Chapter One
Elena
The entire world contracted to the greedy slide of his cock inside me. My head was forced back against the pillow, fingers digging deep into his rock-hard shoulder muscles. He thrust with a savage rhythm, as if determined to shatter me.
"Fuck, Elena, you're so damn tight!" His voice was low and magnetic, laced with that faint Russian accent that still twisted my insides. He slammed into me, his full balls slapping against my skin, our bodies producing wet, filthy smacks. Even the cheap bed frame creaked in protest.
As if he hadn't fucked me nearly enough, he suddenly scooped me up, spun around, and sat on the edge of the bed. I straddled him, my legs wrapping tightly around his solid waist. This position drove him even deeper, hitting my sensitive spot and making me feel completely under his control.
His chest heaved, sweat outlining the bold double-headed eagle tattoo. My fingertips traced those dark lines without thinking. I remembered the first time I'd seen it—I'd secretly Googled it. The results screamed Bratva, the Russian mafia symbol. My heart had nearly burst from my chest.
But I'd never actually asked him about it. Just like I'd never questioned his wealth, his last name, the men in black suits who chauffeured him, or why, in our nearly six months together, I'd never met a single friend or family member. Whenever I tried to broach those topics, a wall would shoot up, shutting me out.
If I were foolish enough to ask while wrapped around him, he'd just change his rhythm, claiming me harder and deeper until my questions melted into mindless moans.
He was an expert at making me forget everything but him.
A hiss escaped me—pain stung my left breast as he bit my nipple.
"Not paying attention?" His hips stilled along with his words.
I felt the sudden loss of his movement, a whimper slipping from my lips. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
God, that face! No matter how many times I'd seen it, his handsomeness still stunned me. A masterpiece of sharp angles and seasoned beauty, tensed with focus. High cheekbones, a perfect Greek nose, a strong jawline, and those deep green eyes that darkened when danger loomed.
"Elena." He nipped at my ear, savoring my name like something precious. "What are you thinking about?"
What should I tell him? That I was pondering the questions he never answered?
"Maybe I'm just tired lately, Igor," I panted. "Christmas is coming, and the guests at the Winter Palace Hotel are triple the usual..."
His lips brushed my cheek. "I told you I'd pay off those debts. You could quit that shitty job and apply for that art course you mentioned."
The offer hung between us, as always. Two hundred grand—my late parents' medical bills, a mountain pressing down on my twenty-year-old shoulders. To Igor, it might just be a simple number, but accepting his handout felt like admitting defeat.
"I can't, Igor. We've talked about this." My fingers threaded through his dark brown curls, so soft they seemed out of place on such a dangerous, steady man.
"There's nothing to discuss." He lifted his head, that breathtaking face inches from mine. "You're too stubborn."
"Maybe I just want to earn my way to deserve you." The words slipped out, and I regretted them instantly. Too raw, too exposing of my insecurities.
"Deserve me?" he echoed, his expression unreadable.
I kissed him, not wanting to hear any comforting lies. I knew the gaps between us went beyond age. He drove a half-million-dollar Bentley while I scrimped for next month's rent. The restaurants he took me to cost a month's wages in one meal. I wanted to bridge that distance on my own, to stand beside him as more than just a charity case, even if it seemed laughably impossible.
"Thanks for picking me up from work tonight," I murmured against his lips.
He arched a brow—that damn sexy move. "Don't I do that almost every night?"
"You should see my coworkers' stares. They'd strip you naked if they could." I teased lightly. "Susan asked yesterday if I'd put some spell on you."
"Yeah?" His fingers trailed down my spine, sending shivers through me. "Did you tell her?"
"Tell her what?"
"That you're the one under my spell." He bit my collarbone.
I wanted to argue, but he chose that moment to thrust upward hard, pumping deep. All reason shattered into moans. My nails raked his back, leaving new marks on scars I didn't dare examine closely.
