Chapter 4
Ryder
“I don’t know what plan you, your boss, and my father came up with, but I’m not interested.”
“That’s too bad,” Liev Demsky murmurs, his gaze dragging down my torso. Even with a turtleneck on, I feel exposed. I feel my nipples harden against the sports bra I have on. I struggle in annoyance, but his hand only slips back up to my throat, squeezing gently.
Fuck, that makes me wet.
“I didn’t realize you weren’t involved in the negotiations,” he says, his voice neutral and flat. “If you’re willing to talk, I think there are benefits to the arrangement that will be enticing.”
Enticing. The word makes my pulse rocket even harder, and my chest rises and falls quickly. I can’t help panting under his touch, which is ridiculous because it’s just his hand…just five fingers wrapped around my throat.
The rest of Liev Demsky’s massive body is to the side of the bed, feet away from me. I could reach out with one arm and brush his thigh.
That’s when I noticed.
“It looks like you’re more excited than anyone for this business deal,” I sneer. My eyes snap up to his from where I was staring at his very obvious arousal.
Liev shifts, lips pressed together, but he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he has a throbbing hard-on just from wrapping his hand around my throat.
“Marry me,” he murmurs, the words somehow obscene as they slip from his mouth.
“Make me,” I hiss, realizing my mistake too late.
Satisfaction slides across his handsome features, one corner of his mouth lifting. His free hand moves to my slacks, deftly, almost violently popping open the silver clip and button, yanking down the zipper.
My knees come up, but he slaps one thigh and I gasp in surprise, going still. It didn’t hurt, just caught me off guard. Reminded me a little too much of getting spanked and what it would feel like if he used that same quick, stinging hit elsewhere on my body.
The room is in shadow except for the streetlights outside, tinging everything in an amber glow. I can hear myself panting, and it’s embarrassing. Still holding me by the throat, Liev tries to shuck my trousers down, but they get stuck on the curve of my ass. His smirk only widens.
His hand slips beneath my pants, over my feminine but practical black satin panties that he can’t see, but I’m all too aware of. They’re damp already, and I press my thighs together.
Fuck.
All it takes is one gentle brush of the pad of his middle finger over my clit, and my legs fall open for him. He huffs out a deep chuckle, pressing down with two fingers now, drawing a whine out of me that makes my cheeks color in the dark.
“You packed clothes?” he asks.
I frown, brain fuzzy with want and this random question. “What—?”
“You have more clothes in that bag? I’m assuming you’re staying here, not at the Escudeller?”
It sinks in just how serious Liev is about this deal if he tracked down where I was staying. Or at least, the decoy. My gaze burns with annoyance as satisfaction settles in his.
“Good. Then you won’t mind.”
With one sharp yank, he uses the hand that was just playing my pussy like a fiddle and rips my trousers down the seam of the crotch. I cry out in shock, trying to scramble back on the bed, but unable to under his tightening grip.
“Stay.”
“Shef?”
A man’s gruff voice sounds through the window, slightly worried. Annoyance flashes across Liev’s features. “I’m fine. Go.”
A rattle, some other obscure noises; then Liev barks out: “Wait.”
The cool air makes goosebumps appear on my now bare thighs as I stare up at Demsky with surprise. What’s he doing? This is embarrassing; a man has never had me under control this way, unable to move in his grip. Vulnerable. And I like it, which is even worse.
Whoever is outside the window settles in, providing his location in Russian either through a cell phone or some other comm device.
“You’re going to be quiet.”
My eyes snap away from the wall and back to Liev. I open my mouth to tell him exactly what I think about being told to be quiet, but then he sinks two fingers into me.
The sound that comes out of me is strangled. Surprise, pleasure, relief. The last is unexpected. My legs widen as Liev hunches over me, sinking deeper, staring into my eyes as his fingers curl and hit my g-spot.
Hips come up off the bed. Biting down on my lower lip, I hope he can see the hatred burning in my eyes as much as whatever is making him smirk again.
His beard tickles my ear when he leans down and whispers, “Don’t want him to hear you, do you, Ryder? Can’t let them know you like it when I fuck you like this.”
Fingers make a sloppy sound sliding out of me, and then plunging back in.
It’s rough. Not gentle. Not the way you’d touch someone if you want to seduce them. Not the way you’d try to charm them into a surprise marriage. No, this is how you touch someone if you want to claim them.
Every muscle in my body feels taut, tight, and about to snap. A small whine slips out of me as I chase his fingers again. I rock my hips forward to his knuckles when he teases my entrance and chuckles. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart.”
His hand is still at my throat, holding me still as his wrist snaps forward.
He adds a third finger, stretching me in a way that makes my eyes roll back. A moan escapes and Liev hisses, fingers unwrapping from my neck, pressing into my mouth instead. Between my lips.
He tastes like salt. I shouldn’t like it, but my lips wrap around his fingers and suck.
Is this what the rest of him tastes like?
Liev grunts, his fingers pounding into me at a faster, reckless pace, curling and tugging, soothing and pulling something out of me—a stress, a weight I hadn’t known I was feeling until now.
Someone joins the man outside the window. They’re talking in low, casual voices, in Russian again. Can they hear how wet my pussy is as their boss leans back and watches himself use me?
The thought pushes me to the edge. Liev’s eyes meet mine—he sees it, features serious as he prompts, “Go ahead, kotyonok. Let go. Show me what you look like when you lose control.”
His words send me over the edge. The orgasm rips through me, arching my chest off the bed as his hand slams down and presses hard against my clit.
Liev stands over me, braced, pressing my hips to the bed as I grind against him, a flood of pleasure heating my body from my toes to my throat.
The hand over my mouth stifles my cries.
His thumb caresses the very edge of my lips. “Good girl.”
Another thrill of pleasure goes through me, followed quickly by distrust. And anger.
Drunk on desire, I slap his hand away and scramble back on the bed.
“Fuck you,” I grit out.
Liev’s eyes drag over me. He reaches down and squeezes his still-throbbing cock through his pants. Just once. Then his jaw clenches.
“This is what it could be,” he says, businesslike, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. Completely unashamed of his obvious arousal. And for good reason. I can’t help glancing at it, mouthwatering at the sight. Wondering if he’s just as talented with that as he is with his hands.
“And what exactly is ‘it’?” I ask bitterly, stripping off my trousers. No point in being shy now. I pull a pair of track pants out of my bag. “The marriage I was never told about? Never agreed to?”
“Yes.”
It’s the answer a Bratva leader would give. I hesitate, surprised. He’s not going to try to sweet talk me into this, and that’s intriguing.
Liev Demsky is undeniably powerful. Quiet, clean, crisp. Next to his boss, Kazimir, Liev almost looks tame. He’s well-groomed, even now, not a silver hair out of place on his head. Beard perfectly trimmed. Sleeves rolled up, as if getting me off in a safe house is just another day on the job.
It’s ridiculous. Can a man like him really become a Pakhan?
He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.
“Marry me. I don’t expect you to love me. In fact, you’ll likely hate me for the entirety of it.” He steps forward, closing the distance between us. An unsettling shiver goes up my spine.
“I promise you, Ryder, the one thing our marriage won’t lack is pleasure. I’ll be yours to use as you like, and I’ll always make you come.”
A laugh spills out of me. Somehow, despite how perfectly tailored he is, Liev keeps catching me off guard. He’s indecent decadence disguised as a gentleman.
It throws me off more than his hand at my throat did.
I rub at my wrist where he caught me earlier and watch him carefully. He rolls his shoulders once, slowly, working out a kink like the fight cost him something too. Then he meets my eyes without that predatory glint.
He looks level. Peer to peer.
Like he expects me to understand him.
“I didn’t want it done like this,” he says, voice low and even. “Not blind.”
I bark out another humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t snap back. “If it were my daughter, I would never spring a contract on her in a church with half a dozen men behind her.”
My mouth opens, then closes again.
My father’s voice flashes through my head—mi nina, sugary and false, like I’m still six years old and not a grown woman with a degree and a brain he only remembers when he needs something. The memory burns hotter than the fight did.
“You let your daughter marry the Bratva boss of Savannah,” I say, quieter.
“Yes,” he agrees. “But that was her choice. She chose love, and I trust Kazimir to protect her. You and I, we don’t have that choice.”
Something ugly and sharp twists in my chest.
I look away first.
He exhales through his nose and straightens, hands loose at his sides. “This isn’t romance. It’s math.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Love that for me.”
A corner of his mouth almost moves.
“Let me explain the situation to you, since Hinto obviously didn’t,” Liev continues. “If we marry, your father gets territory along the eastern seaboard. Real control, not scraps. Ports he owns, not rents. More leverage. More money.”
Of course that’s what he wants.
Always more.
“And you?” I ask.
“I establish Bratva territory in Miami. A clean pipeline south. Shipping, air, logistics. My own city.”
The way he says it, "my own city," doesn’t sound greedy. It sounds like he’s an awestruck kid, finally getting something he’s been promised but never thought he’d have.
“And what do I get?” I challenge, expecting nothing.
His eyes hold mine, steady, assessing, like he’s weighing how much truth I can handle.
“You go home.”
The words knock the breath out of me.
Home.
Not Savannah. Not this damp safe house. Not being dragged around like luggage while men make decisions over my head.
Miami.
The sound of Spanish drifting through open windows. The skyline I know by heart. Streets lit up at night with happiness and an intoxicating twist of pleasure and danger. A place I would’ve stayed if my father hadn’t needed me.
“You’d take me back?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No qualifiers.
He watches me closely. It’s so quiet it makes my pulse slow instead of spike. It’s unnerving how calm he is, how contained. Like the storm is locked inside his ribs instead of spilling everywhere, as I’m used to with the men in my life.
“With me,” he adds. “But back.”
I hate that it tempts me. I hate that it makes sense.
If I run, they hunt me: the Bratva, but also my father. I don’t know which would be worse. If I refuse, he drags me back anyway. If I marry Liev, at least the board shifts and I’m not stuck under my father’s thumb forever.
This is strategy, not surrender.
“I’ll think about it,” I say carefully.
His gaze softens a fraction, like that’s more than he expected. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the frame. For a second I think he’s going to say something sharp or threatening, something that fits the man who chased me through the city like prey.
Instead, his voice comes out rougher than before.
“You’d be safe with me, Ryder.”
No one has ever promised me that without strings.
Then Liev Demsky steps out into the night and leaves me alone with the echo of it.