Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Vivienne
Smack.
I slammed my palm down on the antique mahogany coffee table in front of Peter Volkov.
The massive sound made the living room go dead silent for a second. Peter's half-full glass of whiskey trembled in his hand as those dried-well eyes snapped up, glaring at me with venom.
I stepped forward twice on my stilettos, closing in on that mahogany sofa. I stared down at this shriveled old bastard from my height, my lips curling into a cold, mocking smile that held zero warmth.
"Mr. Volkov, you've been sitting on that moldy throne so long, your brain's rotted right along with it."
I slowed my words. "That Derek you claim is 'more like a Volkov'?
He's nothing but a limp-dick who can't even control his own wife—ran off to seduce his ex-fiancée on his wedding night.
Going to New Jersey for real estate? He's going there to wag his tail for local money launderers. As for Nikolai—"
I let out a cold laugh, my gaze raking over the iron-faced old man on the sofa.
"He took the Pakhan seat by crushing every enemy's throat with his bare hands, not by marrying some porcelain doll to prop himself up.
The Volkov table is big, sure, but what it really can't stomach are senile fossils with one foot in the grave who still feel the need to criticize young people's figures and haute couture. "
"You— You crass little bitch—" Peter smashed his glass on the table, veins bulging at his temple, his entire face twisting into an ugly liver color.
"Keep this goddamn dinner for your golden boy's funeral."
I didn't even spare him another glance. I grabbed my clutch, turned, seized Nikolai's tie, and yanked hard. "We're leaving. This place reeks of death. Every second here takes years off my life."
Nikolai rose with my pull. He didn't even blink at his old man who looked ready to stroke out, letting me drag him like some giant predator all the way out of that suffocating ancestral house.
I threw the car door shut.
Sasha in the driver's seat didn't even lift an eyelid. Just smoothly started the engine.
I collapsed back into the silk leather seat, arms wrapped tight around myself, a stick of nitroglycerin ready to explode. After the adrenaline faded, the extreme hunger mixed with residual rage made my stomach cramp violently.
"Go ahead and yell at me." I stared at the black trees flying past the window, teeth clenched. "I screwed up your carefully planned family power play and told the former Pakhan to get in his coffin. Screw the triple salary—just dump me on a Maryland highway and let me be homeless."
The car fell into eerie silence.
One second. Two seconds.
Suddenly, a low, chest-deep rumble broke the quiet.
I turned my head in shock.
Nikolai was leaning against the opposite door. He'd loosened that tie I'd yanked crooked, those dark gray eyes glinting in the dim dashboard light, lips curved into a huge arc.
He was laughing.
And it was the kind of unguarded, utterly relieved laugh of someone who'd dropped the Pakhan mask completely.
"You're actually laughing?" My temper flared even hotter. I lunged over and punched his rock-hard chest. "Aren't you afraid your petty old man will shoot me full of holes!"
"I'm just replaying the old bastard's face."
His long arm reached out, yanking me by the waist into his lap with zero resistance.
His rough palm clamped the back of my head like an iron vise, forcing my sweat-damp face into the warm hollow of his neck. That low, textured voice wrapped in cold cedar scent crashed into my eardrum. "Vivienne, you were like a wildcat just now. Sexy as hell."
My breath hitched hard.
All the ammunition I'd loaded up to fight with him lost its fuse, completely disarmed by that one sentence.
The tension in my muscles involuntarily melted under his soothing touch. The adrenaline from excessive anger morphed in my veins, burning into something sticky and hot that left my mouth dry.
I lifted my head from his warm neck, curled my fingers, and poked his solid chest without mercy.
"But he called me a plus-size toy." I narrowed my eyes, refusing to back down. Instead, I leaned forward half an inch, my chest brushing suggestively against his silk tie. "Mr. Volkov, your father's taste is clearly as rotten as his temper. I'm perfect in every single place that matters."
Nikolai's Adam's apple rolled hard.
The amused glint in his eyes darkened instantly, replaced by dangerously predatory flames. That big hand on my waist slid down shamelessly over the velvet fabric, stopping at that tempting curve and squeezing without apology.
"He's definitely blind." Nikolai lowered his head, nose nearly grazing my lips, voice hoarse enough to ignite the air. "Only weak, pathetic men go after stick-figure skeletons."
His fingers rubbed restlessly through the fabric as his lips bit my earlobe with blatant suggestion, triggering a shiver I couldn't control.
"But about what you said—'perfect in every place that matters'..." That low, magnetic voice was lethal. "When we get home, I might need to personally, thoroughly measure you to see if my fiancée's been lying."
The temperature in the car skyrocketed with that last sentence, the air thin as if we were at five thousand meters altitude.
I locked eyes with Nikolai's gray gaze inches away, my heart like an out-of-control jackhammer pounding my ribs.
Screw the Volkovs.
"Why not now?"
I heard my own voice, bold enough to carry a hint of provocation that even shocked me. I didn't retreat. I sank deeper into his territory, grabbing his silk shirt collar hard and forcing his head down. "My Mr. Pakhan, since when did you get so hung up on ceremony?"
Nikolai's pupils contracted violently in an instant.
"Fuck."
He cursed low. That mask of cold control he'd maintained for so long shattered into powder.
The soundproof partition in front rose smoothly under Sasha's extremely perceptive operation, completely sealing the front and back into two worlds.
No wasted words. His long arm swept up, brutally ripping off his suit jacket. The next second, he slammed me down hard onto the wide seat.
The dark, enclosed car instantly became the most private and dangerous battlefield.
The leather seat groaned under our combined weight. Outside, Maryland's desolate night and occasional flashing streetlights flew backward across the dark bulletproof glass, unable to penetrate this narrow, scalding metal box by even a hair.
His kiss crashed down.
Savage, brutal, carrying a destructive hunger to swallow me whole.
I tasted the spicy remnants of liquor in his mouth and the most primal predatory instinct of a male hunter.
My hands clawed at the hard muscles of his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh without even noticing, just tilting my head back, opening my mouth, meeting all his violence without reservation.
My skirt was shoved up roughly, the velvet fabric raising a stinging, abrasive sensation against skin. The AC and the searing heat of his palms clashed violently in the air.
"Vivienne..." His sandpaper-rough voice exploded against my eardrum, his big hand gripping my hip bone hard enough to leave purple finger marks. "You asked for this."
He shifted suddenly, lifting me with effortless strength as if I weighed nothing.
In one fluid motion, he positioned me straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his powerful hips, knees sinking deep into the supple leather seats on either side.
The confined space of the backseat amplified everything—the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, the faint scent of leather and expensive cologne mixed with raw masculine musk.
His hands were everywhere at once, impatient and demanding.
They tore at the delicate fabric of my dress, shoving aside the thin barrier of my panties with zero finesse, claiming every inch of exposed skin like territory long denied.
His thick fingers slid between my legs, parting my slick folds without mercy. "Christ, you're already soaked."
I was. God help me, I was drenched, my body betraying every ounce of restraint I'd tried to cling to.
My arousal had been building since the moment he'd laughed in that rare, unguarded way.
My inner thighs trembled, slick with need, as his calloused fingertips circled my swollen clit, teasing just enough to make me whimper.
His belt buckle clinked sharply. The zipper rasped down with agonizing slowness, revealing the hard, thick length of him.
He was already rock-hard, veins pulsing, the broad head glistening with precum.
I reached down instinctively, wrapping my fingers around his impressive girth, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch and throb in my palm.
The vehicle lurched violently forward. Momentum did the rest. With no warning, he slammed into me in one brutal, unrelenting thrust. The sudden intrusion tore a raw scream from my throat as he stretched me wide open, filling me to the hilt in a single stroke.
The burn was intense, bordering on pain, but it melted instantly into overwhelming pleasure.
No warm-up, no gentle easing—just raw, devastating fullness that made my walls flutter and clench desperately around his cock.
"Sasha's still up front," Nikolai hissed through gritted teeth, though his dark eyes were blown black with lust, his grip on my hips bruising. "Unless you want him to hear every goddamn filthy sound you make—"