CHAPTER ELEVEN
Alina
I DON’T RETURN to Sergei. I ride home with Lev, both of us silent in the back seat of his car. The air between us is thick with the remnants of what just happened. My body still feels the imprint of his hands, the bruising force of his claim, and the confusing, undeniable pleasure that followed.
When we arrive, I move to go to my room. I’m raw from what we just shared—from what he just took.
Lev touches my hand, though, directing me without words into his room. I go without a murmur. It seems he’s not done taking what’s his.
Beside the bed, I pull the sweater over my head and slide the jeans over my hips and down my legs. The cool air kisses my heated skin as I kick my feet free of the heels, push the pants completely off, and stand before Lev in my bra and nothing else.
He ruined my panties earlier.
“Where do you want me?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend, but steady.
He doesn’t answer, just watches me with brooding eyes, his gaze a heavy weight I can feel on my skin. It makes my stomach clench, makes my fingers tremble where they rest at my sides.
Unnerved, I remove the bra, the lace sliding from my arms, and drop it to the floor. Then, slowly, I lower myself to my knees before him and reach for his belt. The metal buckle clinks softly as I tug it free of its clasp, then unbutton his pants. My fingers tremble as I reach inside, wrapping around the heat of him, the solid weight in my palm. I pull him free, watching as he thickens even more in my grasp.
“Or maybe you want—”
“Stop talking.”
The command is low, rough. His voice alone sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s thick and hard, and above me, a vein pulses in his forehead. He swallows, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bedpost, and grips a handful of my hair with the other.
Yeah. That’s what he wants.
A shudder runs through his body as I sway forward and wrap my lips around the head of his shaft, running my tongue along the slit at the top and exploring its velvety texture. I taste salt, heat, power. Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, I raise my gaze to his, part my lips, and guide him carefully inside the cave of my mouth.
As with everything else, though, he’s not interested in letting me suck him off so much as he wants to fuck my face. The hand in my hair tightens, curling around to the back of my head and anchoring me in place, and he pushes forward, the blunt head of his cock hitting the back of my throat.
Tears spring to my eyes, and spit gathers at the corners of my mouth, slicking his length as he thrusts in and out without mercy, stroking over my tongue and hitting my soft palate each time with bruising force.
And then he’s gone.
I barely have time to gasp before he’s pulling me up, dragging me to my feet before settling me on the bed.
He sheds his clothes without taking his eyes off me. His movements are sharp, impatient. His shirt hits the floor. His pants follow. Then he’s on me.
Lifting my legs, he hooks my knees over his shoulders and thrusts into me in one smooth, devastating motion.
I cry out, my body bowing beneath him as he fills me, stretching me to the edge of pleasure and pain. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, a primal rhythm, a language only our bodies understand.
The angle is infinite—deep, overwhelming, stretching me wide and filling every inch of me. I gasp, my back arching against him, my fingers clenching into the sheets.
Lev doesn’t give me time to adjust. He moves, each thrust sending sparks through my body, each shift pressing against something deep inside me that makes my breath catch.
I close my eyes, losing myself in the rhythm, in the sensation of him claiming me, owning me.
“Open your eyes.”
Obeying, I’m held prisoner by his gaze. He stares intently down at me, communicating something I don’t understand…something I’m not sure I want to understand.
His hands find mine, our fingers linking on either side of my head as he thrusts into me, each movement punishing, purposeful. Possessive.
When I give over, tumbling into an orgasm that leaves me shaking and shuddering and spent, I squeeze my lids shut again, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes.
He follows a moment after, his fingers tightening painfully around my own and his hips drilling mine into the mattress. His face drops forward, into my neck, and every bit of him goes lax and heavy against me. My legs go limp around him, and he releases his hold on me to allow them to fall to either side of his hips.
We lay like that for several minutes, until I feel the burning need to breathe and shift my face the tiniest bit in order to drag in a breath.
He sighs and shifts, and I think I feel the ghost of his lips against my neck before he levers himself off me and rolls to the side.
One long finger strokes a line from my breast to my hip, raising gooseflesh.
“I’m the only man who’ll see this body from here out,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “The only one who’ll touch it. Taste it.”
Without waiting for a response, he rises and pads barefoot to the bathroom.
After a moment, the shower comes on, and I gather my discarded clothing and flee to my own room.
I take a shower and dress in a pair of the silky pajamas purchased for me, then sit on the edge of the bed for a while, my mind racing.
The truth hits me harder than I expected: Lev may have meant his words as a warning, but I don’t want anyone else to touch me but him.
When he does, it’s… electric. It’s like I’m not just surviving anymore—I’m living.
I’m not a whore. I never was.
But it’s not just that. I need more than his touch; I need his help.
Marina’s debt is a noose tightening around both our necks, and if Lev can untangle it, maybe staying with him wouldn’t be such a terrible proposition.
Long-term doesn’t sound so bad when his hands make me feel like I belong somewhere.
I take a deep breath. It starts with actually talking to him, I guess. Leaving the bedroom, I begin searching for him.
I find him in the living room. He’s at the window, staring out into the night like he owns it.
“Lev,” I start, my voice steady, “what exactly do you want from Sergei?”
He turns, eyebrows raised like he wasn’t expecting me to ask that. “Why do you care?”
“Maybe I can help.”
That gets his attention.
He leans against the window frame, arms crossed, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Finally, he says, “Sergei is making a nuisance of himself. Encroaching on Ivan Romanov’s turf…sticking his nose into matters that don’t concern him. I want to establish a partnership with Romanov. To prove myself useful, the best solution would be to eliminate Sergei.”
Eliminate. The word makes my stomach churn. I’m not a killer, and I don’t think I could ever be.
I don’t want to outright refuse him, though. I need to give him something. I hesitate, my fingers curling into my palms, my breath shallow.
“I’m not… I don’t—”
He must see the discomfort on my face because he waves a hand. “That’s not anything I expect from you.”
“Then what do you expect from me?” I ask, my voice quiet but firm. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, other than—”
I stop, my voice cracking. Outside, rain beats softly against the window panes, and I use it to center myself, remind myself of what I’m doing, why I’m doing it. Then I start again. “This was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement. Something to pay my sister’s debt and get her out of a mess. If I can do something to help you with this Sergei, and then get back to my regular programmed life…”
Lev’s lips press together, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. His fingers twitch at his sides before he looks away. “Sergei is paranoid and has proven elusive as hell. He’s rarely seen in public, and when he is, he’s always surrounded by security, always protected. If I had someone or something to lure him out…” His voice is careful and measured, and he eyes me with fresh interest. Then he shakes his head, dismissing the thought. “But I don’t like the idea of using you as bait.”
I see my chance slipping through his fingers. If I don’t act now, it’s gone. “I can do it. I could seduce him,” I say quickly. The words tumble out before I lose my nerve. “Well, not actually seduce him. I would just make him think I’m going to…” I let the words trail away, unable to finish the thought.
A muscle jumps in Lev’s cheek. “How, exactly, would you do that?”
“Meet him in a hotel bar. Lure him to a room or something, where you’ll be waiting.” My voice hardens. “But I want something in return.”
His head tilts slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Say I agree. What do you want in return?”
“My sister’s debt.” I stand taller, meeting his gaze head-on. “Completely cleared. The men she owes money to—they want more. I think they’ll keep asking, because I don’t have anyone behind me, protecting me. It has to stop.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and I panic. Did I push too far? Too fast? His silence feels like a blade hanging over me.
“How much?” he finally asks.
“One hundred thousand,” I say, the lie slipping out as smoothly as a well-practiced line. I can’t help it—I need more than just Marina’s debt cleared. I need something for my mother, too, a safety net for all of us. My heart races, wondering if he’ll see through me.
He studies me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he nods. “Fine. That way, we both get what we want.”
Relief crashes over me, but there’s no time to celebrate. His gaze travels over me neutrally, assessing, and we dive into planning.
“You’ll have to look breathtaking,” he says, his tone as sharp as the suits he wears. “We need to go shopping.”
Early the next morning, we’re in a boutique I would never have dreamed of stepping into a week ago.
Lev prowls through the racks like he owns the place while I hover uncertainly behind him, his gaze lingering on the most daring cuts and fabrics. He holds up a scrap of material that looks like it wouldn’t cover a child.
“This one,” he says, his voice low, sending a shiver down my spine.
I stare at it, my cheeks burning. It’s difficult to tell what the dress is supposed to look like, but there’s not enough material for decency. “I can’t wear that.”
He smirks. “You can. You will. And trust me, you’ll be unforgettable. Now go put it on.”
When it’s all said and done—when I’m in heels so high I feel like I’m walking a tightrope and a dress so scandalous it feels like a second skin—I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
I recognize the look in her eyes, though—it’s resolve. Grim determination to see this through, regardless of the consequences.
And I’m ready. Ready to make my move.