Chapter 6 Anton #2
"Is it? Do you know what that kiss does?
It keeps you safe. It tells every man on this floor that you are the Pakhan's woman.
That looking at you the wrong way costs them a hand.
That smiling at you costs them their teeth.
" I lean in, my voice dropping to a growl.
"It means I don't have to take some idiot to the roof and dangle him over the edge for touching your fucking elbow. "
"You... you wouldn't."
"I absolutely would. I would kill for you, Talia. Do you understand me? I will kill for you. I will kill to keep you."
"This is... this is too much, Anton," she whispers, the fight draining out of her, replaced by the fear I hate. "I'm not... I'm not ready for this."
"Too. Fucking. Late." I kiss her, hard, stealing her protest. "I told you. From the beginning. There is no going back. There is only me."
I let her go. She's trembling. "Now," I say, my voice all business again. "Come here. I need to discuss some other important matters with you."
"What matters?"
"My schedule. My... needs." I walk to my desk. She follows, hesitant. She's still miffed, I can see it. Her arms are crossed, but she's here.
I sit on the edge of my desk and pull her between my legs. "Don't fight me, Talia," I say, sliding my hands under her blouse, finding her warm, bare skin.
"I'm not," she whispers, but it's a lie.
"I lost it." My forehead kisses hers, hiding my eyes. She's my weakness, but she doesn't know it. "You looked down... looked away... and I thought... You looked ashamed."
Her head snaps back. "Ashamed?"
"Of me. Of this."
“No.” The denial is instant, vehement, almost violent in the way it leaves her. “God, Anton, no. Not ashamed. Never.”
“Then what?”
“Scared.” Her voice thins, her throat working around the word like she hates admitting it. “Terrified. I was… I was trying to hide. I was trying not to be ‘that girl.’ The temp who… you know.”
“You are my girl,” I growl, and I kiss her—not to shut her up, but to steady the fury rising in my chest at the idea she’d even consider cheapening herself like that. “That is all that matters.”
She shakes her head, breath ragged, eyes refusing to stay still on me. “You say that like it’s simple. Like you brand women with your mouth in front of an office full of people every day. Like you… like you do this all the time.”
I bark out a quiet laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Never.”
She flinches at the force of it, but I don’t back off. “Listen to me. I have never—never—been raw with anyone. I’ve never wanted to. Never felt this…” I drag a hand down her spine, feeling the shiver roll through her. “…this lack of control. This… crack in my armor.”
“Anton…” Her voice softens, but she looks skeptical, the kind of skepticism born from a life of being overlooked or underestimated. I recognize the shape of that doubt immediately.
“You think this is routine?” I lift her chin so she has nowhere to look except directly into me.
“You think I waste time kissing women in elevators or hauling them into my office because I can’t breathe right unless they’re near me?
” I shake my head slowly, each word tight.
“You think I let anyone see me lose my temper, my restraint, my fucking mind?”
She swallows. “I just don’t understand why me.”
I feel something hot and dangerous curl low in my chest. “Because of who you are,” I say, the words scraped from a place I don’t usually let anyone touch.
“Not just your face—though, malyshka, your beauty could start wars. And not just your body—though I’m half feral for it.
” I lean closer, my forehead brushing hers, my breath mingling with hers.
“You. All of you. The way you think. The way you don’t fold.
The way you looked me in the eye that first day with your broken boot and refused to let me intimidate you. ”
Her lips part, but I continue before she can twist it into something small.
“You doubt yourself,” I murmur. “I see it. You think this is some crush, some obsession with your looks, some temporary fixation.”
She doesn't deny it.
I huff a low breath, annoyed that she can't see her own worth.
“Do you honestly believe any other woman would have refused what I offered you? Any woman in this building? Any woman in this city?” My voice drops into something dark and certain.
“I would have given you anything you asked for. Money. A penthouse. A car. A contract. A kingdom.”
Her brow pulls together, confusion flickering through the doubt. “I didn’t want any of that.”
“That,” I say, thumb brushing her lower lip, “means a fucking lot.”
Her breath catches, her fingers curling lightly into my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
“And then,” I continue, my voice roughening at the memory, “you refused even a meal. Not out of pride. Out of consideration for other people.” I shake my head, a humorless smile pulling at my mouth.
“You were worried about what my staff would think. About how they’d be treated.
You put their comfort above the perks you could have gotten from my name. ”
Her eyes widen, softening with the kind of vulnerability she tries so hard to hide.
“You’re a fucking angel,” I say, my tone low and reverent even as I keep it sharp. “Too good for me.”
“Anton…”
“But I’m keeping you anyway,” I finish, sliding my hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until her breath syncs with mine. “Because you’re mine. Because you’re the first person who saw me—not the money, not the power, not the name. Me.”
Her gaze wavers, the fight leaking out of her in a warm, aching rush.
“And that,” I murmur, brushing my lips against hers, “is something I don’t let go.”
Her body melts. The last of the fight goes, replaced by the fire. "I'm just not sure if I can do this," she whispers against my lips.
"Yes, you can." I kiss her.
"You're a... a possessive, arrogant..." I kiss her again, deeper, my tongue sweeping past her teeth.
"...bastard," she finishes with a groan.
"Da." This is the surrender. Not the fight. This. My anger bleeds out, replaced by the familiar, hot, driving need for her. It's all I've felt for three days.
I lift her. She gasps as I settle her on the edge of my desk, her body displacing my keyboard, scattering a stack of contracts.
Her rumpled skirt rides up her thighs. I knew it.
No panties. A dark, possessive groan tears from my chest. My mouth finds the pulse point on her neck.
"You came here with no panties, malen'kay. "
"I didn't... I didn't have any clean ones," she says, her hands fisting in my hair as I kiss her jaw. "
"Even better." I step back, just enough to unfasten my belt. My cock springs free, hard and aching. Her dark and dazed eyes widen. "Anton... the door... it's... it's not locked..."
"You're safe. Daniil is outside. No one would dare. And if they come in, they will see you. On my desk. Being taken by me. And they will know exactly who you are."
I pull her skirt up, bunching the grey fabric at her waist. So I can position myself between her long, bronze legs. She is wet for me. Dripping onto the fine Italian wood of my desk. The sight is depraved. It's perfect.
"I've wanted this," I growl, my hands gripping her hips as I line her up. "Since the very first day." I push my fingers inside her first. She's so hot, so tight, so ready. She cries out. "Since you walked in here with your broken boot and your defiance, I've imagined this. You. On this desk. Mine."
I pull my fingers out and thrust in, one long, smooth, deep stroke. She screams, but I catch it in my mouth. Her back arches, her hands slapping against the desk, grasping for purchase. "God, yes..."
I'm not gentle. This isn't the bed. This isn't for comfort.
This is a claim. This is my office. This is my desk, my seat of power.
I fuck her. Hard. Fast. My hands gripping her thighs, holding her in place as I slam into her, my rhythm punishing.
The sound is obscene—the wet slap of our skin, her cries, the thud of the desk against the wall.
"Anton... oh God... please..."
"Please, what? You want more?" I pull back, almost all the way, and she whimpers in protest.
"No... don't..." I slam back into her, deeper this time, hitting her womb. "That's it," I growl, watching her face. Her beautiful, rich brown skin is flushed, her eyes rolled back, her mouth open. "Take it. Take all of me."
She's meeting my thrusts now, her body no longer just receiving, but demanding. Her legs wrap around my waist, locking me to her. Her skirt is a ruin around her hips. This is her surrender. This is mine.
She's dissolving. I can feel the shivers start deep inside her, her inner walls clenching around me.
"Come for me, Talia. Now." I grab her hips, stilling her, and my own thrusts become a brutal, driving piston.
She screams, a high, broken sound, and her orgasm rips through her, her body convulsing around me, tight and hot.
It's too much. Her, screaming. Her, on my desk. Her. I roar, a primal sound of possession, and empty myself deep inside her, my own release a violent, shuddering flood. I don't pull out. I stay buried deep, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths tearing through the silent office.
She's trembling, her body still flickering with aftershocks. I look into her dazed, beautiful eyes. This is where she belongs. Not at the temp desk. Here. On my desk. Under me. Mine.