Chapter Eight
Kirill
It was a beautiful service.
Every small detail was flawless, and I know I have Tiana to thank for that.
She went above and beyond to make sure that my mother gets the respect she deserves.
And when the time comes, I will make sure to thank her for that.
I will make sure that she understands how precious she is to me.
But right now, I have other things to worry about.
“I am so sorry, Pakhan .” A squat, grizzled man is standing in front of me, hand outstretched. I look down at it before grasping it in mine. He reaches in and draws me into an embrace that has me stiffening, although I know it’s merely custom.
Berezovka’s dim interior feels claustrophobic somehow, even though the staff has gone through great trouble to set the place up beautifully for my mother’s wake.
Tables are laden with traditional dishes, and vases of lilies and roses are placed strategically around the room.
There’s a giant framed portrait of my mother in her younger days set near the entrance, her sweet features a reminder of the woman I knew from my childhood.
It’s not the venue that bothers me, though.
It’s the company. I can barely stand to be in the same room as these people.
All of them offering their meaningless condolences, pretending to care about my mother’s death when most of them hardly knew her.
It has been years since the accident that claimed the rest of my family; years since my mother was able to mingle socially.
The only reason any of them are here is out of obligation to me.
They are my inner circle, and yet, so few of them mean anything to me.
For years, my mother was the only person in this world I truly cared for. The only good thing left from my childhood after my father and sister died. And now she’s gone too. I feel like I may have lost the last sliver of my humanity along with her.
Yet here I stand, stone-faced, nodding politely as these people approach one by one to pay their respects. I cannot show weakness. They expect raw strength from me at all times. But maintaining this mask of stoicism today takes every ounce of willpower I possess.
“Boss.” Dima is beside me, drawing my attention, and I realize that while my mind has been drifting, several mourners have gathered around, eyeing me curiously.
I’m not in the mood to speak to them. “There is food. Drinks.” I wave a hand at them dismissively. “Make yourself comfortable.” I’ve had enough of the small talk. The group disperses, leaving me alone with Dima and my thoughts. He knows enough not to intrude.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tiana watching. She’s been a quiet, steady presence through all of this. Never pushing me to open up or talk about my feelings the way so many women would. She simply understands what I need – her company and her silence.
As one of my captains steps forward to offer his condolences, I feel my composure beginning to crack. I don’t know why it’s hitting me so hard in this moment, but I need to get out of here before I snap. As if Fate has decided to throw more on my plate, yet another voice intrudes into my thoughts.
“Tiana gave Irina a decent send-off, milaya moya .” Zoya has appeared at my side.
I shoot a look at her. Even though it is a funeral, her black skirt is too tight.
The black silk shirt she’s wearing is too low.
If she notices my disdain, she doesn’t show it.
Instead, she slips a hand through my arm. “Your mother was a good woman, Kirill.”
I incline my head because I won’t argue that point. “Thank you,” I mutter, prying her fingers away from me. It’s not the place to make a scene – I have too much respect for my mother’s memory.
“Every man needs a good woman in his world.” She tilts her head.
“What do you want, Zoya?” I keep my voice low.
“I am just concerned about you, milaya .”
I exhale through my nose before answering. “What are you getting at?”
She sets a hand on the back of a nearby chair, leaning against it casually. “Can a woman not worry about her husband?”
“You and I both know that that ship has sailed. As soon as we have dealt with this business with the boy, you will be out of my world.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Kirill, the boy is your son. Your own blood. And a very good reason for us to at least try to get over our differences, don’t you think?”
“I do not. I will do right by the child, but that is where it ends. Now drop this.” I turn from her and stalk away.
It’s just like Zoya to pick a time like this to further her own agenda – a time when I wouldn’t openly rebuke her in front of my mother’s mourners.
The nerve of it makes my blood boil. Glancing around the room, I feel the walls closing in on me.
I have to get out of here.
Tiana must sense it, too, because she glides through the crowd, moving close, then murmurs, “Are you okay?” I glance down at her, taking in the tasteful gray wraparound dress that swirls around her knees above low-heeled black shoes.
Even though she’s years younger than Zoya, there’s a mature elegance to her that belies her youth. “Kirill?” she presses.
I’m about to say no when I get an idea.
Taking her hand, I lead her swiftly from the dining area without a word.
My men glance up in surprise but know better than to question me.
There’s an office in the back of the restaurant where we often gather to conduct business.
Today, it will serve a different purpose. Once inside, I lock the door behind us.
“Kirill, shouldn’t we be out there?” Her features are clouded with concern. “If you want to talk, we can talk when we get-”
Before she can get another word out, I pull her roughly against me, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss. She responds instantly, her body molding itself to mine. I walk her backward until she’s pressed against my desk.
“I need you,” I rasp against her skin as I push up against her, my cock throbbing.
This is the only way I know to cope with the storm inside me – to lose myself in her.
I can’t think straight with grief clouding my mind.
I want to focus on Tiana’s body against mine, her soft moans, and the way she arches into my touch.
I need to feel alive, to forget for just a moment that my mother is gone.
Twisting my hand into her thick, dark curls, I pull her head back, baring her throat. She gasps as I graze my lips over her skin, nipping at the soft flesh.
My hands roam over her curves, squeezing her breasts roughly as I kiss down her neck.
She gasps, tilting her head further back to give me more access, and I know she likes it.
Grasping a handful of the fabric of her dress, I gather it up, exposing her legs.
I run a hand up her thigh, cupping her ass through the smooth satin of her panties.
The lush flesh spills between my fingers.
“So fucking sexy,” I rumble.
“Kirill,” she moans. “Oh God.” Her voice is throaty.
I reach between her thighs, finding her wet and ready for me. “You’re soaking,” I growl in her ear before sliding a finger inside of her. She moans, rocking against my hand, dripping onto my palm.
“Touch me,” I tell her gruffly.
Reaching down, she hurriedly unbuckles my belt, freeing me from my trousers. My cock is hard before her fingers even tighten around me.
“Like this?” Her eyes meet mine, her voice husky.
“Fuck. Yes, like that Ptichka ,” I growl, thrusting into her hand, my hips bucking as she pumps me in a steady rhythm. Her touch is electric, sending shivers down my spine. I can’t remember the last time I felt this desperate, this out of control.
“Tiana,” I grit out, my voice hoarse. “You’re going to make me come.”
She smiles, her eyes dark with desire. “I want you to,” she whispers, her voice thick with lust.
“Not like this. I want to be inside you.” I grab her hips, pulling her closer, my fingers digging into her flesh.
I can feel her heart pounding against my chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
When I reach between her legs again, she’s soaking wet and ready for me.
The fabric of her panties is slick with her juices, and it drives me to the brink.
I want to feel her tight, hot pussy wrapped around my cock.
“Turn around,” I order, my voice low and commanding.
She obeys without hesitation, her eyes locked on mine as she spins around.
She leans forward, resting her hands on the desk, her ass in the air.
She pulls her dress up, revealing the perfect twin globes of her butt.
I can see the wetness glistening on the white satin covering her pussy, and I want to devour her.
“This is in the way,” I mutter, yanking her panties aside.
She gives a startled little cry, then wriggles her ass, her thighs splaying to reveal her glistening pink slit.
I trace my fingertip along it, remembering how sweet and naive she was that first night I took her.
I liked her then, but I like her even better this way, wanton and writhing for me.
When I slide my finger deep, her back arches, and she moans hoarsely.
“Oh! Fuck!” Stretching her arms out, she grips the opposite edge of the desk.
She twists and moans as I keep pumping my finger in.
I add another, the wet sounds making my mouth water with the need to taste her.
I’d go down on her now if I wasn’t so desperate to bury myself deep.
I make do with pulling my fingers out and sucking on them, looking down at the slick stretch of heaven that I plan to lose myself inside.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I can’t wait any longer. I step closer, my cock throbbing, and position myself behind her, my hands gripping her hips.
“Are you ready for me, Ptichka ?” I ask, my voice low and husky.
“Always,” she moans, her voice thick with desire. “Fuck me, Kirill.”