He wants me. That much is undeniable. I saw it in his eyes, dark and desperate. The hard line of restraint in his jaw. The unmistakable bulge beneath his trousers that he never once used to demand anything from me. He didn’t ask. He didn’t push. He didn’t evenoffer. He just… gave. Like my pleasure was something he wanted to witness.
That’s what unravels me.
I was raised to believe desire is a debt. That if a man wants you, you owe it to him to want him back. Boris drilled that into me carefully, patiently, until I learned to flinch from attention and fold myself smaller to avoid owing anyone anything. He was training me to be a Good Bratva Wife.
But Leonid doesn’t make me feel like that.
His eyes are still on mine as he pulls his fingers from his mouth with a low growl, like parting with the taste of me is the last thing he wants to ever do.
I press my palms into my thighs, grounding myself, trying to ignore the ache curling low in my stomach at the sight of him like this.
“What does it feel like?” I ask quietly before I can stop myself, the question slipping out before I’ve thought about it properly.
He blinks, surprised. Curious, maybe. “What does what feel like?” he asks.
I nod to his crotch. “To want something,” I say. “And not take it.”
His expression shifts from that dark desire to something deeper and far more dangerous.
“It feels,” he says slowly, “like standing at the edge of something powerful and deciding not to leap, because you don’t want to lose it in your own madness.”
My breath catches. I don’t look at him, because if I do, I’ll lose whatever fragile balance I’ve managed to hold onto.
“That sounds… painful,” I murmur.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “It never has been, until you.”
There’s no expectation in his voice. No implication. Just truth. And that, more than anything else, makes me want him in a way that feels frighteningly voluntary.
“Should you do something about it?” I ask, finally lifting my eyes to his.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m going to wait until you’re ready.”
I frown, narrowing my eyes at him. I want to tell him he is being presumptuous, but we both know it’s going to happen sooner or later.
“Boris called,” he finally says, breaking the silence with something I knew would be inevitable but still makes panic rise in me like bile.
“I need everything,” he says. “What you stole. Why you stole it and who from. And everything you know about your uncle. Every weakness. Every secret. I’ll take it to the Pakhan.”
I swallow. My mouth tastes like fear and old memories. “You’re going to try and have him exiled.”
Not kill. Not torture. Exile. The worst possible punishment for a man like Boris. Stripped of power, stripped of audience, stripped of the hoard he built by bleeding everyone else dry.
“Yes. I’ve already contacted the Pakhan.”
“I’ll tell you,” I say quietly. “All of it.”
Leonid
I will my arousal to subside. As much as I want to plow into Victoria, empty myself in her warmth, fuck her until she forgets everything but the stretch of her pussy tight around my thick cock…she needs a little more time.
And I do find a perverse thrill in giving her that time. Of slowly breaking through her defences, step by step, showing her a world that is new to her on every level. Thank God I had enough self-control not to come in my pants this time like a pathetic, horny teenager.
We walk back to the house slowly, hands in pockets, her head down as she thinks over what just happened, and hopefully over what she is going to tell me about Boris.
By the time we reach my office, Bogdan is already gone, and a cold lunch has been spread on the table by the door.
I pass her a plate and nod to the food, before I move to my desk and log into my computer.
