Chapter 4 Anton #2
I leave her there and move to the kitchen.
I am not a man who cooks, but I can assemble.
I take out cheese, cured meats, bread, olives.
I pour two glasses of a deep, dark red wine.
I am a predator, da, but I know the value of a well-set trap.
You do not chase down a frightened doe. You let her come to you.
I bring the tray to the low table in front of the fire. She’s still standing where I left her, looking like a ghost in my stark, modern world.
"Sit, Talia." My voice is soft, a command wrapped in velvet.
She obeys. She sinks into the sofa, her legs tucking under her. I hand her a glass of wine. Her fingers brush mine, and she recoils as if burned.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and the muffled shriek of the wind. She’s nibbling on a piece of bread, her eyes on the fire.
"Last night," I say, breaking the quiet.
She freezes, the bread halfway to her mouth.
"You said no."
She lowers her hand. "I did."
"Why?"
She looks at me, and her eyes are... I’ve never seen anything like them.
So old, so tired, and so achingly young.
"Why do you think?" she asks, her voice brittle.
"You're... you. You're Anton Ismailov. You own this building.
You own... everything. I'm... me. I'm a temp with a broken boot and two classes left for a degree I'll never finish. "
"You'll finish it," I say.
"That's not the point. The point is, men like you don't... see women like me.
Not really. We're disposable. You wanted to.
.. to play. To... what, get off on a poor, stupid girl?
And then what? You fire me today? You send me away with a.
.. a bonus?" Her eyes flick to her purse, where I know the envelope I gave her is tucked away.
"I can't be... disposable, Anton. It's the one thing I can't be. I've been disposable my entire life."
The confession hangs in the air, raw and bleeding. This is the truth, the one she's been hiding behind her pride. She's not afraid of me. She's afraid of being abandoned by me.
I put my glass down. I move from the chair to the sofa, sitting beside her. She tenses, but doesn't move away.
"I told you last night," I say, my voice low, "that I am no boy. I do not play games. And I warned you that the next time, I would not be so generous."
"I remember," she whispers, her gaze fixed on the fire.
"I lied."
Her head snaps toward me. "What?"
"I lied. I will be generous." I reach out, my hand going to her jaw, my thumb stroking the soft skin. "I will give you everything. But you are right about one thing. Men like me... we don't see women like you. But I do. And now that I have, I will not let you go."
"Anton..."
"And you are not disposable. You are... moya. Mine." I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "You think I will throw you away. But what if I told you I will never let you go? What if I told you that once I have you, you are mine... forever?"
She's shaking, her breath coming in shallow little puffs. "You can't... you can't promise that."
"I can." I trace the shell of her ear with my nose, inhaling her scent. "But I want you to be sure. I want you to say yes, Talia. I want you to ask me."
"Ask you... for what?"
"To finish what we started."
I pull back. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, her lips parted and wet. The fear is still there, but now... now it’s laced with a desperate, climbing desire.
"But... I... I don't know how," she whispers, the admission so quiet I almost miss it.
My blood freezes, then boils. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... I... I've never..." She ducks her head, a deep crimson flush staining her cheeks. "With... with anyone. Not... all the way."
A virgin.
She's a virgin.
The word explodes in my mind. A fucking virgin. In this city. In my building. This... this pure, untouched, terrified creature.
The possessiveness I felt before is a flickering candle compared to the supernova that erupts in my chest. She isn't just mine. She will be remade by me. Her first. Her only.
My hand, still on her jaw, tightens. My voice is a guttural rasp. "Look at me."
She does. Her eyes are swimming with tears of humiliation.
"Do not ever be ashamed of that," I command. "Do not be ashamed that you saved something so... precious. That you waited... for me."
"I wasn't waiting for..."
"Yes, you were," I cut her off. "You just didn't know it."
I stand, pulling her up with me. She's unsteady. "Anton, what are you...?"
"I am taking you to my bed," I say simply. "You are going to take a hot shower. You are going to put on my shirt. And then I am going to worship you. I am going to be your first. And I am going to be your last. And you are going to say yes."
I don't wait for an answer. I lift her into my arms. She gasps, her arms flying around my neck, a reflex. She weighs nothing.
I carry her through the penthouse, up the glass staircase to the mezzanine, to my bedroom. The storm is louder here, the wind a primal scream against the glass walls. But the room is a sanctuary. A massive bed, a fireplace, and nothing but the storm and the city below.
I set her down in the bathroom, which is bigger than her apartment. "Shower," I command, my voice softer. "The water is hot. Use anything you find. There is a robe on the hook. I will be waiting."
I leave her, closing the door. I strip off my own clothes, my hands shaking. I, who have faced down guns and the Bratva council, am shaking. Because of a girl.
I pull on a pair of soft, grey sweatpants, leaving my chest bare. I light the fireplace in the bedroom. I turn down the lights, leaving only the fire and the raging, white storm outside.
I wait.
It feels like an eternity. I hear the water shut off. The door opens.
She stands in the doorway, a small, trembling figure swallowed by my black cashmere robe. Her hair is damp, dark curls clinging to her face. Her skin is flushed from the heat. She’s scrubbed her face clean of makeup. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
"Talia," I breathe.
She walks toward me, her feet silent on the thick rug. She stops just out of reach. "I'm... I'm still scared."
"Good," I murmur. "So am I."
I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. I kiss her. Not like last night, not a claim, but a question. It’s soft, tentative. I'm tasting her, tasting her surrender.
She kisses me back. Her hands come up to tangle in my hair, her mouth opening under mine. She's an innocent, but she's not passive. She's fire, and she's been starving for oxygen.
I break the kiss, my forehead resting against hers. "Say it."
"Yes," she whispers, a broken, beautiful sound. "Anton, yes."
It’s all I need.
I lift her again, carrying her the last few feet to the bed, laying her down on the cool, high-thread-count sheets. I part the robe. She’s wearing nothing underneath.
My breath hitches. Her body is... perfect. Soft curves, luminous brown skin that looks like silk, a triangle of dark curls.
"You are a goddess," I whisper, my voice thick.
I start at her feet. I kiss her ankle, the back of her knee, the inside of her thigh. She gasps, her hands fisting in the sheets. I'm going to learn every inch of her. I'm going to brand her with my mouth.
I move up, my tongue tracing the dip of her hip bone. "So beautiful."
I'm between her legs now. She's trying to close them, a reflex of modesty.
"No, malen'kaya," I murmur, pressing them open. "Let me see you. I want to watch you."
I cover her with my mouth.
She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound of pure shock. She's so sweet, so untouched. She’s already wet, but it’s the slick of innocence, not the practiced arousal I’m used to. I'm gentle, my tongue just flicking at her clit, tasting her.
"Anton... oh God... what... what are you...?"
"I'm tasting you," I murmur against her. "I'm learning you. You are mine, and I will know every part of you."
I'm not gentle for long. I hold her hips, pinning her, and I take her, my tongue and lips working with a practiced skill that is at war with the raw, primal need to just... devour her.
She comes apart in minutes, a wild, bucking orgasm that makes her cry out my name.
I don't stop. I'm lapping at her, drinking her, taking her down from the peak and pulling her right back up. I want her wrecked. I want her to know, without a doubt, what pleasure is. And that only I can give it to her.
When she's a sobbing, shaking mess, I move up, kissing her belly, her breasts. I take a dark, dusky nipple into my mouth and suck hard. She cries out again, a different note this time.
"Please... Anton... please..."
"Please what, moya? What do you want?"
"You. I want... I don't know..."
"You want me inside you," I say, the words a rough growl. I position myself over her. I'm hard, aching, my cock pressing against her wet, sensitive entrance. "This is going to hurt, Talia. Just for a moment. But I need you to look at me. Do not close your eyes. I want to be the only thing you see."
Her eyes lock on mine, wide and trusting.
I push.
She's so... tight. It's like nothing I've ever felt. I meet the barrier, the proof of her innocence.
"Stay with me," I whisper.
I thrust, one sharp, deliberate movement.
She screams. Her back arches off the bed, her nails digging into my shoulders. A sharp, burning pain flashes in her eyes, followed by tears.
"Shh, shh," I murmur, not moving. I hold myself perfectly still, buried to the hilt inside her. I kiss her, tasting her tears. "It's done. It's over. The pain is gone, malen'kaya. It's just us now."
I stay still for a full minute, letting her body acclimate to mine, letting her feel me, all of me, stretching her, filling her.
Her breathing slowly calms. Her legs, which were tensed, relax, wrapping around my waist.
"Anton?" she whispers.
"I'm here."
I pull back, just an inch, and push in again. Slowly.
Her eyes flutter. A tiny gasp. Not of pain.
I do it again. Deeper.
"Oh..."
"Da," I whisper. "Like that."
I begin to move. A slow, deep, hypnotic rhythm. I'm teaching her, teaching her body to take mine, to love it. I watch her face. I watch the pain fade, replaced by a dazed, building pleasure.
This is it. This is the moment I'll own forever. Not just her body, but her first.
Her hips start to move, a timid tilt upward, meeting my thrusts.
"That's it, good girl," I praise her, my voice rough. "Take me. Take all of me."
I speed up the rhythm. The bed is groaning. The storm is raging. But the only thing in the universe is her face, her sounds, the feel of her, tight and hot, milking me.
"I'm... I'm close..." she gasps, her eyes rolling back.
"Not without me," I growl. I reach down, my thumb finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive. I press down, hard, at the exact same time I thrust deep.
Her orgasm is a detonation. She screams my name like a prayer, her body clamping down on me, trying to pull me deeper, to take everything I have.
That's all it takes.
Her, screaming my name, her innocence shattered, her body branded by my touch.
I roar, a primal sound that is lost to the storm, and I empty myself into her, my release a hot, violent flood. I'm claiming her, filling her, marking her as mine.
I collapse on top of her, my lungs burning, my heart hammering. I don't pull out. I'll never pull out of her.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight against my sweat-slicked chest, burying my face in her damp hair.
She's crying. Soft, exhausted sobs.
"Shh," I murmur. "It's okay. You're okay."
"That... that was..." she can't finish.
"That was," I agree, "just the beginning."
I hold her, listening to the storm, her small, warm body curled against mine, my cock still buried deep inside her.
She said no.
She was wrong.
She just didn't know the right question.
And now, she's mine. Christmas Eve. This holiday I’ve always hated. It just became my favorite day of the year. Because today, I didn't just get a present.
I claimed my future.