Chapter 23
LEANNA
I want to let out a noise of frustration as he steps out of the shower, leaving me ridiculously aroused.
He calls me Princess, tells me it’s game on.
For a second, I thought I had the upper hand when I saw how hard he was before the water even hit his skin. I expected him on his knees, tongue buried inside me.
God, I wanted that because this is Nik.
My Nik. And he’s devastatingly handsome.
But I forgot. Nik is also Nikolai Ivanov—master of control, of restraint, of denying himself what he craves.
And this changes the dynamics between us.
He’s right, he could use me as leverage. I should be afraid. Maybe I am being na?ve.
Maybe it’s reckless not to grab my bag, march downstairs, and demand a new room.
But I don’t. Because maybe the most dangerous part of me wants to see how this plays out.
My whole body thrums with need as I watch Nik slowly towel off. Every line of muscle on display. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, tight ass, powerful legs.
Holy hell.
Again, He said, ‘Game on,’ so game on.
I twist the showerhead to massage mode. The spray pounds in a relentless stream, meant to ease sore muscles, but I’ve got something else to unclench.
I slide my fingers between my thighs, spreading myself open, baring my clit to the hard spray. The water slams against that tender spot, and a sharp gasp escapes before I can stop it. My hips buck forward, chasing the pulse, my core tightening.
Eyes closed, I brace against the slick tile, knuckles white on the edge of the shower. Every flex of my hips, every grind of my ass, pushes me harder into the stream. Each jolt of sensation makes me shiver, and all I can think about is him watching.
I picture his gaze, dark and possessive, burning on my skin. I hope it’s driving him insane. I hope it’s driving him insane. I hope he’s sitting through that Commission meeting hard and aching with nothing but this image in his head.
The memory of him stroking that long, thick cock just minutes ago flashes through me, and my fingers move faster, merciless, chasing the rhythm I know would wreck his control. My body hums, alive with it, every breath a shaky, desperate plea for more.
The pressure builds a tight coil of nerves in my core, ready to snap.
My fingers slide faster, slick and insistent, until soft, broken gasps start spilling from my lips. A whimper catches in my throat, and a shiver tears through me, sharp and consuming.
Embarrassed? Not a chance.
I’m burning for him.
I’m turned on by the memory of him, by the way his hands felt on my body, the way his gaze alone made me ache. I’m turned on by the want itself, by the impossibility of it, the forbidden thrill of craving what I can’t have.
And most of all, I’m turned on because I know he’s watching. I feel his eyes on me, dark and unrelenting, and it makes me tremble harder.
The thought of him holding back, denying himself, only spurs me on.
My pace quickens, my hips tilting into the water, chasing that relentless pulse.
Every flick, every squeeze, every grind of pressure pushes me closer, the ache inside tightening to a sharp edge.
My breaths come ragged, chest rising and falling in time with the surges of pleasure.
I want all of him, every inch, but right now it’s just me, the water, the heat, and the exquisite torment of knowing he’s so close… yet completely out of reach.
And maybe that’s all we’ll ever be.
Off-limits.
A Barkov and a Campisi. My father would never allow it. His family would never accept it.
It’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.
My bag is packed, waiting back at my apartment. I’ll sit through these meetings, play the part. I’ll walk across the graduation stage. And then I’ll walk away from all of it.
From his teeth on my nipples. His fingers buried deep. His wicked tongue. His darkness. That feral hunger that sometimes swallowed us whole.
The memories of Nik will have to last me a lifetime.
The water pounds hot and relentlessly against me, and I press harder into it. My fingers circle, tease, dig deeper. My back arches, chest pressed to the spray, eyes shut tight as the tension winds sharp and tight in my core.
Every thrust of my hips into the stream, every slick, desperate slide of my fingers, makes me gasp, moan, shiver. My body screams for release, but I prolong it, savoring every second of the delicious burn of need.
When it finally hits, it’s like lightning splitting me open. I cry out, head thrown back, legs trembling, hips jerking forward again and again as the orgasm tears through me, wave after wave, mind-shattering, endless. My fingers curl, my body shakes, consumed.
Breathless, spent, I finally twist the spray back to normal. I rinse, but the space between my legs is still raw, hypersensitive, every touch sending sparks through me.
I turn off the shower, reaching for a towel, and that’s when I notice.
Nik is gone.
Disappointment stabs through me, sharp and sudden.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the steamed-up mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my lips parted and trembling. My eyes blaze with heat, pupils dilated, almost glowing with the aftermath of the storm that just ripped through me.
My chest rises and falls in ragged gasps, my body still trembling and slick with the remnants of my climax.
As I get ready, my mind keeps drifting to him. Nik’s gone, but his bag’s still here, unzipped, half unpacked. Two pressed suits and two shirts hang in the closet. Some workout clothes sit along with a pair of running shoes in the open bag.
Drying my hair takes forever, but I force myself to be patient and coax it into loose, sexy waves. But the whole time, my thoughts circle back to him, and worry gnaws at me.
He must’ve come in on a red-eye from the West Coast. Did he get any sleep? Probably not. I’m sure he planned to crash once he got here, only to find me, sprawled out in his bed like some kind of cosmic joke.
Why does that matter to me?
It shouldn’t.
Nikolai Ivanov isn’t mine.
I’m not his.
Whatever this thing between us is, it doesn’t have a future.
And even if I let myself catch feelings, it doesn’t mean he did. He paid me for what we did. I was just the girl willing to accept money for services rendered.
It’s over now, surely, since he knows who I am.
The thought cuts deeper than it should. I always knew it couldn’t last. How could there be a real relationship with a man who never showed me his face, who never saw mine? It was doomed from the start.
And yet… the idea of not seeing him again, not touching him, not feeling him twists something in me I can’t shake.
I rub absently at the ache in my chest, brush sliding through the last bit of my hair, when my phone buzzes. Dad.
“Hey, Dad,” I say as I swipe to answer.
“Just making sure you’re up and moving,” he says, that familiar blend of authority and concern in his voice.
I laugh, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see it. “I’ve been getting myself to class for four years. Pretty sure I can handle a meeting.”
He grunts in response. “Well, your brothers, on the other hand, seem always to need a boost.”
“Dad, they are grown-ass men. Do not tell me you enable them by waking them up still.”
“I plead the fifth,” he says with a smirk I can hear in his tone.
“Lord, have mercy on my idiot brothers,” I mutter, more to myself than him.
“I’m grabbing a light breakfast in the hotel restaurant in ten minutes if you want to join me.”
“I might need more than ten, but I’ll come down. Don’t eat all the pastries before I get there,” I joke.
“Ha! Try me. I’ve got first dibs, pumpkin.”
I grin, feeling a slight warmth spread through me despite the nerves buzzing in my stomach for the day ahead. “Okay, Dad. See you in a bit.”
“Alright, sweetheart,” he says.
When I hang up, I just sit there for a second, struck by how strange it is to have such an ordinary conversation with my father.
The Don.
The man who runs a crime organization with few rivals, whose name alone commands respect and fear. And here I am, on the cusp of stepping into that world, sitting at his side as his successor-in-training.
He insisted I see a stylist before these meetings. She was gorgeous, and she couldn’t stop gushing about how “wonderful” my dad was. It creeped me out. Odds are, they’d slept together.
Ugh. Just thinking about it made my stomach twist.
And the outfits she picked? Nothing I’d ever choose for myself. Every one of them screamed mob diplomacy instead of me.
I pull out one of the outfits she picked for me, a pantsuit in bright red. The wide-leg pants and oversized jacket are bold, impossible to ignore.
Underneath, I wear a slim red tube top, showing just a sliver of skin at my stomach. A gold necklace rests at my collarbone, and a thin, gold belt cinches my waist. I finish the look with a pair of impossibly high-heeled, gold shoes.
The effect is both sexy and intimidating.
When I catch my reflection, I almost don’t recognize the woman staring back.
I look powerful.
Dangerous.
Every inch the Don’s daughter.
And knowing I’ll be facing Nik across the table today…
I like that more than I should.