23. Nikolai
23
NIKOLAI
T he soft whir of security shutters snaps my attention away from Sofia’s peaceful form on my bed. Red warning lights flash across my security panel as alarms blare. My muscles tense, battle-ready instincts taking over.
“Stay here,” I command, moving to the bedroom door. The reinforced steel has already sealed automatically, locking us safely inside.
“What’s happening?” Sofia sits up, alert despite having dozed off moments ago.
My phone buzzes, and I see Erik’s name.
Perimeter breach. Three vehicles, heavily armed. Security measures activated.
The familiar rush of being right wars with fury that someone dared target the Ivanov family. I’d known keeping Sofia close wasn’t mere possessiveness—real threats lurk, waiting to strike.
“The compound’s in lockdown.” I move to the windows, watching automated barriers slide into place. “We’re secure here.”
Sofia joins me, pressing her palm against the bulletproof glass. “How long will we be contained?”
“Until the threat’s neutralized.” My fingers brush her shoulder, steadying her. “My brothers have it handled.”
Gunfire echoes in the distance. Sofia flinches but holds her ground, that steel I first noticed in her gallery shining through. Pride swells in my chest that my malishka is no wilting flower.
“The compound’s a fortress,” I explain, leading her away from the window. “Reinforced walls, independent air system, emergency supplies. We could survive here for weeks if needed.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”
“Prepared.” I tap my security tablet, bringing up compound-wide camera feeds. “Watch.”
On-screen, Erik and Dmitri’s teams move with military precision, herding the intruders into a kill zone. Alexi’s cyber defenses have already disabled their communications.
“Your safety isn’t paranoia, Sofia. It’s a necessity.” I pull her close, breathing in her scent. “I hope you’re beginning to understand why I took extreme measures to protect you.”
Sofia’s eyes meet mine, sharp and questioning. “Why now? After all these years, why are they suddenly coming for me?”
The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. I’ve faced down rivals, enemies, and death without flinching, but her direct gaze makes me want to look away.
“Because I started digging.” The words taste bitter. “When you came into my life, I needed to know everything. Your background, your adoption records, every detail.” I move closer, cupping her face. “My investigation stirred things that should have stayed buried. I led them to you.”
The admission burns. I, who pride myself on protecting what’s mine, put her in danger through my obsessive need to possess every facet of her existence.
“I’m sorry, malishka .” The apology feels foreign on my tongue because I never apologize. But for her... “My actions brought this threat to your door.”
I brace for anger, for accusations, for the fury I deserve. Instead, Sofia’s expression softens. Her hand covers mine where it rests against her cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I freeze, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”
“I’ve wanted to know who I am my entire life. Where I came from. Why I was given up.” Her thumb traces my knuckles. “You gave me that chance, even if it came with complications. So, thank you.”
Her voice’s simple acceptance steals my breath. This woman continues to surprise me and defy every expectation. When I should be her villain, she treats me as her savior.
The tension humming between us shifts, charging the air. In her eyes, I see the spark of excitement I recognize. My malishka craves the edge, skirts danger deliberately, and now understands this side of me—the darkness lurking beneath my controlled exterior.
Her fingers skim my shirt as she steps closer, eyes never leaving mine. “How dark can you get?”
I catch her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “As dark as you let me. Always.”
“Show me.” She nips at my lower lip, a challenge and invitation in her eyes. “Please.”
My body tightens in response, needing no further prompting. I lead her to the center of the room, heartbeat thrumming in my ears. From the nightstand, I retrieve the items carefully prepared in anticipation of this moment: a length of black silk, a bottle of massage oil, a knife, and a branding iron bearing my initials.
Sofia’s eyes widen at the display, but she doesn’t step back. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly beneath the silk robe, anticipation and fear combining in a heady mix.
“Trust,” I murmur, securing her hands above her head with the silk. “You’ll always be safe with me. This is about exploring our boundaries and pushing the limits of pleasure. Say the safe word, and I’ll stop.”
She nods, eyes shining. “I trust you, Nikolai.”
The words give me pause and a foreign warmth spreads through my chest. My malishka trusts me with her body, her secrets, and now the depths of her desire. This realization both exhilarates and terrifies me.
I slick my hands with massage oil and begin to glide them over her body, working the oil into her skin with slow, deliberate strokes. At the first touch, she shivers, her breath catching. I cover every inch of her, savoring her reactions: the arch of her back, the tilt of her head, the throaty moans that escape when I find a particularly sensitive spot.
The knife’s handle is cool in my palm, and I hold it up to her eyes, watching them dilate with desire and a hint of fear. Slowly, I drag it down her torso, feeling her muscles contract beneath the steel. Her hands clench in the restraints, a soft whimper escaping.
I tug her hair, claiming her lips in a demanding kiss. “Are you ready for the next step, malishka ?”
Carefully, deliberately, I draw the knife across her abdomen. Her skin twitches at the razor-thin line I carve, leaving a faint pink trail in its wake. Goose bumps rise along her arms, and she pulls against the restraints, a vulnerable sound escaping her throat.
“Beautiful.” The word rumbles from my chest as I stroke the flat of the blade along her hipbone, bending to nuzzle the spot where her pulse flutters. “Perfectly beautiful.”
Slowly, I work the knife downward, baring her thighs, her soft gasps music to my ears. It’s a dance, a delicate balance of pleasure and pain, and I lead her expertly, knowing just how far to push.
Using the tip of the knife, I tease her inner thighs, watching her muscles quiver. Her breath quickens, and I know without seeing that her core glistens with need. The knife nicks her skin, drawing a single drop of crimson, and she jerks, a strangled cry ripping from her throat.
“Patience.” I stroke her cheek, gentling her. “Only a little more.”
Fighting for control, she nods, the flush of arousal staining her chest. Eyes closed, she surrenders to the knife’s path down her thigh, teeth biting into her full lower lip. Her body becomes a work of art, graced by the knife’s strokes, and the sight steals my breath.
With a final drag, I drop the knife to the floor. It clatters against the hardwood, forgotten. I press my mouth to her hip, wanting to erase the sting with my tongue. She melts for me, emitting a soft, keening whine. Her hands fidget in the restraints, needing to touch as much as I need to taste.
My tongue traces the path the knife carved, lapping at the thin lines, tasting her. Her hands flex, fingers curling, and I entangle them with mine, fingers locking together.
My mouth wanders, leaving a trail of wet kisses across her stomach, down her quivering abdomen, to her pussy. Her legs part at the lightest touch, a silent plea, and I move between them, worshipping at her core with lips and tongue.
She’s a feast and utterly drenched. I consume her with eager strokes. Her muscles clench around my tongue, and I hold her steady, determined to drive her wild.
Her climax hits suddenly. Her moans echo in the room, shame and inhibition forgotten. Her body shakes as the pleasure crashes over her.
Her climax triggers my own need, a yearning that’s been building since the morning’s argument. The urge to claim, brand, and own this fierce woman is almost unbearable.
My lips continue their assault, mouth moving up her body with intent. She might think I’m the one in control, but every moan and whisper of “please” twists something primal inside me.
“Nikolai...” she gasps as my tongue teases one taut nipple. “Oh, God. Please.”
I lap at her, wanting to brand her with the evidence of my hunger. Her fingers tighten around mine, and she tugs, hungry for more.
“Patience.” I chuckle, dark and rumbling. It’s a struggle to delay my gratification, but this is about her pleasure first. “We’re not done yet, malishka .”
With a deft flick of my wrist, I untie her hands, eager to feel her palms against my skin, those clever fingers dancing over my flesh.
She lunges for me, a wildcat freed, and I capture her wrists again, not ready to relinquish all control. Her nails score my chest as she tries to pull free, a primitive urge to mark me.
“None of that.” My muscles flex, holding her easily. “You’re mine to play with. Remember?”
Her struggles cease. “Yours.”
The victory of that single word sends a spike of lust through me. I release her, drinking in her hurried breaths, the slight tremor of her limbs. She wants, but she waits for my instruction now, that fierce independence yielding to the pleasure I can provide.
“What do you want, malishka ?” I stroke her cheek, our eyes locking. “Tell me. Beg for it.”
The challenge ignites a fire in her eyes, and she retaliates with a boldness that makes my cock twitch.
Sitting up, she grasps my length, squeezing firmly as she looks up through her lashes. “This. Always this, inside me. Your cock is what I crave, Daddy.”
Her words are a lithic sin, punchy and potent. Her fingers glide over my shaft with an expert touch, massaging just the right spots. Her thumb swipes over the head, collecting the bead of liquid that gathers there.
Desire claims my voice as I grind into her hand. “Like that, malishka . Keep talking.”
Sofia smiles, playful and brazen. “I want your cock buried deep. Need it, in fact. Filling me up, stretching me until I can’t take any more.” She strokes and teases, drawing a hungry groan from my throat. “Make me take every inch, Nikolai.”
Each filthy plea is a strike to my control. My malishka breaks me down and makes me needy and raw. I’ve never ached like this, never hungered so fiercely.
“You don’t know what you do to me.” My grip on her tightens, spinning her around.
I gently shove, and she falls back onto the mattress.
My mind is clouded with lust as I position myself between her thighs, nudging her knees apart with my hips. Her slick core glistens, inviting, and I let the head of my cock tease her entrance, making her writhe.
“Nikolai, please.” Her voice is breathless, eager. “I need you now.”
This woman brings me to my knees without even trying. No one has ever affected me so deeply, so completely. She crawls under my skin and makes her home in my heart.
The realization sends a rush of possessiveness through me, and I thrust into her hard, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out, back arching, and her nails dig into my shoulders. Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, the world beyond this room ceases to exist. My malishka wrapped around me in perfect unity.
I begin to move, my rhythm primal, driven by the need to stake my claim. She matches me, her hips rocking to meet each of my thrusts. Her fingers find my hands, lacing our fingers together as she moans my name like a prayer.
“You’re mine,” I growl, kissing her mouth fiercely.
Our tongues dance, mirroring the rhythm of our bodies. She tastes of passion and decadence, a potent aphrodisiac that pushes me closer to the edge. Her inner walls flutter, clenching around me, and I know she’s close.
“Come for Daddy, malishka .” I nip at her earlobe, dragging my teeth down her neck. “Let me feel you shatter.”
Her fingernails bite into my skin, tiny crescents of pain that only fuel my arousal. With each thrust, I graze that sweet spot deep within her, our bodies in perfect sync.
Her climax hits as fast as a lightning strike, and my name tears from her lips. The force of her orgasm sends me over the edge. I plunge into her, deep and fierce, my release exploding through me.
I roar her name while her muscles clench around me, milking every last drop from my body. The force of it steals my breath, leaving me weak and triumphant.
I collapse onto the bed beside her, pulling her into my arms. Our chests heave, sweat-dampened skin sticking together, and I stroke her hair, marveling at our connection.
“You okay?” I brush her damp hair from her forehead, concerned that I pushed her too far.
The silence hits me first. My brain, still hazy from Sofia, takes a moment to process the sudden absence of the alarms. Years of training kick in, and I snap to attention, cursing myself for losing focus.
“Did you hear that?” I pull away from Sofia, my senses heightening as I scan the room.
She nods, her eyes alert despite our recent activities. The quiet feels wrong, heavy with potential threats. In all my years running the organization, I’ve never let my guard down during an active situation. Yet here I am, caught up in Sofia’s orbit, forgetting protocol.
My phone alerts me to a text from Erik.
Perimeter secured. Five hostiles were detained. No casualties.
Relief floods me, but it’s tinged with frustration at my lapse. I’m Nikolai Ivanov. I don’t lose control. I don’t forget my surroundings. I don’t let anything cloud my judgment during an operation.
But Sofia... she makes me forget myself. Makes me reckless. Makes me human.
“Your security team handled it?” Sofia asks, reading the shift in my posture.
“Yes.” I run a hand through my hair, composing myself. “Erik and Dmitri’s teams neutralized the threat.”
The admission costs me something—this acknowledgment that she affects me enough to make me careless. In our world, carelessness gets people killed. Yet here I am, dropping my guard when I should be coordinating our defense.
I glance at her, wondering if she realizes how unprecedented this is. How no one has ever made me forget myself like this. The thought should terrify me, but I find myself drawn closer to her, even as my tactical mind screams about vulnerability and weakness.