Chapter 21
Lev
I crossed a line today.
Shoved Valerie over my desk, pushed my fingers inside her, and made her beg for something I never planned to give her. Watched her run from my office with her thighs slick and trembling, mascara streaking down her face, completely overwhelmed.
It was the most satisfaction I've had in years.
I should feel guilty. Should feel something resembling regret for taking advantage of a girl who's clearly desperate and in over her head.
I don't.
I feel hungry for more. I’m going to have more.
The story she told me—father in debt, family threatened, forced to spy to pay it off—is partially bullshit. I know it is. Can taste the lies underneath the fear. But the core of it? The terror in her eyes when she mentioned her brother? That was real.
She's hiding something. Someone specific sent her. Someone who wants information on me badly enough to threaten a civilian family.
I should dig deeper. Should find out who. Should eliminate the threat and anyone connected to it.
But whoever sends an amateur, na?ve little mouse like Valerie is not worth my time or investigation.
I know I’m not really being logical right now.
But damn, I can’t help it. Because when I think about Valerie—about how she melted into that kiss, about how wet she was when my fingers slid inside her, about the sounds she made when I edged her over and over—logic disappears.
All that's left is need.
Need to touch her again. Taste her. Fuck her properly instead of just tormenting her with what she can't have. Make her understand that whatever trouble she's in, whatever debts she owes, whoever threatened her family—none of it matters anymore.
She's mine now.
And I protect what's mine.
Even if it destroys us both.
Business pulls me away from obsessive thoughts for exactly six hours.
I’m out handling a major arms shipment coming in from overseas. Coordinating with the Colombians on distribution. Dealing with the Armenians who've been circling my territory like vultures, testing boundaries, seeing if I'll push back.
Of course, I'll push back.
It takes several hours to make sure every truck is loaded and heading to the right place. Each truck has at least four of my men escorting it to ensure it reaches its destination.
As I head home, a sense of satisfaction runs through me—clean and simple, the kind that comes from solving problems without violence. But beneath that feeling, hunger returns. I feel it surging back like a damn flood.
This hunger is not for blood. It's for my little mouse.
The house is quiet when I enter. Late enough that Mila should be asleep.
But I hear voices from upstairs. Soft and familiar.
I take the stairs silently, following the sound to Mila's room.
The door is cracked open. Through the gap, I see Valerie sitting on the edge of Mila's bed, book in her lap, reading quietly.
"—and the princess realized that bravery wasn't about not being scared," Valerie's voice is gentle, soothing. "It was about doing the right thing even when you were terrified."
Mila is curled against her side, small body tucked under Valerie's arm, eyes already closing.
The image does something to my chest. Something uncomfortable that I refuse to examine.
Because Mila hasn't trusted anyone like this since Katya died. She hasn't let anyone hold her, braid her hair, or offer comfort without flinching away.
But she trusts Valerie. Curls into her like she's safe. Like the nightmares won't come if Valerie's there. And Valerie—who's terrified of me, who I caught spying, who I shoved over my desk and tormented hours ago—holds my daughter like she's precious. Like she actually cares.
Fuck.
I don't know what to do with that.
Don't know how to reconcile the spy gathering intel with the girl who braids Mila's hair, reads her stories, and makes my daughter smile for the first time in years.
Valerie finishes the chapter and carefully extracts herself from Mila's grip. Tucks the blankets around her. Turns on the nightlight. Moves with practiced ease like she's been doing this forever instead of three weeks.
When she turns toward the door, she sees me and freezes completely, her eyes going wide. She raises her hand to her throat in that nervous gesture I've memorized.
She's really terrified of me.
I step aside to let her pass, and she slips out of Mila's room like a ghost. Starts heading toward her own room, moving fast, trying to escape.
I let her get five steps before I move.
My hand wraps around her wrist, and she gasps, a small sound of shock and fear as I pull her in a different direction.
Toward my study.
"Please—" She tries to pull away. "I need to—I should—"
"Come with me." My grip tightens. "Now."
She doesn't fight. Just follows on trembling legs because what choice does she have?
I pull her into my study and close the door. Lock it with an audible click that makes her flinch.
The room still smells faintly like her—lavender and fear and arousal from this afternoon. The planner is back on my desk, where it belongs. Her torn underwear is gone—I kept it after she left.
She stands in the center of the room, arms wrapped around herself, looking anywhere but at me.
I move to the cabinet and pull out vodka. Pour two glasses. Turn back to find her watching me with those wide brown eyes.
"Drink." I hold one out to her.
"I don't—"
"I don't care. Drink it."
Her hand shakes when she takes the glass. She brings it to her lips, takes a tiny sip, and winces at the burn.
"All of it." My voice is flat. "Now."
She hesitates, then tips the glass back and drains it, coughing as her eyes water.
Good.
I want to throw her off balance. I want her defenses to fall. I want to see what's beneath all that fear.
"Are you still wet from this afternoon?" The question comes out conversational. Like I'm asking about the weather.
Her face flushes red. "W-What?"
"You heard me." I take a drink of my own vodka, savoring the burn. "When I sent you away dripping and desperate. Did you touch yourself after? Or did you follow my order and suffer through it?"
"I—I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me, Valerie." I set my glass down and move toward her. "Not after the day we've had. Not when I can still taste you on my fingers."
She backs up instinctively. Hits the wall. Nowhere left to go.
I cage her in, hands braced on either side of her head, body close enough to feel her heat.
"Answer the question." My voice drops lower. "Are you still wet? Or did you make yourself come thinking about my hands on you?"
"I didn't touch myself." It comes out strangled. "Y-You said not to."
"And you obeyed?" Surprise filters through the hunger. "Good girl."
My hand slides down her side, over her hip, to the hem of her skirt. She tenses but doesn't move away.
"Let me check." My fingers slide under the fabric, up her thigh, and she makes this sound—half protest, half plea.
When I reach the juncture of her thighs, I find exactly what I expected.
No underwear. Still.
And soaking wet.
"Fuck." The word comes out rough. "You've been wet all day, haven't you? Walking around my house, taking care of my daughter, dripping for me."
"I'm not—" But her protest dies when my fingers slide through her wetness. "Oh, men."
"Not men." I press closer, until she can feel exactly how hard I am. "Me. Say my name, Valerie."
"Lev—"
"Again."
"Lev, please—"
"Please what?" My fingers circle her clit, and she gasps. "Please stop? Please continue? Please fuck you properly this time?"
She can't answer. Just stares at me with those eyes that are more pupil than iris, breathing fast, body trembling.
And I see it.
That flash of darkness underneath the fear. That moment where she stops being the terrified mouse and becomes something else.
Something that wants this. Craves it. Would take everything I give her and ask for more.
There you are, viper.
I kiss her.
Not gently. Not asking permission. Just taking what I want.
She melts into it immediately—all that resistance disappearing the second my mouth claims hers. Her hands come up to my chest, and this time she's definitely pulling me closer, not pushing away.
When I break the kiss, we're both breathing hard.
"I need to fuck you." The words come out raw. Honest. "Right fucking now, before I lose my mind."
Fear flickers across her face. But underneath, I see hunger matching my own.
"Okay," she whispers.
That one word destroys my control completely.
I spin her around, press her face-first against the wall. My hands go to her skirt, shoving it up around her waist. She gasps, hands bracing against the wall, and I can see her thighs trembling.
I need a condom. Somewhere in this office I have—
Desk drawer. Left side. I always keep a box there.
I step back just long enough to grab one, and Valerie looks over her shoulder. Eyes wide. Watching me unbuckle my belt with shaking hands.
"Face the wall." My voice is rough and unhinged. "And spread your legs, little mouse."
She obeys. Both commands. Turns back around and shifts her stance wider.
Fucking perfect.
I roll the condom on, position myself behind her, and pause with my cock pressed against her entrance.
"Last chance to tell me to stop." I lean forward, lips against her ear. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping until you're screaming my name."
"D-Don't stop." Her voice is barely audible. "Please don't stop."
I thrust into her in one brutal stroke.
She cries out—loud enough that I clamp my hand over her mouth, swallowing the sound.
"Quiet, Milaya," I murmur against her ear. "Mila's sleeping down the hall. Can't wake her up while I fuck her nanny against my study wall."
She whimpers against my palm, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I don't give her time to adjust. Just start moving—hard, deep, claiming strokes that make her whole body jerk forward with each thrust.
My hand stays over her mouth, catching the moans and cries that keep escaping. My other hand grips her hip hard enough to bruise, holding her in place while I take what's mine.
"Ty tak khorosha," I breathe in Russian. You feel so good. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. Like this pussy was designed to be mine."
She makes a sound against my palm that might be agreement or protest or just incoherent pleasure.
I fuck her harder. Lose myself in the tight heat of her, in the way she keeps trying to push back against me despite the fear, in how her body betrays every lie her mouth tells.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" I lean closer, biting down on the junction of her neck and shoulder. She jerks, and I feel her clench around me. "Wanted me to stop being patient. Stop teasing. Just bend you over and take what's mine."
Her response is muffled but sounds like yes.
"Say it clearly." I remove my hand from her mouth just long enough to hear her.
"Yes!, yes, I wanted this—"
I cover her mouth again before the sound carries. And increase my pace until she's sobbing against my palm, hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase that doesn't exist.
I can feel her getting close—her body tensing, inner muscles fluttering around my cock, breath coming in desperate pants against my hand.
"You want to come?" I slow down just enough to torment her. "Want me to let you finish this time?"
She nods frantically.
"Then come for me." I reach around with my free hand and find her clit. Circle it with just enough pressure to push her over the edge. "Right fucking now. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."
She detonates.
Whole body going rigid, a scream trapped behind my palm, clenching around me so tight I nearly lose it right there.
But I hold on. Keep fucking her through it. Draw out her orgasm until she's shaking and whimpering and completely destroyed.
Then I let myself go.
Pull her hips back hard and bury myself as deep as possible, and the orgasm hits like a freight train. Rips through me with an intensity that makes my vision white out for a second.
"Moya," I growl against her neck. Mine. "Ty moya, Valerie. Fucking mine."
I come so hard I have to brace my other hand against the wall to stay upright.
When it finally subsides, we're both gasping. Shaking. Completely wrecked.
I remove my hand from her mouth carefully, and she sags against the wall like her legs won't hold her.
They won't.
I catch her before she falls. Turn her around and pull her against my chest, holding her while she trembles.
"I've got you." I find myself whispering. “I've got you."
She's crying. Silent tears streaming down her face. I don't know if it's from relief or shame or the overwhelming intensity of what just happened.
Don't care.
I just hold her. Let her shake apart against me while I stroke her hair and murmur things in Russian she probably doesn't understand.
Eventually, her breathing evens out. The shaking subsides.
She pulls back slightly and looks up at me with those wide, vulnerable eyes.
"What happens now?" Her voice is hoarse.
"Now you're mine." I cup her face, thumb brushing away tears. "Whatever trouble you're in—this debt, these threats, whoever's pulling your strings—it doesn't matter anymore."
"Lev—"
"I'll handle it." I cut her off. "You tell me what you need protected, and I'll protect it. But you stay. You're mine now. Understand?"
She nods slowly.
And I choose to believe it.
Choose to believe that she'll stop spying. Stop reporting to whoever sent her. Stop lying to my face.
Because I need to believe it.
Because the alternative—that she'll betray me again, that I'll have to kill her, that I'll lose the first person besides Mila who's made me feel something in five years—that's unbearable.
So I believe her.
Believe that this—her in my arms, her body still trembling from orgasm, her eyes looking at me like maybe I'm not just a monster—is real.
Even though I know better.
Even though every instinct screams that she's still hiding something.
I choose to believe.
Because addiction doesn't care about logic.
And I'm addicted to her now.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
Dangerously.
I kiss her forehead and pull her closer.
"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."