albert or Babushka sent men here for these particular missions. If they did, my uncle would’ve warned me to abandon Kirill’s ship.
Not that I would’ve listened.
I often wonder how they’re doing and how much Mike has grown since I last saw him. Whenever I miss him, I call Uncle Albert, but it never goes through. Sometimes, I think about visiting them, but the image of what happened to Kirill the last time I was there quickly erases that idea. Besides, they disowned me. I don’t think they care about what happens to me.
It doesn’t help that I constantly have this doomsday feeling about the possibility of a disaster happening in the near future. I’ve been extra jerky and might have been too violent toward anyone who’s attempted to get close to Kirill, let alone touch him.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this, or I’m being paranoid for no reason.
But that’s the thing, there is a reason. I know deep in my heart that it’s only a matter of time before something happens. And maybe that’s why I’ve been on edge.
“You need to relax,” a deep voice whispers in my ear.
That only manages to make me stiffen more. One, it came out of nowhere. Two, feeling Kirill’s hot breaths in my ear makes me shiver and brings back erotic images of flesh against my flesh and low words growled against my skin.
We’re leaving the Pakhan’s house after a long afternoon meeting. It’s already nighttime, so he’ll head to the club now, and I need to figure out a way to make him go home.
“I’m relaxed,” I murmur, watching our men head to the car.
Viktor offers me a knowing look, but he doesn’t insist on being by Kirill’s side all the time anymore. I think, and I’m not sure, that he softened up a little after I was kidnapped. He’s still a stubborn, unmovable mountain, but he doesn’t make it his job to be an asshole for shits and giggles anymore.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Kirill’s lips twitch in a smirk, and I swear my heart is about to burst from its confinement. How do I resist Kirill’s charm—as twisted as it is? The answer is I can’t, and it’s not for lack of trying.
