Chapter 5
Katrina
Ichanged my clothes three times.
The first outfit was my regular uniform, but it felt too formal, too much like I was just doing my job. The second outfit was jeans and a sweater, it felt too casual, like I was pretending this was a date instead of a transaction.
The third was a simple black dress I'd bought. I loved how it fit all my curves. Though part of me was terrified to wear it. I felt exposed and readily available to him, which was something that made me feel vulnerable. Even if another part of me had been wet since this afternoon.
"Fuck it," I muttered, and grabbed my phone.
The walk to the third floor felt longer than usual. Every step echoed in the quiet mansion. Most of the staff had gone home. The ones who lived on-site were in their rooms, probably asleep or at least pretending to be.
No one saw me climb the stairs.
No one witnessed me walking into my boss's bedroom.
The hallway was dimly lit, wall sconces casting warm pools of light across expensive carpet. I vacuumed this carpet yesterday. Dusted these side tables. Straightened the paintings that probably cost more than my life.
Now I was about to let the man who owned all of it fuck me senseless. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. I stopped outside his door. Took a breath. Then I knocked.
"Come in."
His voice was rough. Deeper than usual. I pushed open the door.
Olek stood by the window, still dressed in the charcoal suit from earlier.
He'd ditched the jacket, though, and rolled his sleeves up.
A tumbler of vodka dangled from one hand.
He turned when I entered, and something flickered across his face. Surprise? Approval?
Hunger.
"You're early," he said.
"You said ten. It's…" I checked my phone. "9:51. That's basically ten."
"It's nine minutes early."
"Are you really going to argue about nine minutes?"
His mouth curved. "No. I'm going to appreciate that you couldn't wait."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted to get this over with."
"Liar." He set down his glass and moved toward me. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world. "You're here early because you've been thinking about this all day. Just like I have."
"You don't know what I've been thinking."
"Don't I?" He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "You've been imagining what it would feel like. My hands on you. My mouth. You've been wet for hours, haven't you?"
My thighs clenched involuntarily. "You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm observant." His eyes dragged down my body, slow and thorough. "Nice dress."
"It was on sale."
"You wore it for me, anyway."
"I wore it because it was clean."
He smiled. Actually smiled, and it transformed his entire face. Made him look less like a tyrant and more like a man who was genuinely amused.
"There she is," he said softly. "I was worried you'd come in here all meek and scared. But you can't help yourself, can you? You have to push back."
"Would you prefer meek and scared?"
"God, no." He reached out and traced his fingers down my arm. "I prefer you exactly like this. Sharp. Defiant. Trying to pretend you're not already halfway to begging."
"I don't beg."
"We'll see."
He cupped my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it made my breath hitch.
"Last chance," Olek said. "You can still walk out that door. I'll tear up the contract. You keep the money. No consequences."
I stared at him. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I want you willing. Eager. Not just compliant." His eyes searched mine. "So tell me, Katrina. Are you here because you have to be? Or because you want to be?"
The honest answer was both. I needed the money.
Needed the protection. Needed everything he was offering.
But I also—God help me—wanted this. I wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by a man who looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.
Wanted to feel desired instead of afraid.
Wanted to be someone other than Marcus's victim or Zara's protector or the woman who was always running.
Just for ninety days. Just for tonight.
"I'm here," I said quietly, "because I want to be."
Something blazed in his eyes. "Say it again."
"I want to be here."
"Good." He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not tentative. He kissed me like he was claiming something that already belonged to him, his hand fisting in my hair, his mouth demanding and hot and absolutely devastating.
I made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and he swallowed it, pulling me closer until I was pressed against him.
He was hard everywhere that I was soft, solid muscle and controlled strength.
His other hand slid down my back, over my ass, gripping tight. "I've wanted to do this for six fucking months."
"Could've fooled me," I managed. "You spent most of that time glaring."
"Because I wanted to bend you over every surface in this house." He nipped my lower lip. "Still do."
"Confident."
"Hungry." He walked me backward until my legs hit the bed. "And you're going to feed me."
He kissed down my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. Then he found the spot where my pulse hammered and bit down just hard enough to make me gasp.
"Olek—"
"That's it. Say my name." His hands found the zipper of my dress. "I want to hear it when you come."
He pulled the zipper down slowly, the rasp of metal loud in the quiet room. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in just my underwear—black lace that matched the dress, because if I was doing this, I was doing it right.
Olek stepped back, his gaze raking over me. "Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"You're—" He shook his head. "I knew you'd be beautiful. I didn't know you'd be perfect."
Heat flooded my face, my chest. "I'm not—"
"Don't." His voice was rough. "Don't argue with me about this.
You're perfect. These curves," His hands spanned my waist, slid up to cup my breasts through the lace.
"This skin," he kissed my collarbone. "This mouth that never stops challenging me—" He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine.
I melted into it, into him, my hands fisting in his shirt.
"On the bed," he murmured against my mouth. "Now."
I climbed onto his mattress, the one I'd made this morning—and lay back against the pillows. My heart was racing, my skin flushed, every nerve ending alive.
Olek stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me like I was a feast and he was starving.
"Spread your legs."
I did.
"Wider."
I obeyed, and watched his pupils blow wide.
"You wore this for me." He traced one finger up my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I needed him. "Wore lace under your dress because you knew I'd see it."
"Maybe I just like nice underwear."
"Maybe." His finger hooked under the edge of the lace. "Or maybe you wanted me to take it off."
He pulled the fabric aside and groaned. "Fuck. You're soaked."
"Observant," I shot back, using his own word.
He looked up at me, eyes dark. "Sassy even now. I'm going to enjoy breaking you down."
"Good luck with—oh God—"
He'd dropped to his knees and put his mouth on me.
No warning. No preamble. Just his tongue sliding through my folds, licking up everything I'd been denying all day.
I arched off the bed, my hands flying to his hair. "Olek—"
"That's it." He spoke against me, the vibration making me whimper. "Say my name while I taste you."
His tongue found my clit, circling it with maddening precision. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just perfect, devastating pressure that had me trembling in seconds.
"How long has it been?" he murmured, sliding one finger inside me. "Since someone touched you like this?"
Too long. Years. Not since—
I shoved the thought away. I wasn't thinking about Marcus. Not now. Not while Olek's mouth was doing things that made my brain short-circuit.
"That long?" He added a second finger, curling them just right. "No wonder you're so tight. So responsive."
"Less talking," I gasped. "More—oh, fuck—"
He sucked my clit into his mouth hard, and I saw stars.
My thighs tried to close around his head, but he held them open, one hand splayed across my stomach to keep me in place.
"Stay still," he commanded. "Let me work."
And God, he worked.
His tongue and fingers moved in perfect rhythm, building me up and backing off, building me higher and retreating again. It was torture. It was heaven. It was everything I'd been too afraid to want.
"Please," I heard myself say. "Please, Olek—"
"Please what?"
"Make me come. Please make me—"
"There it is." His voice was pure satisfaction. "There's my girl, begging so prettily."
He sucked hard on my clit, fingers curling inside me, and I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming.
I cried out his name—couldn't help it, couldn't stop it—and he groaned against me like my pleasure was his.
He worked me through it, licking and sucking and drawing it out until I was trembling, oversensitive, pushing at his head.
"Too much," I whimpered.
"Not nearly enough." But he pulled back, his mouth and chin wet with me. "That's one."
I blinked at him through the haze. "One?"
"I told you I'd make you come so hard you forgot your name." He stood and started unbuttoning his shirt. "That was just the warm-up."
Oh God.
I was in so much trouble.