10. Katya
Katya
The files on Dmitri’s computer painted a picture that made my blood sing with recognition instead of horror.
Financial records showed payments to men with names like “The Cleaner” and “Problem Solver.”
Territory maps were marked with red zones where bodies had been buried.
Photographs of competitors who’d crossed the Kozlov family and wound up floating face-down in the Moskva River.
Every document confirmed what I’d suspected since day one: My husband runs one of Moscow’s most ruthless criminal organizations.
What bothered me wasn’t the brutality; it was how familiar it all felt.
I’ve seen those documents before, and as crazy as it sounds, I don’t think it was as his wife.
“Our guest accessed my personal computer today while I was in meetings,” Dmitri tells his brother. “Went through highly confidential files. Learned things about our business operations that could get us all executed.”
I square my shoulders and school my face into what I hope looks like confusion rather than the satisfaction I’m feeling. Finally, we’re getting somewhere.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lie without blinking.
Alexei glances between us, and his mouth falls open. “She broke into your office? Are you sure?”
“The logs don’t lie.”
“Maybe the logs are wrong,” I offer, though we all know they’re not. “I’ve been here all day, just like I told you. Reading and resting.”
“The logs don’t lie, kotyonok. You were in there for hours.”
I press my thumb to the crescent on my wrist and force myself to breathe evenly.
“Alright.” I drop the innocent act. “Yes, I went through your computer.”
Alexei’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m tired of living in a fishbowl with no explanation for why my life feels like someone else’s costume,” I continue.
“You want to know why I snooped? Because nothing about my supposed identity makes sense. People look at me like they’re afraid I’ll remember something I shouldn’t, and you treat me like a prisoner instead of a wife. ”
“You could have asked me anything you wanted to know.”
“Right. You’ve been so forthcoming.”
I cross my arms and plant my feet. I’m done playing the confused invalid. “I know what you do for a living now, Dmitri. You might have told me before that you were involved in some gray areas of business, but it’s bigger than that, isn’t it?”
His jaw works as he stares at me, and I can see him deciding how much to reveal. Alexei shifts his weight, and his hand moves toward what I’m guessing is a concealed weapon.
“Alexei,” Dmitri warns without taking his eyes off me. “Give us some privacy.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? She just admitted to?—”
“Out.”
Alexei looks like he wants to argue, but something in his brother’s tone makes him think better of it. He heads for the door, pausing to give me a look that promises we’ll continue this conversation later.
Dmitri’s gaze darkens the moment the door clicks shut.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The words snap through the silence, sharp as a blade.
He’s on me before I can respond, bracing one hand on the desk and caging me in. His other hand skims down my arm, lightly enough to make me shiver.
“You saw the files.” His voice is low and steady. “The names. The bodies. Did it scare you? Or did it turn you on, knowing how dangerous I am?”
“Stop,” I whisper, but my body betrays me.
His mouth crashes against mine—rough, claiming, and nothing polite about it.
My gasp gives him the opening he wants. His tongue sweeps in, dominating, owning me the same way he owns everything else.
I shove against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he captures my wrists in one hand and presses them above my head, pinning me against the desk like I weigh nothing.
“You shouldn’t have broken into my files,” he growls softly, lips brushing mine. “You should be terrified of me right now.”
“I am,” I breathe, though the heat pooling between my thighs tells a different story.
“No.” His mouth grazes my jaw. “You’re trembling because you want me.”
His hand slips under my skirt, dragging the fabric higher until I’m bare beneath him. My breath hitches, and his smile curves dark and knowing.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” I rasp. “Dmitri—yes.”
He chuckles darkly. “That’s it. You sound perfect when you beg for me.”
His fingers stroke where I’m already wet. “You feel this? You can tell yourself you’re afraid of me, kotyonok, but your body remembers the truth.”
Heat floods my face as my hips arch toward his touch, greedy despite my denial.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. His fingers plunge inside me, curling until stars explode behind my eyes.
A cry rips from my throat, and his smirk drags across my skin.
His zipper opens with a vicious sound, the rasp loud in the silence. He fists the back of my thigh and drags me to the edge of the desk, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, thick and unyielding.
He pauses there, grinding just enough to make me whimper, holding me open like I belong to him.
“Say the word, kotyonok. Because once I’m inside you, I’ll never let you go.”
“Please, Dmitri.”
Then, with one brutal thrust, he slams into me, splitting me wide. I scream into his chest as he fills me to the hilt.
“God, you were made for me,” he rasps, thrusting deep and steady. “Every part of you belongs to me.”
The desk rattles beneath us, papers scattering, my wrists still trapped above my head. Each thrust is a claim, but it’s not just a punishment.
It’s an affirmation.
“Say it again,” he demands, his rhythm punishing but precise. “Say my name.”
“Dmitri!”
His laugh is dark satisfaction. He shifts, grinding harder, and pleasure builds in my belly, wave after wave crashing through me until I shatter around him.
“That’s it,” he grits, holding me tight. “Come for me, kotyonok.”
I scream his name again as I fall apart, and he follows, groaning as he spills inside me, pinning me against the desk like he’ll never let go.
When the last tremor fades, he kisses the corner of my mouth, as gentle as a threat.
“Next time you want my secrets,” he murmurs, “remember what they cost.”
He pulls back, zipping his trousers as though nothing happened. My legs are still trembling, and the desk is a wreck with scattered papers.
I should push him away. I should want distance. Instead, I’m trembling with need and desperate in a way I don’t want to admit.
“You’ve always known me, kotyonok,” Dmitri says. His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Even if you don’t remember, your body does.”
Damn him.
As much as I want to deny it, he’s right.