I nearly drop my phone.
Konstantin doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. It’s the kind of tone that makes peoplemove, and sure enough, the stylist scurries away like she’s just been granted a stay of execution.
Elena’s eyes widen. “Was that—?”
“Gotta go,” I hiss.
“Text me everything!”she whisper-yells as I hang up.
The curtain twitches.
I yank the robe around myself just as Konstantin steps inside.
The dressing room shrinks.
He’s in a tailored black suit, his tie loosened just enough to hint at the ink beneath, his expression unreadable as his gaze drags over me—bare legs, tangled hair, the silk robe slipping off one shoulder.
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes,” he says, like it’s an accusation.
I lift my chin. “And? Youbought the store. It’s not like they’re going to kick me out.”
His jaw ticks. “We leave for the Summit in three hours.”
“Then maybe you should’ve let me pick a dressbeforeyou vetoed half of LA’s inventory.”
A beat. Then, to my horror, his mouth curves. Just slightly.
“Try the red one.”
“The—What?”
He reaches past me, his fingers brushing the hanger of a scarlet gown I hadn’t even noticed. The fabric is liquid fire, the necklinejustshy of scandalous.
My breath catches.
“You said it was too distracting,” I manage.
His thumb grazes the strap, slow, deliberate. “I changed my mind.”
And just like that, he steps closer, the space between us evaporating. His palm slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair with surprising gentleness before tightening just enough to tilt my head back.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, but my body’s a traitor, arching into him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.
Konstantin’s gaze is a blade, sharp and searing, cutting through the dim light of the dressing room.
“Showing you who you belong to,krasavitsa,” he growls against my throat, his accent thick, each syllable dripping with intent. His free hand yanks the tie of my robe, the silk parting like water, leaving me bare except for my lace bra and flimsy black panties.
“You’re such an asshole,” I whisper—but it sounds like a prayer. Like if he doesn’t touch me now, I’ll shatter right here next to ten thousand dollars’ worth of couture and shame.
His eyes darken, a storm brewing as they rake over me—thighs trembling, chest heaving, the thin lace doing nothing to hide how hard my nipples are already. A muscle flexes in his jaw, andI feel it: the crack in his control, the hunger he’s barely leashing. I should be nervous, pinned here between racks of gowns and velvet, but his stare makes me feel like I could burn this whole place down and laugh in the ashes.
“Fuck, you can’t… do this to me,” I say, but my hands betray me, fumbling for his belt, craving the weight of him.
“All rules are my rules,” he snarls, snatching my wrist and pinning it to the wall above my head, the movement so swift it steals my breath. “Rule number one: you are my wife,” he says, voice low and lethal, each word a chain wrapping around me. “Every inch of you—mine. Tonight, they’ll see you on my arm, but only I’ll know what’s underneath.” His eyes bore into mine, unyielding, daring me to argue. “Rule number two: you don’t touch without my say so. Not me, not yourself, not a fucking thing unless I allow it. And rule number three—” He leans closer, lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and deliberate. “You beg for me,krasavitsa,because I decide when you break.”
I open my mouth, defiance flickering, but before I can spit out a retort, his mouth claims mine, not a kiss but a fucking invasion, his tongue plunging deep, swallowing my moan as his free hand roams. He skims the edge of my bra, then shoves the lace down, freeing my breasts. My nipples tighten in the cool air, and he doesn’t hesitate—his thumb grazes one, slow and deliberate, circling the stiff peak until I’m squirming. Then he flicks it, sharp and precise, sending a bolt of heat straight to my core.
“Konstantin,” I gasp, my head tipping back, but he’s relentless, switching to the other nipple, pinching just hard enough to make me bite my lip to keep from crying out. His fingers dance across my skin, teasing, tormenting, each flick and roll making my thighs clench, my panties soaked through.
