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“I’m paying you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Then donate it.”
I glanced at the stack despite myself. Cash bought choices. Cash bought distance from my father, from guards I never requested, and homes arranged by men who thought four walls became safe if they were expensive enough.
Sergei knew that.
Or perhaps he simply knew everyone had a number and assumed mine was lying on the table between us.
“I’m not finishing the dance,” I said.
His eyes moved over me slowly, lingering at the place where my bodysuit stretched over my curves. The heat beneath the fabric flared again.
“We have something else to finish anyway.”
He leaned back in the chair, broad shoulders settling against the leather, looking infuriatingly composed for a man with the faint outline of my hand still darkening his cheek.
I remained where I was, and he just watched me.
I had dealt with drunks, liars, politicians, thieves, and men who believed every woman eventually became soft if enough money changed hands. I knew how to embarrass them, flatter them, unsettle them, or make them feel powerful while I quietly learned exactly where they were weak.
Sergei Morozov didn’t appear to have weak places, which only meant I had to look harder.
“Fine,” I murmured. “You paid for Vesper, and you’re going to get her.”
His eyes locked with mine.
“Right now, little pet, I’m paying for Alessia Caruso.”
CHAPTER 4
Sergei
The moment I said her name, she swallowed defensively, then ripped her eyes from mine and started dancing.
I watched her move around me, a liquid glide of muscle and confidence that belied the tension I could see in her shoulders. She stopped beside my chair, the faint scent of vanilla and oranges reaching me before she did. This close, I could see the fine tremor in her hands and the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.
She was scared.
Not only that, but she was furious with herself for being scared, which was a combination I understood intimately.
Alessia slid one knee onto the chair beside my thigh, giving me a perfect view of the curve of her hip where the black crystals caught the light. Her hair fell forward over one shoulder, a dark waterfall that brushed against my arm as she leaned in, her mouth moving toward my ear.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she breathed. “I bet you’re not used to that.”
I didn’t answer.
I simply waited.
Her other leg came over my lap, her body settling onto my thighs as her eyes flicked up to mine. The warmth of her seeped through the thin fabric of my trousers, a delicious heat that made my muscles tighten. I kept my hands loose on the armrests, allowing her this small illusion of control.
She began to move.
Her hips rolled in a slow circle, testing my response. The friction was exquisite. I remained still, letting her set the pace, feeling every shift of her weight, every subtle arch of her back as she found a rhythm. The woman was skilled. She knew how to use her body, how to make a man feel worshiped and ignored in the same breath. I let her work for a solid minute, letting her believe she was winning this silent war. Her breath hitched slightly when my cock began to harden beneath her.
“You’re not immune to me,” she whispered, a note of triumph in her voice.
