Chapter 14 #3
The reprieve I felt when Kirill chose me soon dwindled into annoyance. He didn’t need me for luck. He was piling chips hand over fist. The power dynamics in the room were clear. Kirill ruled, which was exactly what Edwin told me earlier.
That when Kirill was in the room, everyone pandered to him. A few might be out of fear, but most recognized the power shift in the bratva, and they’d rather not sit across a table with him and piss him off, preferring to be in his presence and ride the coattails of that power.
I didn’t need seven hours of sitting by his side to see that.
I grudgingly admired him, but that didn’t lessen my annoyance.
While he was playing cards, he kept his hand on my thigh.
It was like he was reminding me of the night of our engagement when he almost made me come with so little effort.
Carnal magnetism emanated from his pores the way he handled himself with the lazy grace and confidence of a jungle cat.
I’d thrown up mental barriers, so I’d remain unaffected—but not when he chose to exercise seduction.
I couldn’t move away. Every time I tried to remove my thigh from his grasp, he’d only clamp my leg tighter and then move his hand higher.
He must feel the heat of my pussy because at the moment, I could feel how slippery I was.
He’d tease. Stroke my thigh, brushing his fingers just close enough to my center before he backed off.
My whole body was on fire while he coolly played poker.
Bastard.
That was how he’d kept me awake. The mental and physical mind games.
Still, when the clock struck four a.m., I couldn’t keep my yawn in.
His voice rumbled in my ear. “Ready to go, Lusenka?”
“Oh God, yes,” I muttered.
Laughter went around the table. “Good, take him home so some of us can recoup our losses,” Vasquez said.
When Kirill and I stood from the table, he kept his hand on the small of my back. And despite my grogginess, his brand of possessiveness didn’t escape me.
The poker game was on the penthouse level, and I tried to walk straight on the way to the elevator. Kirill and I didn’t exchange a word after leaving the poker room. I did wave at Edwin, who waved back.
“He’s married,” Kirill said.
“I know, and he has a six-month-old baby.”
We entered the elevator, and I leaned against its reflective walls trying to fight another yawn.
“Just how chatty were you with the staff?”
I angled my eyes mischievously at him. “Chatty enough to know who is whom in that room and why they’ve been invited. Don’t worry, Edwin knows just how much gossip he can share. I fill in the blanks.”
Kirill drew me against his chest, filling me with his warmth and cloaking me with the remnants of his cologne. Despite the smoke in the poker game, he didn’t reek but exuded a scent that was heady and masculine. He rasped in my ear, “Like?
If this were an interrogation, I was doomed. I was so tired and I didn’t care if he was holding me up because I was limp in his arms. “Mr. Bryant might need your help with Ahmed. There’s something to look into there.”
“Hmm, what else?”
“You have something on Vasquez, don’t you? He folds every time you raise.”
Kirill chuckled. “Can’t get anything past you. If only they knew how sharp your mind is.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“You know it is.”
He escorted me out of the elevator with his hand still on my back. Sato was waiting in front with the SUV and two more vehicles with our bodyguards.
Inside the vehicle, our world dwindled to shadows and the light of the phone. I checked my messages. Aralina wanted to chat.
Poor girl. She was alone on a Friday night. She’d been glowing lately, and I suspected she was in love again, but she hadn’t been sharing.
There was also a text from Irina. She wondered if we could come over for dinner on Sunday, but I had a better idea. I texted,
Me
How about a party on Sunday? I’ll make sure Kirill is there.
Kirill hated parties, especially at his family’s home.
But since he started peppering my calendar with events, I did the same to his.
I expected him to balk at first since most of them were dinners with his parents, but surprisingly, he came to every single one of them.
I glanced at my husband. He was leaning back against the seat.
Eyes closed. He looked utterly drained. I never knew what time he came home, and he was always gone by the time I got up.
He was cementing his role as pakhan for sure, judging by how he commanded the room earlier.
“Did you even care about the poker game?” I asked. My voice came out husky, probably irritated by the cigarette smoke. The wine had likely dehydrated me too.
His lids lifted in a hooded gaze, but his mouth curved in a lazy smile. “What do you think?”
“Your real goal is playing the room, finding out everyone’s weaknesses.”
A derisive chuckle left his lips. “You noticed?”
“It was subtle, but every man at the table adjusted strategy as soon as you so much as blinked.”
Kirill straightened in his seat and tilted his head in my direction. “You impress me, Lusenka.”
I couldn’t stand his burning stare. I couldn’t clearly see his eyes, but I could feel them eating me alive. I glanced out into the night. “I’m not simply a prop.”
“No, you’re not,” he muttered almost to himself.
When we arrived at the house, I walked inside barefoot with my heels dangling from one hand. I headed directly to the kitchen for a glass of water. Kirill followed but didn’t speak.
I watched him shed his black jacket and loosen his tie. Why did he look sexier when he was disheveled? My cheeks heated again as I remembered his sensual caresses on my thigh.
Also, I didn’t like the awkward silence between us.
“What’s your game, Kirill?”
He glanced up sharply from his phone. That damned phone. Was Anya texting him?
When he didn’t answer, I added, “Your performance tonight where you made it look like I mattered.”
“You’re my wife. Of course, you matter.”
“Please. Choosing me over Anya in front of everyone? What happened to humiliating me? It would’ve been a coup to choose her to take to the poker room.”
He walked toward me, deliberate, dangerous, stopping just close enough to make my breath misfire. “I don’t like Anya bullying you.”
“What?”
He traced my cheek with the back of a finger. “That’s my right alone.”
“Bullying me?” My eyes widened in outrage, stepping away from his touch.
“Yes. And challenging you.” He dropped his hand. “And you keep surpassing my expectations.”
“Because I refuse to feel humiliated,” I said, voice rising and shaky. “Not by you. Not by anyone.”
A shock of silence grew thick between us. Our eyes clashed in the darkness.
After another beat or two, he offered a brief nod. “That’s what I like about you.”
He left the kitchen and vanished into his study.
As for me, my throat remained parched, and my bare feet were cool against the marble, but my body’s temperature was anything but cool. I was hot all over, and a slight film of sweat coated my upper lip. My heart raced.
What did he mean?
The status quo had shifted again. I could feel it.
And I didn’t trust my husband.