Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

2. Katya

2

KATYA

T he entire time I’m tearing through my wardrobe, I’m trying to find something that says exactly what I need it to: Yeah, we fucked six years ago. It was incredible. I’m willing to do it again, but that’s as far as it goes.

The black dress I settle on fits the message perfectly. Simple, tight, and just provocative enough to remind him of exactly what he had—and what he’ll be having again tonight.

When Igor’s eyes met mine in the courtroom earlier today, I had every chance to ignore him. To pretend we didn’t know each other and act like that hot, messy hookup against the fountain never happened. But the second he smiled—that slow, confident curve of his lips—I knew I was a goner.

I should’ve drawn the line right then, for the sake of the case, for the sake of everything I’ve worked so hard to build.

But I didn’t.

Because if I were someone who always followed the rules, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, pulling into the Four Seasons parking lot and trying not to think about how wet I am just thinking about him.

The simple truth is, Igor Sokolov is impossible to ignore. He was intense back then, the kind of man who pinned you to the wall with nothing more than a look. And the way he carried himself—the dark hunger in his eyes, the raw, untamed energy in his touch—made it clear he wasn’t just a random hookup. No, Igor made an impression. One I couldn’t shake, no matter how much time passed.

Even now, my body remembers him.

It doesn’t matter that we barely spoke that day. It doesn’t matter that six years have passed. The memory of what we did together still lingers in the darkest corners of my mind, a secret I keep even from myself.

And that’s exactly what this will be: another secret. Another night I’ll bury deep down and never think of again.

The plan is simple.

Meet him. Have him. Leave.

Nothing changes. Nothing gets complicated. Just like riding a bike, I tell myself. A one-night stand isn’t hard to navigate, especially when you’ve mastered the art of cutting ties afterward.

It’ll be my secret. One more on the ever-growing pile.

I take a deep breath as I step out of my car, the evening air crisp against my skin. The excitement bubbling in my chest feels foreign, something I haven’t felt in what feels like forever. I should feel guilty. I should be turning around, heading home, and burying myself in my work.

But I don’t.

For once, I’m not the judge. I’m not the arbiter of justice or the enforcer of rules. Tonight, I’m just a woman chasing a thrill, chasing a memory that refuses to fade.

I stride into the hotel with my head held high, the dress clinging to me. My heels click against the polished floor as I walk straight past the front desk, barely sparing it a glance.

When the elevator doors slide open, I step inside and lean back against the mirrored wall, forcing myself to take another deep breath.

What am I doing?

This is insane. I should leave before anyone catches a glimpse of me. Before anyone sees me walking into Igor Sokolov’s room and ruins the reputation I’ve spent years building.

But I don’t leave.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the top floor, the hallway stretching out empty before me. I step out, my heels sinking into the plush carpet, and glance around. No one. Good.

But even as I move toward his room, panic starts clawing at my chest. My heart thunders in my ears as I look back, fighting the urge to bolt.

I can’t do this.

I shouldn’t do this.

“Katya.”

The deep, familiar voice freezes me in my tracks.

I turn slowly, my heart lodged in my throat, and find him leaning casually against the doorway of his suite. He’s smirking, of course, that maddening, knowing smirk that’s always made my stomach flip. His hands are tucked in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, and he’s barefoot. Barefoot. Like he owns the damn world and doesn’t have a single care in it.

“Igor.” My voice is steady, which is a small miracle considering my knees are threatening to buckle.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his eyes glinting as he waves a hand.

The elevator doors slide shut behind me with a soft ding, leaving me stranded in this hallway with no escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nothing left to do but follow through.

I take a slow, deliberate breath and move toward him, my body betraying every logical thought screaming at me to turn around. Each step feels heavier than the last, my pulse thrumming with anticipation.

But the moment I see the heat flare in his eyes, every ounce of worry melts away.

“Are you coming, or not?” I challenge, brushing past him as I swing my hips just a little extra.

His scent—dark and woodsy, with a hint of something sharp—invades my senses, pulling me back to that afternoon six years ago. My lips itch to press against his stubbled jaw, to feel the rough scrape of it against my skin again.

“Oh, I’m coming,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble that makes my thighs clench. “But I want you to come first.”

I laugh, light and easy, ignoring the tiny voice in my head telling me to turn around before it’s too late. Before I fall back into the chaos that is Igor Sokolov.

The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us in his suite.

“Do you want to go to the restaurant, or should we order room service?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as he stalks closer.

I arch a brow, amused. “Oh, I’m not here to eat; I already had dinner. But I’m warning you, one word about the case, and I’m leaving.”

His lips twitch into something resembling a smile, but it’s too wicked, too dangerous to be sweet. “Straight to the point, I see.”

He steps closer, his towering frame drawing the air from the room. Heat radiates off him, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and run my hands over his chest.

“Maybe I want to court my girl first,” he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing drawl as his eyes rake over me.

“I’m neither yours, nor a girl,” I say, but my voice lacks the conviction I wish it had.

Because we both know it’s a lie.

We might have spent six years apart, but tonight, the lines are blurring all over again. Whatever this is, it’s bigger than either of us.

He grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, and my body betrays me completely. My arms slide around his shoulders, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck, drawing us closer.

“Should we go to the bedroom?” I whisper, my voice breathless. “Or do you have a kinky fantasy you’d like to share?”

The heat in his eyes darkens as his lips curve into a sinful grin.

“Why don’t we start here?” My skin is ablaze. “We’ll take this to the bedroom later,” he says in a gravelly voice, then runs his lips over my jaw, kissing lightly every now and then as his fingers trace the delicate line of my neck.

His suggestive words open a floodgate of visuals that are unapologetically naughty. Before I can stop it, I imagine myself on my knees, my lips wrapped around his gorgeous cock, worshipping him.

In the next heartbeat, the image changes. One moment, I’m holding his length, teasing it, pushing my tongue over the head, driving him crazy with slow strokes down the shaft. But then we lock eyes, and I realize that no man has ever looked at me with such a hungry gaze, as if I was a goddess and a temptress wrapped into one sultry being. No man has ever given me more freedom to be myself, and yet been this demanding and all consuming.

When I can no longer take the agonizingly slow torture he inflicts upon me, I throw myself at him, pushing him back with so much force we both stumble backward against the door. Our bodies clash, but neither of us seems to mind. This is too damn exciting.

His blue eyes turn dark, a shade I recognize as a prelude to mind-blowing orgasms. I force myself to remember that despite my undeniable attraction to him, I’ll never give him more than my body. That’s all he can have. And still, something inside of me recoils.

My self-control’s lacking in this equation, and when he lifts me in his arms, I waste no time wrapping my legs around his waist, my dress riding higher up my thighs. His length rests comfortably against my pussy, so snug I could drop my body just a little to grind against him and ruin us both.

I tip my head down. His lips are mere millimeters away from mine, but not only because of the height difference. If I wanted to, I could kiss him. The need is there. It fills me with a fluttering of desire, but I don’t allow myself to go there.

“You feel so good against me,” he breathes, his muscles taut as he holds me in his arms. “I bet you’d feel even better without your clothes on. I’ve been dreaming of seeing you naked. I’ve been fantasizing about your breasts. We didn’t have nearly enough time in that garden for me to worship you the way you deserve.”

“You better get moving then,” I tell him, trying to feign control. “I have other plans after this.”

It’s a lie, but what else am I supposed to do? This is nothing but an opportunity to get him out of my system. Tomorrow, we can both pretend as though is this didn’t happen. One night’s all I can allow myself. It’s how long I can afford to let go.

He starts walking toward the bedroom, lifting me a little higher with every step. I fiddle with his shirt, unbuttoning it the best I can. My fingers aren’t getting a lot of work done because I’m too busy admiring him, running my gaze down his six-pack and the iliac furrow pointing straight down to his crotch. God, I can’t wait for that moment, when his length fits perfectly snug inside me.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. “You have a great ass. I could even tell it was magnificent under that judge’s robe.”

I twist my hips a little and wrap my hand around the long column of his neck, pulling his head up to meet me. His stubble rubs against my palm, and I tighten the hold, dragging my lips across the line of his jaw. The faint scent of his cologne is enough to speed up my heart. Or is it the rush of adrenaline that comes from holding a powerful man right in the palm of my hand? I slide down the hard edge of his cock pressing against his pants. Closing my eyes, I press my cheek against the crook of his neck and inhale deeply. My every sense is in tune with his body, with his hardness and the strong beat of his heart thumping against my chest.

He crashes us on the bed, one hand coming up to cup my ass. He pulls my body to his hips, aligning us until our groins are flush against each other. The slightest shift of his body sends a jolt of pleasure through me. I smile, allowing myself to bask in the incredible feeling.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Igor.”