Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Alexander
"Now, it's my turn to give back."
She said it with her head tilted up, those green eyes full of stubbornness, shyness, and a fierce kind of determination.
I stared at her, lost for words.
This woman...
Perched on the bathroom stool, ankle still injured, completely naked but not backing down. She wasn't seducing me—though she looked damn tempting. She was... claiming equality.
In her own way.
"Anna..." My voice came out rough, barely recognizable. "You don't owe me a thing."
It was true. From the start, everything I gave her was because I wanted to, not for payback.
"But I want to," she cut in, those green eyes locking onto mine, piercing through every mask I wore. "I want to give this to you. Not because I owe you, but because... I want it."
Something exploded in my chest right then.
Not just desire—though that burned hot.
Something deeper, more dangerous.
When she said "I want," there was no fear in her eyes, no flattery, just pure, honest craving.
No one had ever spoken to me like that.
Those other women? Drawn by my power, bought by my money, or too scared to say no.
But not her.
She wasn't submitting out of fear or fawning for greed.
She just... wanted.
Wanted me. Wanted to give. Wanted equality.
That hit me hard, my heart skipping a beat.
"You sure?"
I had to ask again. Had to make sure she knew what she was doing, what it meant.
"Sure."
No hesitation.
Fuck.
I reached out, cupped the back of her head, feeling her soft hair slip through my fingers.
"Then show me," my voice rumbled low in my throat. "How much you want it."
The air in the bathroom froze, nothing but our ragged breaths echoing off the tiles.
Anna's green eyes sparked with resolve. She didn't pull back; instead, she leaned in a bit, her red lips parting slightly, tentatively closing in.
Her inexperience showed—her moves carried that newbie hesitation. Her slender fingers wrapped around my half-hard cock, warm but trembling, like a bird fluttering in her palm.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears, desire roaring like wildfire in my gut, but I forced myself to hold back, not wanting to pressure her.
She hesitated for a split second, her breath hot against my skin, then she leaned forward and gave it a tentative lick, her tongue flicking out softly over the tip.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my muscles tightening without me even thinking about it. Fuck, that felt electric, a jolt straight through me.
She looked up, those green eyes wide and questioning, like she was checking if she'd done it right. Her movements were clumsy, raw, but so damn earnest—focused, like nothing else mattered.
She took me into her mouth next, sucking gently at first, her lips wrapping around the head with careful pressure. Her tongue slid awkwardly along the underside, exploring, pausing now and then to gauge my reaction.
Our eyes met, hers locking onto my desire-filled gaze, and she trembled slightly, her cheeks flushing a deep red. "Am I... doing this right?" she asked, her voice shy and uncertain, pulling back just enough to speak.
That question hit me square in the chest, tightening everything.
She wasn't like the others—polished, performative.
She was real, vulnerable, and it twisted something inside me.
And that injured ankle of hers—she kept it propped up so carefully, not letting it touch the floor, wincing a little if she shifted wrong.
It made my heart ache, made me want her even more.
I reached down, stroked her cheek gently with my thumb. "You're doing perfect," I murmured, my voice thick. "Keep going."
My fingers slid into her hair, guiding her lightly, not forcing, just showing the rhythm.
She dove back in, her movements smoothing out a bit with each pass. Her tongue swirled more confidently now, tracing the veins, sucking deeper. I could feel the heat building, her mouth so wet and warm, pulling me in.
Every bob of her head sent waves of pleasure crashing through me, my hips twitching involuntarily. She was getting into it, her free hand bracing on my thigh, nails digging in just a little as she worked.
God, the way she looked up at me through her lashes, eyes gleaming with that mix of shyness and determination—it was intoxicating. Her breaths came in soft puffs around me, and when she hummed lightly, the vibration shot straight to my core.
I groaned low, my grip in her hair tightening just a fraction, encouraging her. She responded by taking more, her lips stretching around me, tongue pressing flat and sliding back and forth.
The clumsiness was still there, but it only made it hotter—her pauses to catch her breath, the way she'd lick her lips and dive back in, more eager each time. I watched her, mesmerized, as she found her pace, her head moving steadily now.
Sweat beaded on my skin, the steam from the earlier shower mixing with the heat we were generating. Her scent filled the air, mingling with mine, and every suck, every swirl of her tongue pushed me closer to the edge.
She pulled back once more, breathless, her voice a whisper. "Like this?" Her eyes searched mine, that uncertainty making her even more endearing.
"Yeah, just like that," I rasped, my thumb tracing her swollen lips. "You're driving me crazy."
Encouraged, she went deeper, her throat relaxing as she took me further. I felt the back of her mouth, the tightness there, and it was almost too much. My abs clenched, breaths coming in harsh pants.
She experimented, her tongue flicking the sensitive spot under the head, then sucking hard while her hand pumped the base. The combination was lethal—pleasure building like a storm.
I could see her thighs pressing together, her own arousal evident in the way she shifted on the stool, careful with that ankle. It turned me on more, knowing she was getting off on this too.
Her rhythm picked up, more fluid now, lips gliding smoothly up and down. I thrust gently into her mouth, matching her, the wet sounds filling the room obscenely.
"Fuck, Anna," I growled, my voice breaking. "So good."
She moaned around me, the vibration sending shocks through my body. Her hand twisted lightly as she stroked, tongue lapping relentlessly.
The pressure built, coiling tight in my balls, heat spreading everywhere. I warned her with a grunt, but she didn't pull away—instead, she sucked harder, eyes locked on mine.
I came hard, spilling into her mouth with a guttural moan, waves of ecstasy crashing over me. She swallowed it all, her throat working, and when she finally pulled back, lips glistening, she looked up with a small, triumphant smile. "I did it."
God, that did something to me. I was still catching my breath, body humming from the release, when the need hit again—harder this time.
I couldn't hold back anymore. Scooping her up carefully, avoiding that injured ankle, I carried her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
Night had fallen, moonlight spilling through the windows, bathing her gorgeous body in a silvery glow that made her skin look ethereal.
I was mesmerized, tracing the curves with my eyes as I laid her down on the bed.
Leaning over her, I captured her lips in a kiss that was pure invasion—tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch of her mouth. She responded fiercely, hands clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer.
We tumbled into it, bodies pressing together. I was gentle, surprisingly so—even to myself—mindful of her ankle, positioning us so she was comfortable. My hands roamed her skin, teasing her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples until she arched and gasped.
She was wet and ready when I slid a finger inside her, curling it to hit that spot that made her whimper. "Alexander," she moaned, hips bucking.
I added another finger, stretching her, thumb circling her clit in slow, firm strokes. Her walls clenched around me, breaths turning to pants as I worked her higher.
When she was trembling on the edge, I withdrew, positioning myself at her entrance. Our eyes met, and I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, savoring the tight heat enveloping me.
"Fuck," I hissed, buried deep. She felt incredible, gripping me like she was made for this.
I started moving, thrusts deep and measured, building a rhythm that had her nails raking my back. "Harder," she begged, voice breathless.
I obliged, picking up speed, slamming into her with controlled power. The bed creaked under us, her moans filling the room as I hit that perfect angle.
Sweat slicked our bodies, moonlight highlighting every curve, every gasp. I kissed her neck, sucking marks into her skin, while my hand slipped between us to rub her clit.
She shattered first, crying out my name as her orgasm ripped through her, walls pulsing around me. That sent me over, thrusting a few more times before I followed, groaning into her shoulder as I filled her.
We collapsed together, breaths mingling, bodies tangled in the afterglow. I held her close, surprisingly tender, tracing lazy patterns on her back until sleep claimed us.
Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden patch on the black sheets.
I opened my eyes, instinctively reaching to pull the person beside me into my arms.
Empty.
My palm hit the sheets—cold, smooth, vacant.
"Anna?"
I sat up, my voice rough in the quiet bedroom.
No answer.
The bathroom door stood open, no sound of water. I threw off the covers, got out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor as I headed to the bathroom.
Empty.
Her clothes were gone too—the white shirt, jeans scattered on the floor last night, all vanished. The stool she'd sat on by the vanity was still there, but she wasn't.
Weird.
I turned to the living room, the apartment eerily silent. No one on the sofa, kitchen empty. Her bag was missing.
I sank onto the sofa, staring at the coffee table.
Maybe she just went out for breakfast?
But even I didn't buy that. If it was breakfast, she'd have woken me or left a note.
I grabbed my phone, checked the time—9:30 a.m.
Then I saw the unread message alert. Zero.
Nothing from her.
I started typing.
"Woke up. You okay?"
Sent.
Stared at the screen.
A minute passed.
"How's the ankle? Don't walk too much."
Sent.
Another minute.
I stood, pacing in the living room. Maybe she went to work? She said she might get fired, but maybe an emergency...
I stopped at the dining table.
A neat stack of bills sat there.
My fingers clenched slowly.
I walked over, picked up the money. A hundred bucks.
Next to it, a note in neat handwriting.
"Thanks for last night. This is for the meds and other stuff. — Anna"
I stared at the note, read it once, twice.
Meds. Other stuff.
I let out a short laugh.
It echoed in the empty apartment, sounding harsh.
No woman had ever treated me like this.
Usually, I was the one who left, who controlled the game, who decided when it started, how it went, when it ended. I was the one who left money—if I ever needed to.
Now, the power had flipped.
A strange, sour feeling churned in my gut. Not just anger—something like... rejection.
Rejected by a broke little reporter, with a polite, firm hundred bucks.
I glanced at the note again.
"Thanks for last night"—so polite, like thanking a helpful stranger.
"Meds and other stuff"—what did she think last night was? A transaction? Something money could settle?
I set the note down, grabbed my phone.
"What's the money supposed to mean?"
Sent.
Stared at the screen.
Two minutes.
"Anna, message back."
Sent.
No response.
I called her. It rang a few times, got rejected, then showed powered off.
She'd turned it off.
I stood in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, feeling something slip through my fingers—like sand, the tighter I gripped, the faster it went.
This shouldn't matter.
Last night was great. I wasn't against one-night stands. Hell, that's how I always did it—enjoy the moment, then move on, clean and simple.
But Anna had ignited something in me. Like... after ten years of darkness, a sudden beam of light. And now, she'd snuffed it out herself.
I sighed, tossed the phone on the sofa.
Maybe it was for the best.
She went back to her world, the normal one I didn't fit in. I went back to mine, the dangerous one she should stay away from. Everyone safe.
But why did my chest feel so tight?
I headed back to the bedroom, started dressing. Pants, shirt, movements automatic.
Halfway through, I spotted something on the pillow—a strand of her hair, red, stark against the white.
I picked it up, examined it between my fingers.
The only trace she left, besides the hundred bucks and that damn note.
I slipped the hair into my pants pocket—ridiculous, even to me—then kept dressing.
Buttoning the shirt halfway, my phone rang. I lunged for it, but the screen showed Ivan.
Disappointment hit like ice water.
"What?" I answered, colder than I meant.
"Pakhan, about the Romanov family..."
"Later," I cut him off. "Check someone for me."
"Who?"
"Anna Parker," I said her name. "21, New York Daily intern. I need to know where she is now."
Ivan paused a second—he rarely heard me like this.
"Got it, Pakhan. When do you want it?"
"Fast as you can."
I hung up, eyed the money on the table.
Sunlight glinted off the bills, blinding.
A hundred bucks. That's what she thought last night was worth.
I walked over, grabbed the cash and note, tossed them in the trash.
Then I stood there, staring at the bin for a long time.
Finally, I fished the money back out.
Not because I needed a hundred bucks—it was nothing to me—but because it was from her.
I tucked it into my wallet, then headed to the bathroom to wash up.
The man in the mirror looked the same—sharp features, brown eyes, that blank face.
But I knew something had changed. Since last night, it was different, and it thrilled and unsettled me.
Because for the first time, a woman had made me lose control. I didn't know what came next. But I knew one thing: what I wanted was out of my grasp.
And damn, that feeling was addictive.