She thinks the conversation is done. I can feel her easing back, shoulders loosening as if she’s bought a moment’s safety. That’s a mistake. Letting her relax now would be unkind in the long run and detrimental to the truth.
I unbuckle and slide across the seat until only a hand-span separates us. The air between our bodies is charged with the memory of skin against skin. Teresa’s breath stutters. Good. She can claim innocence all day, but her body knows exactly who controls the room the moment I close the distance.
“Mr. Angeloff?” Her voice is steadier than her pulse; I can see it hammering at the soft hollow beneath her throat. “What are you doing?”
I don’t answer verbally. Instead, I take the lapel of her coat between my fingers—politely, almost delicately—and straighten it. She smells of espresso and winter air, and beneath that, perhaps a note of fear. Anticipation.
“You trust Trina,” I say quietly. “Convince me why I should trust your judgment.”
Her chin lifts a fraction in defiance. “I’m alive, aren’t I? She could have handed me over to Aleksander at any point.”
I angle my body, bracketing her against the door without touching. “Or she could be waiting for the perfect moment to trade you for something she wants more.”
Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t retreat. “She has nothing to gain from my downfall.”
“Everyone has something to gain,” I reply. “Aleksander wants your life. Trina wants his empire. Where do you imagine that leaves you,kotenok?”
Her breath catches at the endearment. I let the silence stretch until she’s forced to fill it. Classic interrogation, though the heat blooming between us twists the tactic into something far from clinical. Her lips part then press together again as she wrestles for composure.
“You think I’m naive,” she finally says. “I’m not. I know the risks. But I also know kindness when I see it.”
“Kindness,” I echo, tasting the word. “You confuse strategy for virtue.” I shift closer, the scent of her jasmine shampoo brushingmy senses. “Aleksander plays chess with actual people. Trina is his protege whether she admits it or not. And you, Teresa, are the queen he’s willing to sacrifice in order to win.”
Her lashes lower, but she stubbornly meets my gaze through them. “And what chess piece are you, Vladimir?”
“Board and player,” I tell her. “And tonight I’m also the timer.”
She shivers. Whether from the metaphor or the proximity, I’m not sure. Doesn’t matter. The point has been made. I can apply pressure without raising my voice, without lifting a single weapon. I place my hand against the seat back, my jacket opening just enough for her to glimpse the holster beneath.
When she registers the glimpse of steel, her gaze flicks back to my face. Color rises in her cheeks. Not only from fear—desire also lives in that flush—equal parts betrayal and need. She despises that I can read her so easily. I savor it.
I lean in, voice low and cold. “Tell me, Teresa, if Trina does betray you, will you still call her kind?”
She swallows, throat working. “If she betrays me, I’ll know I was wrong. But you…” She lets out a shaky breath, then pauses. She’s acting braver than she feels. “You might be wrong too. About her, about me.”
An amused smile curls my mouth. “Then we are both gambling.”
We’re close enough that a single bump in the road would force us together. Outside, the lights of Manhattan blur past the windows like distant constellations. Inside, the temperature spikes on barely controlled breathing and the ghostly touch of two nights ago.
I inhale slowly, letting the moment hover, letting her sit with the delicious, terrifying uncertainty of what I might do next. But I do nothing more than simply hold her gaze, closer than propriety allows, until the tension hums like a live wire straining for a spark.
Teresa’s eyes are wide, caught in my gaze like prey, her breath shallow, betraying the pulse hammering at her throat. My fingers linger on her coat lapel, knuckles grazing her collarbone, and I feel her shiver—a spark that sets my blood alight.
She’s trapped, my presence wrapping around her like an invisible net. Her thighs press together, and I know she’s already wet, her body betraying her before I’ve even begun.
“You’re trembling,kotenok,” I murmur, my voice dropping to a growl I know will ripple through her. “Is it fear or something sweeter?”
My hand drifts lower, fingers tracing the edge of her blouse, brushing the soft skin above her waistband. She swallows a gasp, her body arching toward me instinctively, hungry. The sight of her—flushed, fighting herself—makes my cock twitch to life.
“Mr. Angeloff,” she whispers, her voice cracking, raw with a need she can’t fight. I smile, sharp and deliberate, leaning in until my lips graze her ear, her scent flooding my senses.
“Let’s find out,” I say, slipping my hand beneath her blouse, calloused fingertips skimming her trembling stomach. I unbutton her slacks, her breath catching as my fingers slide beneath her panties, finding her slick heat.
“Fuck, Teresa,” I growl when I feel how wet she is, my voice rough with want.
She whimpers, gripping the leather seat as I explore her, slow and deliberate, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm.
“Look at you,” I whisper, holding her gaze, watching her revel in my touch. My thumb presses harder, setting a rhythm that makes her hips buck against my hand. “That’s it,kotenok. Show me how much you enjoy this.”
