“Yes,” he nods, leaning against the counter with that glorious smile of his. “But Kostya’s been staying with me these last few months and… let’s just say he and his friends can get a bit loud.”
I almost choke on my bacon.
“Is that your way of saying your brother is a fuckboy?” I laugh. “Figures. How is the nicer Petrov doing these days?”
“Actually, he’s grown up a bit since he’s been here. Not so nice anymore.”
“You sound surprised he’s grown up.”
“That’s because I am.Bratvabusiness isn’t something Kostya typically gravitates toward, so yes—I’m surprised he’s taken to it the way he has under my supervision. Before he moved here, I wasn’t sure he’d ever take our work seriously.”
“Maybe it’s the carrot-and-stick scenario,” I offer. “Maybe with Misha he doesn’t feel the need to grow up since he’ll end up getting berated with every mistake he makes while he’s trying to figure things out. But with you, under your tutelage and supervision, he might feel safe enough to try. Maybe you’ve finally given him something worth stepping into.”
“You’re saying praise, not punishment, is what’s made him turn a new leaf?”
“I’m saying people respond to pressure differently. And maybe you’ve figured out how to push Kostya into becoming his best self.”
Kirill takes in my words, chewing on them to see if I could actually be on to something. His expression shifts from pensiveto something intense, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rounds the small kitchen island toward me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly wary, when he parts my legs open to slide in between them and then holds my chin up.
“You can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to behave.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did.” His voice drops, heat and sincerity blending into something that steals my breath. “You just said I’m a good brother. That I bring out the best in Kostya. Do you know what that does to my head? Hearing you be proud of me?”
My throat goes dry at the intensity in his eyes.
“I’m not going to make it to my first class, am I?”
“Should’ve thought of that before you opened that pretty mouth of yours,” he growls, grabbing my waist and hoisting me over his shoulder in one effortless movement. “This is on you,dusha moya. Remember that.”
He punctuates it with a sharp slap to my ass as he carries me toward the bedroom.
Instead of cursing him out, reminding him I have responsibilities, insisting I can’t blow off my day just because he wants me to…I say nothing at all.
Absolutely nothing.
I just… giggle.
Giggle the entire way back to his room, helpless against the rush of warmth in my chest and the thrill pooling low in my stomach, knowing that I’m about to be thoroughly devoured by Kirill-fucking-Petrov.
What a difference a few hours can make.
Just five hours ago, I was sprawled across Kirill’s bed, fingers buried in his hair while he made a meal out of my body…
And now here I am, pretending to pay attention to my professor’s lecture.
Sigh.
The man has completely taken over every thought in my head.
It’s so freaking annoying how easily he did it too.
But it’s fine.
Last night was the small relapse I needed just to get my fix.
