Chapter Eight
Nikolai
I don’t know what infuriates me more about this woman—her inability to stop snooping around where she shouldn’t and getting everyone in danger, or her level of attractiveness.
There’s something about being alone with her in her apartment that makes my balls ache.
Everything about her is making your balls ache, dolboyob.
She’s wearing a cardigan and a V-neck top underneath that gapes a little as she leans forward to inspect the computer.
Obviously she isn’t doing that now—she’s staring at me with shock written all across her features—but I took the pleasure of checking her out before I got caught, admiring the softness of her neck and the outline of her breasts.
I’m jealous of the man I was two weeks ago, getting to see one of them.
That’s enough drooling, pridurok.
Head in the game.
Lauren snaps out of her shock. She jumps off the couch and walks around to face me, arms folded over her chest like I haven’t seen what’s underneath that cardigan already.
“What the fuck is your problem? And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”
I can’t help but be impressed. There aren’t many people who have the balls to talk to me like that.
Most people cower when they see me, stumble over their words, or try to disappear into the background.
But not Lauren. She stands in front of me with her chin up, fire in her eyes, demanding answers like she has every right to demand them.
It’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Probably both.
“My problem is that you won’t stop doing what I told you to stop doing. And I can get in anywhere I want.”
Her eyes continue searching mine, like the answer I provided isn’t enough for her.
I find myself wondering if she even knows about the things her father is involved in.
Maybe she is innocent after all. Maybe we’re even on the same side, except she doesn’t know it yet.
I’d like that. But I can’t simply ignore the fact that she’s bringing danger to my backyard with her impulsive behavior and irresponsible digging.
She would’ve stopped by now if she understood the full extent of the powers she’s playing with.
But I fear her head’s too far into the game to care. She’s too stubborn. Too reckless. I’m sure she gets what she wants in life because of these qualities, but enough is enough. She needs to pack it the fuck in.
“What if I don’t stop?” she says, hitching her arms even further up her chest. She turns her head, cheek glowing in the warm lighting. She has beautiful skin.
“Then I will make you.”
She’s angry, and she doesn’t do a very good job at hiding it. Her cheeks redden, and her jaw tenses so much that her chin sticks out more than normal. Yet somehow, I sense that a part of her is enjoying this little game we’re playing.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do and what not to do.” She closes the gap between us and gets up in my face, reaching on tip-toes to try and square her eyes with mine. “You think I don’t see what’s happening?”
“What’s happening?”
“Everyone is out here treating me like a child. Too weak, thinking I’m an idiot because I’m just a woman.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and then points a finger right at my face. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to find out who killed my mother and you’re not going to stop me.”
Blyad.
She’s really not backing out of this.
I exhale slowly and straighten my back. “You’re looking for answers that will only lead to more questions.”
“Then I’ll keep asking until there are no more questions.”
I waggle my eyebrows. Jesus. I would love to see her go up against Aslanov. Except, no, I wouldn’t. There’s a part of me that would hate to see her dead on the floor. She wouldn’t be much of a looker then.
“Why was Timur at my mother’s murder scene? My father said he was there.”
“Your father, huh?”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“How well do you know my father?” She ignores my question.
I narrow my eyes. This conversation isn’t going anywhere. She won’t leave this alone, and frankly, I’m getting tired of it. If I’m answering one question tonight, it’s the one about Timur.
Time to change my strategy.
“Timur was ordered to oversee a deal between your father and one of our allies. Little did we know, your father brought some friends.”
“Friends? How does that prove Timur’s innocence? That doesn’t explain anything about how my mom died!”
“And Timur’s presence at your mother’s murder scene is enough for you to assume he’s guilty?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. Her shoulders sag, like she’s finally backing down. But then, she lifts her head again and takes a moment to ponder, head veering to the side. Her dark eyebrows knit together as she thinks. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she’s not satisfied with my answer.
But as infuriating as she is, her stubbornness is also entertaining.
Even though it shouldn’t be. If this was anybody else, I would be pissed off, but with Lauren, I find myself drawn to her more and more every day.
Which is fucking unusual. It’s as though there’s some kind of magnetic pull sticking us together.
Partly, that has to do with me stalking her like a fucking creep, but every time we’re face to face, there’s this unspoken energy between us that feels hotter than a wildfire.
There’s something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I have met a lot of women in my life, probably more than the average man, but no female has drawn me in like this before.
Maybe it’s because she’s not made a move.
Maybe I’m enthralled because she hates me.
Because she’s not throwing herself on me like all of the others.
I drop my gaze and look at her chest. It rises and falls quickly, the soft outline of her breasts heaving under the V neck shirt.
Blyad, the things I could do to this woman.
She stares up at me with suspicious eyes. “I don’t trust you. And you don’t get to decide what I do.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.”
My lip twitches. That’s it. I’m done with this nonsense. “Guess I’ll have to change your mind.” I grab her wrist and back her into the wall behind her. She gasps, but she doesn’t order me to stop. Any minute now, I expect her to twist and try to fight her way out of my grasp.
And yet, she doesn’t.
All she does is stare up at me with pissed-off eyes.
And it’s not doing any favors for my cock.
“You don’t get to decide what I do, either,” I growl.
As pakhan, I could simply have her ‘silenced’ and the problem would be dealt with. Yet, here I am entertaining her, wasting precious time when I could be doing some digging of my own, trying to get ahead of Aslanov before he makes his next move.
Lauren tilts her chin and it only adds to her appeal.
Blyad.
She’s becoming a serious problem for my cock.
She feels it too-I know it. Sexual tension only exists when both parties sense the energy. Her eyes give her away. Her pupils dilate, and the look inside of them becomes something else. Moments ago, they were simply pissed, and they still are. But now, there’s something beyond that.
She sustains eye contact. It’s like she’s challenging me. Like she’s waiting for me to make the next move.
So, I do.
I flip the script again and I kiss her. Hard.
Before my mind can catch up to me and register this as a big fucking mistake, she moans. Melts into me. Like she’s been waiting for this.
Bozhe moy, she feels like fucking heaven.
Our mouths collide in one hot, desperate mess, tongues battling with one another’s for dominance, because by nature, it appears we’re both hungry for control.
I press her harder into the wall.
She responds by kissing me even harder.
My cock and balls twitching, I thrust my hips into hers. It’s like we’re fighting a battle. Her lust against mine.
I still half-expect her to break the kiss and tell me to get the fuck out of her flat.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she slides a hand up to my chest, fisting my shirt collar until I’m discarding the garment and tossing it out into her living area. She pulls me closer instead of pushing me away.
Holy fuck, this is happening.
A moan ripples out of her mouth. I dig my fingers into her waist and press her against me, letting her feel how hard I am for her. This elicits a surprised, throaty gasp from her mouth.
“The couch. Now,” I order.
Once again, I expect her to back out, to tell me to go home and jerk off in the shower, but when I walk her backwards over to the couch, she still doesn’t resist. She urges us on.
We collapse on the couch together, and I come up over her to admire her. She still has her clothes on and already, I’m at full mast.
Her chest heaves.
We pause for a moment.
Slowly, reality starts to hit. “This is a bad idea,” she says.
“The worst.”
Finally something we agree on.
She takes one look at my bare chest and then lunges forward, bringing me in for another heated kiss that results in me tearing off her clothes.
Before I know it, she is bare in front of me and I have to muster up some self-control to admire her body for a moment without touching her.
Jesus, she’s a fucking vision.
Her full, round breasts heave in time with her erratic breathing, pink nipples—the same pink nipples I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of at Timur’s wedding—pebbled hard from arousal.
I gently squeeze them, teasing myself by watching the way they contort in my palms. Then, my hands travel south and part her legs to admire her pussy for the first time.
Bozhe moy.
Krasivaya zhenshchina.
Her folds are the same pretty pink as her nipples.
I stroke a finger up her center and she releases the most angelic moan I’ve heard in my entire fucking life.
She’s soaking.
“Fuck me,” she says through ragged breaths. “Get inside of me. Now.”
Your wish is my command.