5. Ruslan （Damien）
5
RUSLAN (DAMIEN)
Tara is asleep in my arms, her breathing slow and even.
One leg slung over mine, her bare skin warm against my chest, her hair a dark spill over the pillow.
Her scent is everywhere—on my skin, in the sheets, embedded in my lungs.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake, pulse still thumping like a war drum.
I should be thinking of my exit.
My next move.
My mission.
But all I can do is replay the last few hours.
She was fucking radiant tonight.
Sitting at that bar, back straight, legs crossed, lips wrapped around the rim of a wine glass like she owned the place.
Her dress hugged her like a second skin, her curves poured into it like sin made flesh.
I’d seen powerful women, beautiful women.
But Tara Craft walked into that lounge and knocked the air right out of my lungs.
And I hadn’t even touched her yet.
My arm tightens around her without meaning to.
I don’t want her to leave.
The thought of her walking out that door makes something primal rise in my chest—and that is dangerous.
I try to shove it down.
I don’t need this, or the way she’s blindsided me.
Then she stirs.
Rolls onto her side, her ass pressing into my thigh and I turn on my side as she snuggles into me.
I run my hand over her breasts.
She stirs, tries to roll away, but I pull her back, trailing my hand over her stomach, down her thigh and my fingers slide into her pussy still slick and her clit swollen.
Her body arches, reacting even before her mind, and I feel her gasp.
I press my lips to the back of her neck.
She sighs, tilting her hips, her ass nudging my cock.
Her back curves and presses into my chest.
When I circle her nipple with my thumb, her breathing shudders.
She’s waking up, and the way she melts against me, even in that hazy place between sleep and not, fires a deep and primal heat.
“Hello, beautiful,” I whisper against her ear.
Tara’s eyes remain closed, but her lips pull into a sleepy smile.
“Mmm,” she breathes.
“I had dreams about you.” Her body is soft and sleepy in my arms.
She shifts against my thigh, making sure I know exactly how slick she is.
“A blue-eyed devil. Dangerous and with an insatiable appetite.” She exhales, barely a sigh, but I hear the shiver in it.
I chuckle against her skin and wrap an arm tighter around her.
“Is that a complaint?”
Her eyelids flutter, half-lidded but glowing with amusement.
“Oh, not even a little.” She reaches back with one hand, wraps her fingers around my cock, squeezes gently.
“I see he’s fully recovered.”
Her touch finds me urgent and impatient.
My breathing thickens, chest tight with want as her fingers move with intention.
She is skilled and sure, my head spinning from the sensation of being at her mercy.
I clutch her hips, growl, and move her slightly.
Before she takes her next breath, I’m inside her, hard and aching for release.
She gasps, gives in to me with a moan, and the hunger takes over.
Each thrust has her crying out and wanting me deeper.
I pull out of her.
“No!” Tara’s plea is desperate, but my hands guide her onto her hands and knees.
She lowers her torso against the mattress her ass raised as I plunge back into her and she cries out once again at the impact.
I start to thrust, each one driving into her harder, deeper.
Tara’s body moves to meet each one, her body wrapped so perfectly around mine.
She breaks first, shuddering as her pussy clamps around my cock and she cries out.
“Oh, fuck, Damien!”
I’m close behind, almost lost and one last thrust of my cock into her pulsing pussy and I spill my seed deep inside her, a guttural groan ripping from my mouth.
Not wanting to fall on top of her, I pull out, grab her, and turn her around, collapsing us against the bed.
We lie there panting, hearts slamming, limbs tangled, nothing separating us.
I catch my breath and kiss her head.
Her scent, her warmth, her body locked with mine—it stirs something dangerously possessive, and I have to focus on my breathing.
Her pulse calms beneath my palm, and I feel her breathing even out.
Her cheek is against my chest now, damp and flushed.
She makes a contented sound, part exhale, part satisfied sigh.
Then her voice, quiet and sweet, whispers words that jolt me.
“I should go.” She doesn’t move, her cheek still pressed to me, her body tucked in.
“It’s getting late.”
I close my hand over hers, my grip tender but not willing to let go.
“Stay until the morning light breaks through,” I say, a soft command in my tone.
“I’m leaving at noon. I want more time with you.” I know the power this offer holds, and I don’t have to wait long.
She smiles, slow and beautiful, nuzzles against my chest, making herself comfortable.
“More time?” she whispers, thoughtfully.
“I promise, you won’t regret it.” I kiss her neck and move to her lips.
“How can I say no to that?” Tara says, smiling against my lips before pulling back slightly.
“But I need a shower.”
I push myself up, lift her in one swift motion, her bare skin still slick against mine as I carry her to the bathroom.
She laughs, the sound breathless, her hair a wild halo around her face.
I set her down gently, the luxury tile cool beneath her bare feet.
While I go to switch the shower on, Tara finds the toothpaste and starts to rinse her mouth out with it.
I come up behind her.
Tara watches me in the mirror as she rinses.
She’s naked, her eyes sleepy, her limbs relaxed.
I run my hand over her breast.
Tara gasps as I tease her nipple, then trace a line over her stomach, the mirror reflecting the slow path of my fingers.
I press against her, her spine bending as she fits her body to mine.
My hand finds her thigh and moves toward the apex of her legs.
I slide my fingers over the slick skin of her pussy, she lets out a broken sound and braces her palms against the bathroom counter.
“Damien!” Her voice wavers as her hips roll, meeting my touch.
“Oh, God…”
I work her slowly, keeping her on edge, watching her face in the mirror as she pants and clutches the counter, so close and wanting.
Her eyes start to close.
“Don’t close your eyes,” I demand.
“Watch… watch yourself come for me.”
When I stroke her harder, faster, she arches against me, the name she knows me by flying from her lips.
“Damien!”
The sound of it nearly makes me tell her my real one as a powerful need hits me to hear it screamed from her lips as she explodes with pleasure.
I work her throbbing clit holding her against me as her body shudders and the waves of her orgasm die down.
Steam curls between us as the shower heats.
I press her to the tiles, kiss her hard, my mind locked on every part of her.
How her hair clings to her skin, how her spine arches with every sigh and moan.
My grip tightens around her waist, and I’m almost reckless, almost lost in the feel of her wet and wanting.
She pulls back and her hands trace my torso, running around the lines of the dragon tattoo that wraps around me.
I suck in a breath when her lips and tongue follow the invisible line traced by her soft fingertips.
Then she drops to her knees, and my stomach knots in anticipation.
The water hits my shoulders, tracing a path down my chest and I feel none of it as she takes my cock in her hands, teasing, sliding, and circling the small slit.
My knees nearly buckle as her lips surround the head of my dick and her tongue tenderly teases the slit, dipping in to lick the precum.
Her eyes move to capture mine, and they are filled with dark desire as her hands work the shaft and cup my balls, which she expertly massages.
She pulls her mouth away, and it takes everything I have not to cry out in objection.
“My turn to taste you,” she murmurs, then wraps her mouth around my cock.
I lean against the wall, groaning as she moves, the pressure building, a heat so intense I can barely keep my head clear.
I thread my fingers through her hair, the world narrowing until it’s only her—how she feels, how she takes me in with abandon, almost wild.
I shudder and pull back right before I nearly explode in her warm mouth.
I grab her, pull her up, and wrap her legs around my waist.
Water streaming down our faces, I pin her to the tiles, too close to the edge to wait, I slide inside her with a deep, rough groan.
Her body clings to mine and the walls of her pussy massage my hot shaft.
Her eyes fly open, her head tilts back, the sound she makes tearing through the shower as her hips rock, desperate and eager.
I drive into her harder, faster, both of us frantic and nearly breathless, the heat and slickness making my pulse stagger and my chest clench.
Her fingers clutch my back, her body draws me in, and I can’t slow down.
Can’t stop.
“Tara!” Her name leaves my throat as I groan against her neck.
She lets out a soft cry as she shatters.
I’m right behind, a crashing wave, and my mind goes white as I fill her, feeling her break apart and cling to me all at once.
The shower cools as our breathing evens.
I slide her down my body.
An hour later, we are clean, dry, and my pulse still pounds like a war drum as we lie wrapped in each other's arms, totally spent.
The suite is cloaked in the soft hues of early morning, the city lights of Las Vegas casting a muted glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tara lies beside me, her breathing steady, a serene contrast to the turmoil within me as sleep eludes me.
My mind is racing at how horribly my plan for Tara Craft has failed.
I came to Vegas under the pretense of assisting a client entangled in legal troubles. But that was a facade. My true purpose was to uncover the truth about Irina. Overhearing her conversation with Nadia about adopting a child had set off alarms. Adoption? That wasn't part of the mission.
Upon arrival, Konstantin and I discovered that Gavriil had a mistress—a woman he had loved before being compelled to marry Irina.
The pieces started to fit.
If Gavriil was involved with another woman, perhaps he and Irina weren't... intimate. Irina had always harbored dreams of studying in America, and marrying Gavriil was her ticket. But now, it seemed her allegiance was wavering.
The revelation that Gavriil's mistress was also Irina's close friend added another layer of complexity. Was Irina orchestrating an exit strategy, using the mistress as a scapegoat for her failure to produce an heir?
Our meeting was tense. Irina spoke of miscarriages, of trying again. She seemed sincere, but something felt off. I extended her timeline, but a new plan formed in my mind: eliminate the mistress from the equation. Seduce her, make her fall for me, and ensure she stays away from Gavriil.
But fate had other plans.
A woman darted in front of my car, our eyes locking for a brief moment. The impact of that gaze lingered. Later, when Konstantin showed me a photo of Gavriil's mistress, I recognized her immediately, and now I had a name which rolled off my tongue like a caress—Tara Craft.
From the moment we touched, I knew I was in trouble.
This isn't just about strategy anymore. I want her, deeply and inexplicably.
Tara murmurs in her sleep, shifting slightly. I resist the urge to pull her closer, to lose myself in her warmth. Discipline. I must remain disciplined.
I glance at the clock. Nearly 3 AM. Our flight to Moscow is scheduled for noon. But I can't wait that long—I need to leave Vegas as soon as I can to put distance between Tara and me.
I rise quietly, retrieving my phone.
I reschedule my flight for an earlier departure.
Then, I message Konstantin: I'm leaving earlier. Stay behind. Get close to Tara Craft. Keep an eye on Irina, and I need you to look into Irina’s medical records.
His response is swift: Understood. How close should I get to Tara?
A surge of jealousy flares within me. The thought of Konstantin near her is unsettling. But I suppress it.
I message back: Do what's necessary.
Konstantin’s replies: Understood.
I return to the bed, watching Tara sleep.
She looks peaceful, innocent.
I can't blame Gavriil for falling for her. But if I can't have her, neither can he—and I’ll keep her from him no matter what it takes.