Chapter 19
EMBER
Flying alone with Rodion feels like we’ve crossed some invisible line, hurtling forward faster than the jet’s engines can take us. Something about being cocooned at 40,000 feet with him makes it feel… serious.
I don’t want it to be serious.
Do I?
The great thing about book boyfriends is that you actually call the shots. You can escape into the fantasy and explore moral lines you might never have a chance to do in real life. But when the real-life hero is sitting right across from you… it’s a lot harder to close the book.
Rodion lounges across from me, his sharp gaze watching me. I look down at myself and sigh.
“You have nothing to worry about, little queen,” he says. “They’ll love you.”
“They?” My fingers play with the corner of my book, the paperback an anchor I don’t dare look up from. “You mean your fancy Bratva crowd? Don’t lie to me, Rodion. I don’t fit in your world.”
“You fit wherever I decide you do,” he replies without missing a beat, a calm authority in his voice that makes my stomach clench.
Oh no he doesn’t.
That sparks something in me—a mix of frustration and a heat I don’t want to name. “Well, it’s a good thing I decide where I belong,” I shoot back, finally looking up. “And I don’t need your permission.”
Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his focus now is so intense it’s almost suffocating. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’m going to control you? That you’re some pawn to me?”
His voice drops lower, rougher. “I don’t play with things I want to keep.” Heat rushes to my face, and I’m grateful for the hum of the engines to drown out my shallow breath.
I decide to redirect. “What about you, Rodion? What’s so important about this gala? Why drag me along?”
His jaw tenses. For a second, I think he won’t answer. “This isn’t just a party. It’s a test,” he says finally, his words clipped. “The kind of test where the wrong move could cost everything.”
“Everything?” I press, my pulse quickening.
Surely not everything …
“My family. My place with them.” His mouth tightens, and I glimpse something raw in his eyes. “You.”
My heart beats faster. I know he’s not saying it lightly, and yet, the weight of it…
I tilt my head, forcing a small, defiant smile. “That’s dramatic, even for Mr. Bratvabloodline.”
His eyes darken. “Say the word, Ember, and we turn this plane around. Right now. No gala. No danger. Just us.” It’s not the first time he’s offered this, but…
I swallow hard. “That’s not an option.”
I can’t imagine the trouble he’ll get into, and what’s waiting at home for me? I mull it all over, thinking, wondering…
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says, his voice low and teasing. Even the sound of his voice, all raspy and deep, sends a shiver down my spine.
“I wasn’t aware my thoughts needed approval,” I reply, my voice steady even though his gaze makes it hard to breathe. I’m teasing, though, because I know he is.
His rough hand reaches for mine and holds it. I stare at my small, pale fingers, the nails slightly tapered but unpainted, still in such sharp contrast against his darker, tanned, inked hand and blunt fingertips. It feels oddly symbolic, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
His smirk fades, replaced by something sharper. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, the full force of his attention pinning me in place. “You’re right. You don’t need my permission. But I don’t need yours to keep you close.” His words land like a punch, stealing my breath, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer but no less intense. “You’re mine, Ember. And they’ll all see that.”
Hmm. That’s what he thinks.
Part of me wants this because I’m not immune, but a part of me still balks at his arrogant claims.
Also… All. They’ll all see that.
All who?
My stomach flips. I tell myself it’s nerves. It has to be. But there’s something raw in his gaze that makes me feel stripped bare, and for once, I don’t know what to say.
Instead, I look down at the book in my lap—my favorite kind of escape.
“Gonna read?” he asks, with that signature smirk. “Want me to read it to you?”
“Uh, no. I don’t need you to point out the inaccuracies or poke fun at the dialogue or mock the sex scenes. I love it, and you can go watch YouTube or… analyze a spreadsheet or something.”
Looking at the title, he shakes his head. “Oh god.”
That does make me giggle.
When he gets up to go check in with the flight crew, I use the reprieve to pull out my phone. I open the app, the comforting, familiar routine settling my nerves. I am so overdue for a post, and this is the perfect opportunity.
“Plane reads,” I murmur to myself, holding up The Bratva’s Own —a title that hits me a bit too close to home—and hit record. The video is simple—just me showing the cover, my voice light and teasing. “Jetting off with my current obsession. Could you say no to this?” I glance at the camera and give a playful wink before ending the recording.
Satisfied, I tuck my phone back into my bag.
Rodion returns just as the pilot announces our descent, his presence immediately commanding the space. His hand brushes the small of my back as I stand, sending a rush of warmth through me. “Nervous?” he asks, his lips close to my ear.
I swallow hard, nodding despite myself.
"Millions listen to you because you’ve got something real to say. You dive headfirst into this fantasy crap because you show women they can own what they want in fiction and in real life." He brushes his lips over my cheek, his voice a low rasp. "Don’t back down from that, beautiful. Own it." And for a moment, with his heat against me and his words grounding me, I almost believe him.
I take in every detail as we get into the back of a car that’s supposed to take us to his family.
“Okay, alright,” I say as if psyching myself up, as I rub my hands down the length of my jeans because the palms are damp. “I can do this. We can do this, right?” Just before I start a shoot or a video, there’s a moment of nervous energy, like this time, I’m going to forget how to do this. This time, they’ll all know I’m just a fraud—and when I push past it, I hit my groove. The nerves melt away, and I’m just… me.
I have to do the same now.
A soft kiss at my temple makes me draw in a ragged breath. “Yeah, little queen. We can.”
“So what’s the plan?” His fingers lace with mine as we drive through the city. “When’s the gala?”
“Tomorrow.” Leaning in, he nuzzles my neck. “So I have you all to myself tonight. We get to sleep in. In the morning, we meet my family.”
My stomach drops out from under me.
Already?
The car ride is smooth, the kind of luxurious glide that makes me hyperaware of everything. The leather under my fingers, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hand rests possessively on my thigh. I can’t stop fidgeting, my palms damp despite the chilly air-conditioning.
“Relax,” Rodion says, his lips brushing against my ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Breathe. You’re with me.”
“With you,” I echo, forcing a tight smile. “That’s what I’m worried about,” I quip.
His laugh is low and rich, wrapping around me. “You’re going to make it through tomorrow night just fine. My family doesn’t bite—but I might.”
I shoot him a glare. “Not helping.”
We pull up to a towering hotel, all sleek glass and stone, and my nerves are back to full throttle.
It feels all a bit surreal—armed guards and uniformed assistants, every detail dripping with luxury and discretion. As we step into the private elevator, I let out a shaky breath. The space is pristine, with mirrored walls reflecting Rodion’s sharp gaze and my wide, uneasy eyes. I stare at the buttons, watching his hand move to select the floor, but instead of pressing it, he hesitates.
Uh-oh.
I know that look by now. I know the way his eyes grow heated and dangerous, and maybe it’s my romance-cultivated imagination, but I swear this is when he transforms from human into beast.
“Rodion.” I put my hand out in a futile effort to stop whatever he’s going to do. “What are you?—”
Before I can finish, he slams the emergency stop button. The elevator jolts to a halt between the floors. The sudden stillness is deafening, save the rapid beating of my heart.
“What the hell?” I snap, turning to face him, but he’s already moving, stepping into my space, swallowing the distance between us.
“You’re on edge. Scared,” he says simply, his tone infuriatingly calm and controlled. “I don’t like it. And I want to remind you who you belong to before we take another step anywhere.”
“You don’t like it?” My voice rises, my fists clenching by my sides. “Of all the nerve! Well, excuse me if meeting your family of actual criminals in person has me a little wound up.”
Leaning in, his hand curls at the back of my neck. I stifle a moan at the instant flood of heat that rushes through me, grounding me in an instant.
How does he do that?
“They’re not going to touch you, little queen.” His thumb brushes the sensitive skin at the base of my skull, and damn him—it works. I stop trembling.
Was I the one who moved closer, or was it him?
I’m against the wall of his chest, and a very small part of me still wants to push away, but the mirrored wall is behind me, leaving me nowhere to go. “This isn’t fair,” I whisper. “You can’t just… trap me to calm me down.”
“Says who? Why not?” His voice is velvet-wrapped steel, the dangerous purr of a predator, but I want… more. “And who says my plan is to trap you to calm you down? Maybe I have other plans.”
I open my mouth to argue when he lifts me up, his hands under my ass as he perches me on the elevator railing. The sudden intimacy of it all makes my skin prickle with heat and my breath catch. “Rodion…”
This time when my voice trembles, it isn’t from fear.
Leaning in so close, I can feel his breath against my jaw and smell the raw, masculine, heady scent of his cologne, he whispers, “Go ahead, little queen. Tell me to stop.”
How does he read my mind like that?
Of course I can’t. I don’t want to.
His lips graze my neck, his teeth scraping just enough to send sparks shooting through me. “You’ve got two choices, Ember. First, you can fight me—because I know you want to, even though I’ll win. Or second, you let me show how I deal with nerves.”
Uhhhhhm.
Let me…show you…
But I’m not the girl who rolls over and splays her belly. Nuh-uh. I want to be overpowered. I want to push back.
I want him to handle me.
My hands are already against his chest, pushing, testing, even though he’s as immovable as the damn wall on the rooftop where we first met.
“Ahh,” he says with a smirk and that familiar greedy gleam in his eyes. “You want a fight.”
When his hands tighten against my hips, pulling me flush against him, the pressure is maddening. The hot, sturdy feel of him between my legs sends my need into overdrive.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says in a gravelly whisper.
“You started it,” I bite back, lifting my chin in defiance.
His mouth at my ear, he nips at my earlobe. “And I’m going to finish it,” he promises as he slides me off the railing. “Turn around and put your hands on the railing. If you move them, you’ll force me to remind you what happens to naughty little queens who disobey their kings.”
Gah.
What is he going to do ?
I’m hyperaware of the sounds he makes as he deftly unzips the bag with my camera. What is he—oh god.
His movements are unhurried, measured, and maddening. He knows I’m watching, already on edge, trapped between floors, conscious of every subtle shift of his body, every quiet click of the camera’s clasp.
With deliberate precision, he unfastens the leather strap around the camera and folds the ends in his palm so it makes a supple loop.
Is he?—
“Jeans off, Ember,” he commands, his voice like gravel.
I don’t move. I can’t.
He steps closer, his height and breadth overwhelming me. His knuckles brush my hip as he grips the waistband of my jeans, unbuttoning them with a single, deft motion. The sound of the zipper lowering echoes in the small space.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I’m trembling as I push them down my thighs. Cool air licks at my bare skin, and I hear him hitch in a breath as I step out of them. My pulse is deafening in my ears.
The leather strap brushes over the curve of my thigh as he drags it slowly upward, teasing. A shiver runs through me.
“You think it’s cute to challenge me?” His words are a low growl in my ear, sending a jolt straight through me.
“I—”
“Why don’t we see if this will help.”
Then, without warning, his palm presses on the small of my back. The strap cracks against my ass, and I cry out, my voice breaking between pain and a rush of molten heat. He snaps it across my ass again. I come up on my toes and gasp, even as the sting melds to warm, sultry arousal.
“No more talking back, little queen.” The strap comes down again, harder this time. I’m gasping for breath. “No more second guessing or waffling. I told you what to expect, and I told you to trust me. No more running that pretty mouth of yours when you already know who’s in control.”
The strap lands again, crossing the line of heat already throbbing. I whimper, and it feels so much more like surrender than protest. My fingers dig into the bar in front of me, bracing against his command. I nod, even while I know I’m welcoming another lash of the strap.
The leather cracks down harder, and my knees buckle, my fingers clutching the bar like a lifeline. My breath is shallow, each sting searing through me, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.
“Yes,” I manage to croak. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” His free hand smoothes over the heated line of my skin. “You like this, don’t you? The way I handle you. The way you can finally stop trying to carry everything yourself.”
He brings it back and snaps it again, another line of pain lighting up the first. “Hands on that bar, Ember. Just like that, baby.”
Again, he spanks me with the strap before he unfurls it, slides it between my legs, and then lifts it like a reverse saddle. He drags the leather upward, teasing and deliberate, until it presses against the slick ache he’s created. I’m so wet, so aroused, I wantonly shimmy my hips across the leather.
“Such a bad girl,” he says, shaking his head as he leans in behind me and whispers in my ear. “You want to come again, don’t you, baby?”
He slides the strap back and forth, slow and torturous, and the friction sends a jolt through me. My hips jerk, and I’m aching for relief.
“Look at you,” he says approvingly. “So eager. So willing to take what I give you.”
My body trembles as I arch into his touch.
“Beg me, little queen. Say it. I want to hear you beg.”
“Please—let me come, please.” My voice is barely audible as I’m fighting the heady rush of arousal and need, taking all my effort to hold myself up.
The strap tightens between my thighs. “Not yet. You’ll come when I say you can.”
And then it’s gone. Cool air and emptiness in its wake.
His mouth to my ear, he tortures me. “That’s the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. The sexiest spanked ass I’ve ever laid eyes on. When you meet everyone, I want the vision of this at the forefront of your memory.”
“Rodion—”
If he doesn’t let me come?—
“Patience, little queen. I want to get you to the penthouse first. We’ll talk there.”
With his warm mouth on my shoulder, he plants a scathing kiss on my collarbone before putting the strap back in place.
“We’re almost there,” he says with a wicked grin.
“ Noooo ,” I whine.
I topple against him, but he rights me and holds me.
“I promise you. The wait will be worth it.” I whimper when he drags my jeans up my sore ass and rights me.
“I can’t believe you’re?—”
But my words die on my lips as the elevator door opens.
My stomach flips at the sight that waits for us.