Page 3 of Baby for the Bratva King

I spread the honeysuckle petals, inserting a finger through the middle, wondering how it might feel to experience Felix fully.

Shaking off the thought, I slot the honeysuckle back into the vase and continue down the corridor. This nonsense has to stop.

I open the bathroom door, steam drifting through the gap. The sound of falling water echoes, sending me into a panic as I realize I must have left the shower on this morning.

Felix Pozharsky is very particular about his home. Everything has to be spotless. If he finds a spec of mold on his bathroom ceiling, he might kill me.

I work through the steam, my vision impaired. This is exactly why I have to stop daydreaming about my boss. I’ll cause an accident, set his place on fire. It may be satisfying, seeing all his expensive shit burn, but I’ll be out of a job.

I tackle through steam, opening the cubicle. I go to reach for the shower dial, but instead I touch something warm and hard.

And moving.

I tremble, clutching the hard muscle to prevent myself from falling. Internally, I’m already falling, and when my eyes find Felix through the steam, my knees buckle.

“Careful,” says Felix, grabbing onto me. “The tiles are wet.”

I blink, reclaiming my vision. Felix locks his hand around my wrist, holding me close, and I lose the will to live.

I zero in on his arm, watching water roll from his tanned skin. My breathing turns thick, the sounds of water fading away, replaced by my own thumping heartbeat as I admire his arm. Thick veins cord up his flexed bicep as he holds me in position, like he wants me in the shower with me. He still hasn’t let go.

Impossible desire flashes through me. I stumble backward, out of the shower cubicle, gasping for air, only to realize that there is none. Felix has taken it all. Of course. He’s like a data center. All he does is take, thriving while the vast majority of us perish.

At least, that is usually the case when it comes to men like him.

But suddenly, I feel on top of the world. Excitement rushes through me at the thought of being close to Felix.

My pinafore is wet, so is my hair. But I have much bigger issues to deal with right now.

Why the fuck is he here? His flight back to New York is scheduled to leave tomorrow at 19:50. He sent me his itinerary, and my brain is pretty good at retaining information.

But here he stands in all his glory, the steam lifting to reveal something hard and huge, and very fucking shocking.

I choke on what little air I have left in my lungs when I see him massaging his cock through his hands. Forget the forearm veins. A thick one courses up the length of his shaft, pulled tight as his palms reach the tip of his cock.

My head hits the wall, time freezing as I stare at his crotch, memorized as his hands move up and down his length.

He would never fit inside, but I still want him, my pussy wet at the thought of us doing something scandalous. Something I’ll never be able to forgive myself for.

I clench my thighs together as I watch him perform. Felix knows exactly what he’s doing, his eyes set back into his face as he watches me closely.

Chest muscles contort as he massages himself, a grunt falling out of his mouth, amplified by the bathroom acoustics.

“You’re… supposed to be in London,” I finally say.

“The weather was terrible,” groans Felix, still teasing his length. “Too much rain.”

“You should have updated me.”

“Why? So you could prepare for my return?” A dark smile crawls onto his face. “Try being spontaneous now and again, sweetheart. You might find that the best things in life come to us when we let our hair down.”

“My hair is down,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Lock the door next time. I’d rather not walk in on you when you’re in the shower… doing… that.”

“Of course,” says Felix, a teasing smile stretching across his face. “You prefer to daydream.”

“Excuse me?” I blink, trying to keep my voice level. “Y-you’re in the shower. We’re not having a conversation while you’re naked, certainly not while you’re…” I gulp, turning away before I stare any longer and fall straight into the shower.

I stare at the wall behind me, hands folded under my armpit as I search for the will to live. I’m not going to find that in this bathroom, but I may learn one or two things about myself if I sleep with New York’s biggest sex symbol.