My words were direct and hard, the room's atmosphere instantly tightening. Alexander's smile froze momentarily, but he recovered quickly.
"Absolutely! Igor, I admire that caution. Safety first—of course transportation should go to the most professionalpeople."
I nodded, ignoring Natasha's reproachful look.
They continued discussing territory divisions, personnel arrangements, and operational details. But my thoughts had already drifted back to that cramped apartment, back to Elena. She was probably fast asleep now, curled up on that uncomfortable bed. She always carried a faint lemon scent that could calm my frayed nerves for precious moments.
"Igor?" My father's voice suddenly cut through my thoughts. "About the ceremony's exchange of tokens—any preferences?"
I finally lifted my gaze from the swirling glass, glancing coolly at Natasha, who was watching me expectantly.
"Whatever you decide." My voice held no emotion.
"Then we'll use both families' ancestral rings," my father decided. "Good. Business is finished. Let the young people handle their own affairs."
The elders tactfully withdrew, leaving just Natasha and me in the vast dining room.
Natasha rose gracefully from her seat, walking toward me with elegant steps.
"You rarely come to the estate lately." Her voice carried a probing note.
"I'm busy." I drained the whiskey, feeling alcohol burn my throat.
"Busy with what? I haven't heard of any new Vorontsov family ventures." She approached until I could smell her overwhelming, suffocating perfume.
"Business matters," I replied coldly, looking elsewhere.
"Really?" She laughed softly, perching her hip against my chair's armrest, leaning against my arm. "Igor, we're about to be engaged, even married. Can't you show me a little more warmth? Or are you dissatisfied with me somehow?"
I moved my arm away from the armrest, looking at her. "More like your expectations are too high. If I remember correctly, this is just a business arrangement."
She bit her lip lightly. "Fine, we won't discuss that. You seem troubled."
Then her slender fingers traced circles on my chest through my shirt.
"Maybe we could do something... enjoyable." Her tone carried obvious suggestion.
My spine went rigid with pure revulsion. I grabbed her wrist hard enough to make her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow in pain.
"I told you, Natasha," I looked at her, my voice turning cold, "our marriage is purely transactional. I don't need you warming my bed."
I shoved her hand away roughly, making her stumble backward. But what surprised me was that when I looked at her, instead of retreat or anger, she smiled even more seductively.
"I told you—I won't give up."
The next second, she did something completely unexpected—she dropped to her knees in front of me. Before I could react, she'd expertly unzipped my pants. She looked up, those brown eyes flashing with defiance, then took me into her mouth.
Her technique was skilled—definitely not something learned at those expensive European boarding schools. But my body remained completely unresponsive, my mind flooded with images of Elena's face. Only her, only Elena could make me feel anything.
Natasha obviously sensed this. She worked harder, trying every trick to arouse me. All useless.
I couldn't stand it anymore, roughly grabbing her hair and yanking her away from me. Her lips still glistened with moisture, her eyes full of humiliation and confusion.
"See," I leaned close to her ear, mocking, "no matter how hard you try, it stays soft."
Natasha glanced at my still-limp cock. Fury instantly blazed in her eyes, her beautiful face twisting.
"Igor Vorontsov!" She snarled. "You can't deny we're about to become husband and wife! I will have you!"
