Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Riley
Did those words really come out of Matvey Bykov's mouth? Was I dreaming?
"I accept." I took several deep breaths before I could speak normally.
His hand paused mid-button, sharp gaze pinning me down.
Oh! Shit! I should've pretended to think it over first. Too eager. But did I really have any other choice?
"I don't have a choice." I met his eyes, then slowly dropped my gaze to his chest.
His shirt still hung open, exposing that strong, solid build. Honestly, I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that last night he'd actually lifted me up completely, held me against his chest while I came. Someone my size... lifted and fucked like that.
So humiliating! Just thinking about it made my face burn.
After a moment of silence, he turned away and spoke into his phone.
"No rush getting back to your place today." He glanced back, shirt now buttoned. "Someone will bring you clothes. Rest here a day or two, then come to the office."
Before I could answer, he grabbed his jacket and walked out without looking back.
The door closed. I collapsed backward, sinking into the soft mattress.
"Okay... Sir." I whispered the words, tasting each letter, unable to suppress the flutter in my chest.
Without this auction, there'd never be anything between us. Our relationship would've stayed boss and employee until one of us died.
But not anymore. He said everything about me belonged to him for the next two months.
I wasn't sure what "everything" included. But at least Evelyn's medical bills were covered, right? Better than watching our mother drink and shoot up until she never woke up.
I wasn't that helpless little girl anymore.
I took a deep breath, buried my face in the down pillow. Cedar mixed with hormones hit me—like Matvey was still in the room. I inhaled hard.
"Knock knock knock." Polite rapping at the door.
I opened it.
A uniformed woman stood outside, beside a massive rolling rack loaded with the latest designer pieces.
"Ms. Quinn, these are from Mr. Bykov. Already altered to your measurements," she said respectfully.
I didn't process it at first. Altered to my measurements? When did he measure me?
The image that surfaced answered my question—he'd touched every inch of my body. I had reason to believe he knew me inside and out.
I let her in. The torn black fabric on the floor and lingering musk made me blush.
"You can pick anything, or I can help you coordinate?" A professionally trained smile still lingered on her face.
"Ah... I'll manage." I ran my hand along the clothes. Every fabric felt smooth and luxurious.
I chose a pale gray silk blouse and black skirt.
I thought I was prepared. I wasn't prepared enough. "Custom-tailored" took on new meaning. The clothes wrapped my body perfectly. My chest wasn't strangled, the waist didn't gap and need clips.
"Beautiful, Ms. Quinn." Her eyes held genuine admiration. "Very flattering."
The kindness caught me off guard.
"Um... thanks." My voice came out awkward.
I was so used to mockery and disgust. Sincere praise felt almost foreign.
I had her take the rest away—couldn't imagine when I'd wear such beautiful things.
"If you need anything, call the front desk." She bowed at the door. "Breakfast will arrive shortly."
Breakfast was a seasonal fruit tart, a cream-filled croissant, and a pot of steaming pour-over coffee. Arranged like art on my table.
I sat in the plush armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazed at the New York skyline, and ate my croissant.
Last night I'd been hauled in here blindfolded like merchandise. This morning I sat here drinking pour-over, watching the view.
Life was fucking surreal.
I should enjoy today. For myself—that was the plan.
But Matvey's face kept invading my thoughts.
"Good girl."
Just remembering his voice sent electricity through me.
What if—hypothetically—he called me into his office during work hours, grabbed my hair and bent me over his desk, or made me kneel at the window... He'd unbuckle his belt, expose that magnificent thing, press my head down... Stop! Riley! Why are you following his lead?
You should find that choking feeling disgusting! Not be soaking wet right now!
"Damn it..." I curled into the chair, but the heat wouldn't fade.
My hand slid toward my core without permission. Last night's images invaded again.
"Crawl to me. Kneel." His desire-roughened voice echoed in my ears.
My neck prickled, soft and numb. I slid from the chair, knees meeting soft carpet. I'd become too sensitive—the slightest movement made me tremble.
God... why was I reacting this strongly? Not what I'd expected.
I swear I didn't touch my breasts, but my nipples tightened anyway. The ache made me rub them, and heat immediately slid down my thighs. Seriously?
I'd done this before, sure.
Late at night, Matvey's face always appeared. I'd imagine him unzipping, stuffing himself in my mouth, making me get it wet. Then he'd shove it inside, rough... always kept me up all night.
I knelt on the floor like last night—except today it wasn't his rough fingertips at my core. His hands were stronger, more powerful, and felt so much better than my own. But just imagining his touch let me hear the wet sounds clearly.
"Oh... Fuck..." My clit stood fully erect, twitching at the slightest contact.
This position was so humiliating. My breasts nearly dragged on the carpet!
I pinched that little bud between two fingers, squeezed repeatedly, breasts swaying. The carpet's fuzzy texture grazed my nipples—the slight sting only excited me more.
I couldn't hold myself up properly. My limbs had no strength. But the wave-like sensation kept crashing through my lower belly.
Okay... this was incredibly hot, but I had to stop, lean against the sofa edge, and spread my legs.
My core opened completely to the face I imagined. If he were watching now, I'd feel his breath on me, scorching like last night. I thought I'd feel ashamed... but it was ready to gush like a spring.
"Oh, he's so good..." I bit my finger, murmuring, circling my clit with the other hand. "No one could resist him."
Had Matvey gone down on other women? He must be experienced, know how to make women lose it.
His tongue was broad and strong—I'd felt that when we kissed. I imagined it licking my pussy, even thrusting inside, his stubble scratching me raw. His mouth seemed made for me. I got wetter and wetter. Would he swallow it?
He hadn't gone down on me. But he'd definitely pin my thighs with those big hands when I tried to escape... he liked control.
Pleasure rose with the air currents, my opening pulsing like it was breathing.
He was maddening. I couldn't imagine anyone resisting his appeal. If he entered me now, I'd come instantly. My finger slid in, slick with my wetness. Something sinking into my flesh felt incredible.
That thing of his was huge, equivalent to three of my fingers... no, at least four!
I imagined him fucking me, touching my sensitive nipples and core. His thick cock driving in and out, hitting my stomach—terrifying and addictive.
"Ah!" My body jerked hard, tingling electricity sweeping through me.
Better than any previous session. More depraved too.
I slumped against the sofa, panting.
Time in the penthouse suite moved differently. Felt like I'd only lounged and napped before it was the next morning.
I went home, changed out of the obviously expensive clothes before heading to the hospital. Evelyn was observant—she'd definitely interrogate me about that outfit.
The hospital reeked of disinfectant. The smell cleared my head. I sat beside her, set breakfast and fruit on the bedside table.
Her face was pale, but her expression brightened. "You brought my favorite oatmeal."
"Well, you've got quite the nose." I handed her the lukewarm porridge.
"How've you been feeling?"
"About to mold from lying here." She looked miserable, sipping porridge. "I've read six books, watched ten movies, and beat Gris!"
She exhaled. "They stick me with needles and pills every day. My hair's falling out."
Bitterness rose in my throat. Never thought my sister would get leukemia from being a nail technician.
"No worries, you'll start a new New York trend." I kept my tone light. "I guarantee it with my professional eye."
I peeled an orange carefully, removing the white pith. I'd researched—oranges helped with anemia from chemo. When she finished her porridge and took the orange, she stared at my face.
"What's wrong? You look awful." She asked suddenly. "Up all night working?"
Sort of. Negotiated private business with my boss all night.
"I'm fine. Really." I forced a smile. "I even got your surgery money."
"Just need a suitable bone marrow donor, and you'll be okay!"
She frowned, worried.
"Loan? Or..." Her lips were bloodless. "I don't want you doing anything stupid."
"No, I swear!"
Sleeping with your crush shouldn't count as stupid, right? Besides, giving my virginity to someone like Matvey—I wasn't losing out.
"My boss advanced me several decades of salary, including future fees for when I'm a top jewelry designer." I held her gaze.
Liars avoid eye contact, so I did the opposite.
She studied me.
"You know, Riley." Her eyes moistened, finger rubbing the orange segment's edge. "I want to live."
"But not built on your pain and sacrifice."
I took the orange from her and fed her two pieces.
"You look like a hamster." I smiled, then grew serious. "Trust me. No one's paying an irreversible price."
I watched her relax, start chewing.
"Okay, hon." After she finished, I tucked her in. "Let those bad workers in your body rest. I've got to get back to work."
"Alright." She mumbled. "Take care of yourself."
I will.
Outside her room, I unmuted my phone. The notification barrage nearly made me drop it.
"Riley, where the fuck are you?"
"Miss work and you're fired!"
Knew it. Kate's messages. Wish she'd understand phones aren't just for harassing subordinates on their days off.
I splurged on an Uber. The second I stepped into the design department, files flew at my head.
"Riley, finally remembered you have a job?" Her shrill voice scraped my eardrums.
Know the sound of chalk on a blackboard? Similar. My scalp tightened.
"These files are waiting for you. Get to work!" She pointed at my desk.
Piled with her tasks. I skimmed through—not one was actually mine. PowerPoints, spreadsheets, proofreading... even a Post-it on my monitor.
"One latte, no sugar, one black coffee, thanks."
What the hell was I even here for?
I came to Bykov Group because it was one of New York's best luxury companies.
Thought I'd learn something, get real design experience—even just organizing materials or observing design reviews.
Obviously not. Two months of running errands, printing, buying coffee, organizing floor-wide reports—but never once touched a design pencil.
But what could I do? Just an intern. The only option was to keep my head down. Didn't even have the right to look up.
After finishing most tasks, I went to the break room for water—didn't want another verbal lashing from that witch Kate.
Several coworkers clustered in the back, men and women.
"Riley Quinn? That intern? Total country bumpkin."
"Fat as a pig. How'd she pass the design interview?"
"Someone like her probably never saw real jewelry before."
They burst out laughing. These assholes!
When they needed me to print files or buy coffee, "Quinn, you're the best" rolled right off their tongues, acted like old friends. But behind my back, this.
I took a deep breath, swallowed my rage, and walked in—didn't want to make waves. Just an intern.
The damn laughter stopped cold, but they all wore smug smiles.
"Hi, Riley." One forced a greeting.
Seriously, no need to force small talk, you little shits!
I returned to my desk, organized everything, then pulled out my sketchbook. Kate had her own office, my cubicle was far enough—she shouldn't see what I was doing.
The moment pencil hit paper, I relaxed. Gray lines calmed me. I drew rings, necklaces, bracelets... I'd loved shiny things since I was little.
"What are you doing?" Kate appeared behind me out of nowhere.
I whipped around. She stared at my designs with disgust.
"You're an intern. Can't you just listen and do your actual job?"
Damn it, wasn't drawing designs why I came here? What the hell was my actual job? Making technically useless PowerPoints for other people?
"I'm drawing designs. This is my work." I forced down the surge of emotion and handed her the files. "Your work is done."
She frowned and snatched the documents. Flipped through impatiently. Suddenly, her hand stopped. Then the stack slammed into me. Stinging pain flared across my skin. I watched papers scatter on the floor, oxygen sucked from my lungs.
"How did you produce this garbage? If you can't cut it, get the hell out!"
Damn it, I'd had enough!