Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
KIRILL
Evelina stands by my desk, her gaze wide and startled, and for a moment neither of us moves.
“What are you doing in my office?” I repeat. Because she sure as fuck shouldn’t be in here.
My first thought is that something’s wrong. That she came looking for me because she’s in trouble, or scared, or needs help. But the defiant tilt of her chin and the anger simmering in her eyes tell me that’s not it at all.
She squares her shoulders like she’s gearing up for a fight. The notepad crumples in her grip. “Why do you think I’m here, Kirill?”
I shake my head, scanning my office, but nothing is out of place. The laptop’s closed. The files are where I left them. No cameras in here. Privacy is what we sell, and my office is the one place in this entire building where I don’t have to worry about being watched. “I have no idea, Evelina.”
I take a step into the room, then another until I’m almost flush against her.
“I’m leaving you a note, obviously. A letter of resignation.” She holds up the notepad like it’s significant even though she hasn’t written a thing on it.
I burst out laughing. “You’re resigning? You begged me for this job, remember. You’ve worked, what, a few shifts? And you’ve decided it’s not for you?”
A flush creeps up her neck, as her nostrils flare.
She drops the notepad on the desk, her movements sharp with frustration. “Maybe I decided working for an asshole wasn’t worth the paycheck.”
Guilt hits me square in the chest. I’ve been gone for a few days, dealing with the Red Hook disaster. I went radio silent after I killed a man for her, then drove her home without a word, practically kicking her out of the car.
I am a fucking asshole, but she makes me feel out of control. I have the weight of the world on my back. The pressure to prove to my father that I’m capable of leading this family. And yet I nearly started a war with the Italians because some drunk prick touched her.
She’s a complication I can’t afford. A distraction that could cost me everything. And I still can’t fucking stay away.
“Don’t quit because of me.” The words sound like a demand, an order. It makes me sound like exactly the kind of asshole she thinks I am.
“Pretty full of yourself to think this is about you,” she seethes. The air between us crackles with tension. She’s breathing hard, color high in her cheeks.
I close the remaining distance until I’m crowding her back against the wall and she stops me with a hand to my chest. “Listen, I get it. I’m an employee and what happened at Apollon complicated things. I’ll step back from the job and?—”
“Would you shut up?” I grit out, fisting my hand in her hair and dragging her mouth to mine.
She makes a sound between a gasp and a moan, and it goes straight to my cock. She bites my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and I release her hair to grip her ass and haul her against me.
Fuck staying away from her. I tried that, and it turns out I don’t like it.
“You think you can just quit?” I break the kiss long enough to snarl the words against her mouth. “Walk away from me?”
“I can do whatever I want,” she spits back, but her hands tear at my shirt, nails scraping down my chest. When she gets my belt buckle open and frees my cock, stroking me hard, I nearly lose my mind.
“Oh, really?” I grip her hips and lift her onto the edge of my desk. My other hand sweeps across the surface in one savage motion, sending papers and pens and whatever else was on it crashing to the floor.
I spin her around and bend her forward over the wood. Her palms slap down to catch herself as I shove her dress up to her waist and tear the black lace panties off her hips, baring the generous swell of her ass to me.
My palm cracks down on her, hard enough to make her gasp. She whips her head around, dark hair spilling across her shoulder, and glares at me. “What was that for?”
“That’s for how fucking obsessed I am with you.” Another spank. “How deep you’ve gotten under my skin.” Another. “How much I need to fuck you right now.”
She’s panting, her back arched, her skin red from my hand, and when I slide my fingers through her pussy, she’s drenched. Instead of pulling away she rocks back against me, lifting higher like an invitation. Like she wants this just as badly as I do.
I free my cock and line up with her opening.
The rational part of my brain that’s kept me alive this long forces me to pause, to drag in a breath and ask, “Should I get a condom?” I’ve never fucked anyone bare.
Never trusted anyone enough. But the idea of something between us is an insult when I want to feel every inch of the woman I’m claiming.
“N-no.” Her voice trembles but certainty runs underneath it. “I’m on the pill. And you’re the first person I’ve been with in over a year.”
Possessive satisfaction floods my chest. That’s all the encouragement I need. I slam into her with zero finesse, zero patience, just need and want and days of pent-up frustration.
She cries out and I can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure but I don’t slow down to find out. She’s velvet heat wrapped around me, slick and perfect, so tight I grit my teeth against the urge to come immediately.
She’s gorgeous bent over my desk, taking everything I give her.
When she glances back at me over her shoulder, our eyes lock, and everything tilts.
This is beyond lust or possession. This is a feeling that’s far more dangerous.
The kind that settles into my bones and refuses to let go.
She’s not just someone I’m fucking. She’s mine in a way I don’t understand but can’t deny.
“This is what you do to me,” I grit out, one hand splayed across her shoulder blade, pinning her down. “Make me so fucking crazy I can’t think straight. Can’t focus. Can’t do my goddamn job because you’re all I can think about.”
I pull her upright, one hand around her throat, the other sliding down to her clit. I work the swollen bud with my fingers, circling it, stroking it, feeling her slick and sensitive against my touch.
Every time I touch her there, she clenches around my cock, and something primal roars through me at the realization she owns me just as completely as I own her.
“Have you learned your lesson?” I croak. “Do you understand now that you’re mine and you’re not going anywhere?”
When she nods, the tension coiled inside me unravels, and I bend her forward again, sinking deeper, my pace turning savage.
The sound of us fucking fills the office, wet and obscene and perfect. It feeds the dark thing in me that wants to claim her so thoroughly she’ll never think about leaving again.
Our eyes meet when she turns her head, and something breaks open inside me. She’s burrowed into my head, under every defense I’ve built. She’s not just a distraction anymore. She’s a need. And that terrifies me because needing anyone in this world makes you vulnerable.
Her walls flutter around me, her whole body pulling taut as the orgasm hits. I drink in every gasp, every tremor, every moment of her losing control. Her mouth falls open, the flush racing down her throat as she surrenders completely to the pleasure I’m giving her.
For one moment nothing else exists. Not the Ghost, not the deal with my father, not the clock ticking down. Just her.
DINARA
The orgasm slams into me without warning, stealing my breath and every coherent thought. My body locks around him, pulsing and clenching, and my own cry sounds distant, like someone else is making those desperate, broken sounds.
He doesn’t give me a second to recover. His fingers keep working my clit, his cock driving into me, and the pleasure doesn’t stop. It builds again, sharper this time, almost too much.
“One more,” he growls. “Give me one more.”
I don’t think I can, but he proves me wrong. The second orgasm hits while I’m riding the first, doubling the intensity until I’m sobbing his name into the desk, completely wrecked.
Only then does he let himself go. His thrusts turn wild, uncontrolled, before he’s coming deep inside me with a sound that’s almost savage.
The heat of him spilling into me registers in the back of my mind. The intimacy of it, the fact nothing separated us, that he’s buried deep while he pulses and empties himself.
We stay frozen, both of us breathing hard, his weight pinning me to the desk in a way that should feel suffocating but doesn’t.
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, surprisingly gentle, then pulls out carefully.
The loss of him makes me shiver. My legs feel like Jell-O and when I try to push myself upright, I wobble.
Kirill catches me, steadying me at the waist. “I’ve got you.”
I think he means it in more ways than one.
Now that the haze of lust is fading, panic edges in. When he told me, “You’re mine and you’re not going anywhere,” I agreed for some reason I can’t explain.
Part of it was because he caught me red-handed in his office, and if I didn’t go on the offensive, spinning some bullshit story about a resignation letter, it would lead to questions. Questions he had every right to ask.
Except it wasn’t all bullshit. My anger was real. The hurt festering under my skin for days of radio silence was real. And what happened on his desk was real in a way that has nothing to do with my cover identity or my mission or any of the lies I’ve been telling since I got here.
I want him. I’ve wanted him from the beginning, and using that desire to distract him doesn’t make it any less true.
Now the lingering heat of his hands on my skin is all there is, my body humming with satisfaction as I tug my dress down over my quaking thighs.
“You good?” he asks, the gentleness in his voice a contrast to the way he just used my body.
I look up at him. “I’m good, but I have to get back to work. Oksana’s covering my tables.”
He catches my wrist before I make it two steps.
“I’m driving you home tonight. Meet me out back after your shift,” he demands, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist where my pulse races.
The smart move would be to say no, to put distance between us before this gets more complicated than it already is. But saying no means answering questions about why I was in his office, and I’m not ready for that conversation. Besides, this is not a man who takes no for an answer.
“Okay.”
He releases my wrist and I slip out the door, my mind spinning.
What if he’s already replaying the conversation, picking apart my story, realizing that nothing about it made sense? What if he checks his laptop logs and sees something off? I deleted the admin account I created, but I always double-check my work. I was in a rush, and rushing makes people sloppy.
As I head toward the main floor, I tamp down my messy hair, praying my makeup’s not too smudged and I don’t look as thoroughly destroyed as I feel.
When I reach the main floor, the shift is in full swing, everyone hustling, which makes it easier to slip back into the job without anyone paying me much attention.
Oksana spots me and her shoulders drop with relief. “Oh thank God, I thought you got kidnapped by those VIP assholes.”
“They were pretty demanding,” I say, sliding back into server mode as if I’m not leaking Kirill’s cum. “I’m so sorry it took so long.”
“Stop. It’s my fault for sending you.” She’s focused on pouring a round of drinks, but when she does look up, her brow furrows. “Are you okay? You look really flushed.”
“I’m totally fine,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “Just need some water and I’ll be good.”
She doesn’t look convinced but the bar’s too busy for her to press. “Okay, but let me know if you need to tap out early.”
I grab my tray and throw myself back into work, taking orders, running drinks, doing everything I’m supposed to do. But I can’t help but think about what happens after my shift. Kirill will be waiting for me. Whatever we started in his office isn’t over.
And I really, really hope he doesn’t suspect what I was actually doing up there.