38. Mila’s Worshipper Rafael
T he numbers on the screen blur. I rub my temple, the dull throb in my skull threatening to split open. Work usually keeps me steady—anchored—but tonight, it’s failing me.
There’s a knock on my door and I don’t bother looking up. “Come in.”
Arkadi steps in, his presence immediately uneasy, like he knows he’s walking into the lion’s den.
“Pour us a glass of whiskey and show me the report,” I say.
“Yes, Pakhan,” Arkadi replies, moving quickly to the sideboard. But there’s something off in the way his hands linger on the glasses, how his shoulders stiffen as he pours. He sets my glass in front of me, careful not to spill a drop, before handing over the report.
I flip it open, scanning the pages. The first picture is of her leaving the penthouse, coat draped over her slender frame, her head tilted down like she’s trying to stay invisible. Invisible? Not to me. Never to me.
The next picture is her in the lab. She’s hunched over a desk with her hair tied back in that way that makes my palms itch to pull it loose. She’s focused, completely absorbed in whatever she is doing. My stomach twists. Is she eating? Sleeping?
“Pakhan…” Arkadi’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I glance up.
“What’s wrong?” I growl, narrowing my eyes. “Why are you looking at me like I’m going to murder you?”
Arkadi hesitates, his hand hovering near his own glass. “Next page,” he mutters.
I flip it over.
The pub.
The cheap, grimy excuse for a pub in a part of town so low she shouldn’t even know it exists. My hand tightens around the edge of the report, the paper threatening to tear. She’s sitting there, her colleagues around her, a drink in her hand. The lighting is shit, the air probably stinks of spilled beer and desperation. She doesn’t belong there.
But it’s the next shot that makes my blood run cold.
Her, getting into a cab, with the man she was sitting next to.
The glass in my hand snaps before I realize I’ve crushed it, shards biting into my palm. Whiskey drips onto the floor, pooling with the blood that beads on my skin.
Arkadi flinches but he doesn’t speak.
I flip another page, my breathing loud in the quiet room.
Her. Leading him into the penthouse.
My vision darkens with rage, my chest heaving like a storm has cracked open inside me.
“No more pages?” I ask, my voice deceptively calm.
Arkadi shakes his head. “That’s it, Pakhan.”
I slam the report down, the desk rattling under the force. “Why is he at her apartment? Where the fuck are the photos of him going home?”
Arkadi pales, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “He…he didn’t go home.”
The desk flips before I even register moving. Papers scatter, whiskey spills, and Arkadi scrambles to back away from the wreckage.
“Didn’t go home?” I hiss. “I told her. I fucking told her. No. Other. Men.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s done,” I murmur, more to myself than to Arkadi. “She doesn’t understand. She thinks she can bring some stranger into what’s mine?”
“Pakhan…” Arkadi ventures.
“How long?” I demand, cutting him off. My hands curl into fists, blood dripping from the cuts I barely notice.
Arkadi hesitates, and I step toward him, towering over him, daring him to make me wait another second.
“A couple hours,” he finally whispers.
The words are a death knell.
A couple hours.
Long enough for him to put his hands where they don’t belong. Long enough for her to betray me in ways I can’t even stomach imagining.
“You fucked up,” I hiss, the words like venom on my tongue. “You should’ve called me the second she stepped foot into that shithole of a bar. Scratch that—you should’ve called me before she even thought about going.”
Arkadi raises his hands, palms out like he’s trying to calm a caged animal. “Pakhan, I’m sorry. It was a newbie covering the watching shift. We were all too occupied with the deal—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the deal!” I roar, slamming my fist against the wall.
“It won’t happen again, Pakhan.”
“No,” I say, my voice cold as the grave. “It won’t. Because I’m going to remind her who she belongs to.”
“Pakhan, please,” Arkadi steps forward. “Just hear her out first—”
“It isn’t any of your damn business what I do with my woman,” I snap.
I grab my coat, ignoring the pain in my palm as I stride toward the door. My mind is already spinning, plotting, calculating.
The city blurs past as I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white. She’s testing me, pushing the limits of what I can take. She has no fucking idea how far I’ll go for her.
I shouldn’t feel like this, unhinged, possessive, obsessed, but I do. I’ve always felt like this with her. She’s mine, and I don’t give a damn who thinks otherwise.
When I reach the building, I don’t bother with pleasantries. The doorman stammers something as I barrel past him. I take the elevator up, every second dragging out like an eternity.
By the time I reach her door, I’m boiling over. I shove the spare key I have into the lock and fling the door open.
“Mila!” I roar, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Where the fuck are you?”
She appears, rushing out of a hallway in nothing but pajamas. My chest constricts, the sight of her hitting me like a punch to the gut. Fuck, I’ve missed her.
“Rafael!” she gasps, wide-eyed.
And then he follows her out.
My vision goes red.
“Who the fuck is this?” I snarl, taking a step forward.
“Stop!” Mila yells, throwing herself between us. Her small hands press against my chest, trying to hold me back. “Don’t hurt him! Rafael, please, he’s just a friend.”
“A friend?” I sneer, glaring past her at the man, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “I told you no other men, Mila. Did you think I was joking?”
Her hands tighten on me. “He’s gay, Rafael. He’s gay. Please don’t hurt him. I swear, he’s just a friend.”
My rage falters, just for a moment. She’s begging me, her eyes wide and pleading, her lips trembling. God, she’s beautiful when she begs.
But my glare remains locked on the man. He’s pale, his hands up in surrender, but there’s something else there too. Admiration?
“Holy shit,” he whispers, glancing at Mila. “I know your man wants to trample me, but…he’s hot. Scary hot.”
Mila’s cheeks flush. “Please, don’t do this.”
I look at her, really look at her, and it’s like the air is knocked out of my lungs. I’ve missed her. The scent of her, the way she looks at me, the way she makes me feel like I’m losing control and finding it all at once.
But no man, gay or not, is allowed to be this close to her without my permission.
She turns to him, murmuring an apology before grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward her bedroom.
When the door shuts behind us, I feel her hands push against my chest.
“What the hell was that, Rafael?” she snaps.
“I don’t care if he’s gay. No man is allowed to stay here with you.”
“He’s my friend!” she yells back. “He needed a place to stay and I wasn’t going to turn him away!”
I step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “Do you think I care? Do you think I care about his sob story? He’s a man in your space, Mila. A space that’s mine.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I growl, grabbing her chin. “But you knew that from the start.”
She glares at me, her chest heaving, and her defiance making me want to pull her close and remind her exactly who she belongs to.
“He won’t be staying here tonight,” I tell her as I lean against the doorframe.
“What?”
“I said he won’t stay here.”
Her brows furrow and I can see her preparing to argue. She opens her mouth, but I shake my head.
“No,” I interrupt. “I’ll find him another place to stay.”
“Do you think we didn’t consider that?” she snaps. “He can’t afford it.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t talk to me about money. I have enough to fund a whole damn country.”
“Why not let him stay here, just for one night?”
“No.”
Her breath catches as my hand brushes against her cheek, my fingers threading into her hair.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He’s gay, Rafael. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice like steel. Before she can argue further, I grab her waist and toss her onto the bed with ease, her surprised gasp like music to my ears.
“Rafael!” she yells, propping herself up on her elbows.
I ignore her protests, yanking the hem of her pajama top over her head, revealing her soft, delicate skin. My gaze devours her, lingering on the small swell of her chest. Perfect. Mine.
She’s trying to cover herself up, but the flush spreading across her cheeks tells me everything I need to know. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her collarbone. She shivers, her protests faltering as my lips travel lower.
“You’re impossible,” she murmurs.
“Good,” I mutter against her skin, taking a nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting it, savoring the way she arches beneath me despite herself.
I flip her onto her stomach with one firm motion, my hands gripping her hips. She gasps, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes wide as I take off her pajama bottoms and panties.
“Oh god…” she starts, but her words are swallowed by her need.
She can fight me with her words all she wants. Her body, though—her body tells the truth.
Her thighs tremble as I kiss the soft skin just above her knee. I feel her tense under me, but I don’t stop. I trail higher, each kiss drawing out her anticipation.
“Rafael,” she warns. She tries to push herself up from the bed, but I’m faster. With my forearm, I press her back down, pinning her effortlessly.
“Stop!” she screeches, but the way her body arches beneath me says otherwise. I glance at her thighs, glistening, and smirk. Her wetness is undeniable.
“Yum,” I murmur, my voice low and teasing, letting her know I see everything she’s trying to hide.
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses.
I chuckle, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Why so shy, Mila?”
She whines, her hands fisting the sheets as I inch closer to where she’s most vulnerable. “Because… it’s dirty,” she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pause, letting my breath fan over her pussy. “Dirty?” I repeat. I lift my head, meeting her wide, embarrassed eyes. “Nothing about you is dirty, Mila. Nothing.”
She tries to wiggle away, but I don’t let her. “You’re delicious. All over. Nothing you do could ever turn me off.”
Before she can argue, I delve in, my tongue tasting her sweetness for the first time. She gasps, her body jolting as pleasure overtakes her. Her protests fade into soft moans, her fingers clutching the sheets as I consume her completely.
She’s perfect, every sound, every movement driving me to worship her even more.
“You taste like heaven,” I mutter with her clit between my lips.
She shudders. I smile against her cunt, knowing I’ve unraveled her completely—and I’m just getting started.
I spread her thighs wider, exposing every inch of her to me. She’s soaked and the sight is enough to make me groan.
“You’re dripping, Mila,” I tease. My tongue goes to her entrance, tasting every bit of her. “So sweet. Do you even know how good you taste?”
“Rafael, this is so embarrassing,” she shrieks, but her words lack conviction. Her body betrays her, her hips jerking forward as if they’re chasing my mouth.
I smirk against her, dragging my tongue through her folds, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her gasp. I pull back slightly, letting my breath ghost over her slick heat. “Your body is begging me to keep going. Tell me the truth, Mila. Tell me you want this.”
“No,” she whispers.
I press my tongue flat against her again, pushing deeper, my nose brushing against her back hole. She freezes, her body tense under me, and she tries to wiggle away again.
“Stop that,” I growl, gripping her hips tighter to keep her still. “Nothing about you disgusts me. Nothing.”
“It’s too embarrassing, please don’t.”
I press a kiss to her asshole, savoring the way she gasps in shock. “You’re perfect everywhere,” I say. “I’ll show you.”
My tongue flicks against the tight ring of muscle, teasing her. “No, oh, oh, oh,” she pleads.
“Relax, Kroshka ,” I murmur, my voice soothing but commanding. “Let me make you feel good. Stop fighting what you want.”
She’s tense, still resisting, but my tongue strokes over her repeatedly, softening her defenses. I feel her begin to melt. Her breathing becomes uneven, her hips no longer pulling away but instead pushing back.
“See?” I whisper. “You like this. You like the way I worship every inch of you. You like that I think you taste like candy from your mouth to your asshole.”
I take my time, alternating between teasing her back hole and plunging my tongue into her heat.
“Let go, Mila,” I murmur against her, my tongue never stopping. “Let me take care of you.”
She finally gives in, her body going slack beneath me. I grin against her skin. I’ve won. She looks beautiful when she cums.
I pull back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re beautiful like this,” I say softly. “So perfect.”
I rise up, running my hands possessively over her back and sides. Slowly, I turn her over, meeting her wide, uncertain eyes. My chest tightens at the vulnerability there, the trust she’s giving me despite her protests.
“Mila,” I whisper. “You’re mine. All of you. Say it.”
She hesitates, her lips parting as if to argue, but I silence her with a kiss. It’s searing, desperate, and all-consuming. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I deepen the kiss, pouring everything I feel into it.
“Say it,” I demand again. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Rafael.”
The words ignite something primal in me. I spread her open for me. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away.
“Louder,” I command, positioning myself at her entrance. “Let everyone know who you belong to.”
“Rafael—” Her voice is cut off by a gasp as I thrust into her, slow at first, savoring the way her body wraps around me. The heat, the tightness, it’s almost too much. I pause, letting her adjust, brushing my lips against her temple.
“You feel perfect,” I murmur. “Made for me.”
My pace quickens, the control slipping from my grasp. I grip her hips, pulling her closer, deeper, each thrust harder than the last. She cries out, clutching at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.
“Louder, Mila,” I growl, my mouth brushing against her ear. “Let your friend hear you. Let the whole world hear how much you need me.”
She moans, her voice breaking as she calls out my name. It’s raw, desperate, and it fuels me. I’m relentless, pushing her to the edge, driving her higher until she shatters around me, her body trembling with the force of it.
I follow her, the intensity pulling me under. I collapse beside her, pulling her close. My lips press to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. She’s shaking, her breaths uneven, but there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
“You okay?” I ask, my hands gently stroking her back.
She nods, burying her face in my chest.
“Stay here,” I order, standing and leaving the room briefly. When I return, I’m holding a warm, damp cloth. I kneel beside her, gently cleaning my seed off her skin.
She watches me silently. When I’m done, I climb into bed beside her, pulling her into my arms. I reach for the blanket, wrapping it around us, and hold her close, my fingers running through her hair.
“Please, let him stay just for tonight. We will figure it out tomorrow.” She hums, and I can never tell this woman no.
“Sleep, Mila,” I say, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ve got you.”
She drifts off, her breathing evening out, and I stay awake, watching over her.