Chapter 15
IVAN
“Hmm?” she mumbles lazily, dropping her head to nuzzle into my neck despite my grip on her hair.
For a split second, my mind blanks. She’s affectionate after an orgasm.
I close my eyes in frustration. This woman…
My cock is still hard as hell, eager to sink into that sweet, tight cunt of hers—it took everything in me to stop when I did. And it was my decision alone. I can’t fuck her yet.
I push her away from me, keeping a hand on her arm until she’s steady on her feet, then I let go. If I hold her another second, I might throw her on that bed and fuck us both senseless, reason be damned.
Yes, my brain urges. Do it.
Her wetness still coats my fingers, the scent wrapping around my senses like a drug. Without thinking, I lift my hand to my mouth and lick them clean, one by one. My eyes slam shut as her sweet taste explodes on my tongue. Fuck. I should have licked her clean right from the source. Next time.
When I force my eyes open, her cheeks are burning.
I smirk as I get to my feet and make a show of rearranging my cock in my pants.
Her eyes go wide—like she wasn’t just writhing wantonly in my arms while I stroked her to completion.
I raise a brow in challenge, and she quickly looks away, the flush spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath her shirt.
“Why are you here?” I repeat my question now that the dark haze of lust is finally clearing.
I came to her room as soon as I got off the elevator, eager to confront her about why exactly she’d gone up to my office.
But then I saw her standing at the window, hugging herself, and something in me just…
snapped. She looked utterly lost, like she’d retreated into a protective shell.
I didn’t like it. I wanted to draw her out.
Push. Provoke. Make her feel something again. Instead, things spiraled.
“Why am I here?” she echoes, looking bewildered for a moment. Then comprehension dawns, and her expression hardens. “You kidnapped me.”
My lips quirk up. “Come on, ‘kidnapped’ is such a stretch. You hardly put up a fight.”
I don’t know why provoking her anger fills me with such warmth. But then I see the way her eyes light up, those honeyed depths turning liquid, and I remember why. She’s magnificent when she’s mad.
“I hardly put up a fight? I had just seen you shoot a man. Forgive me if I was trying to keep myself alive by cooperating with you. You’re smiling?” Her voice drops to a lethal register, and I quickly school my expression into neutrality. “You’re a crazy motherfucker, Ivan.”
Hearing her go from moaning Vanya to spitting out Ivan with such venom makes my skin itch, and I want to correct her instantly.
I’m Vanya to her. Only Vanya. Jesus Christ. I really must be crazy.
Crazy for her. It’s like she altered some fundamental chemistry in my brain after we collided outside Zvezda—I haven’t been the same since.
“What made you seek a job at Zvezda?” I elaborate, dusting down my jacket as I steer us back to my question.
“I–I needed a job. Isn’t that why people apply for jobs?” She crosses her arms over her chest with a frown. “I should be the one asking all these questions. Who were those people you killed? Why did you kill them? And how long are you planning to hold me here? I already said I didn’t see anything.”
The guts on this woman. I’ve been too soft with her.
She doesn’t fear me at all. I pull on the mask everyone sees when they meet the Petrov enforcer.
The one Luka swears gets rats to reveal themselves from a mere look alone.
She blanches, flinching away from me like I’ve struck her.
Lead fills my stomach, but I force myself to continue. I have to do this. I have to.
“The only reason you’re still alive is that you haven’t been asking those questions. That can change anytime. Don’t test me, Melani.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “So, what? I’m just supposed to stay here until you decide whether you want to kill me or not? Why don’t you just put me out of my misery already?”
Despite the terror clearly coursing through her, she still stands up to me. Me.
“Misery?” I tease, stepping into her space. “Was that misery?” She swallows again but only raises her chin defiantly. “When you chanted my name like a prayer? When I made you tremble with need?”
From this angle, I can see her pulse fluttering wildly in her throat. In my experience, people tend to backtrack when they’re scared. They beg, they plead, they negotiate. Not her. She doesn’t back down even when fear is written in every line of her body.
What kind of woman is this?
I lift a hand and place a finger over that frantic pulse. It goes even wilder beneath my touch. Is that more fear? Or something else?
Frustratingly, my cock chooses the moment to remind me just how tightly wound I still am. I press into her, making sure she feels the unmistakable outline against her belly.
“I’m going to hold you for as long as I need to. I’m going to do whatever I want with you, and you will enjoy it.” My palm covers her pulse point completely now, my thumb softly caressing the delicate skin of her neck.
She shivers. Yes, the fear is definitely mixed with want now. I can see it blazing in her eyes.
I lean down, and her lashes flutter closed, hiding those expressive eyes from me. I hook my thumb beneath her chin and tilt her face up, forcing her to look at me.
“But why?” she asks softly. “Is this how you handle witnesses?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but I answer with utter honesty.
“No.”
“Then why me? What makes me so special?” Her lips turn down, but she’s not off the mark.
She is special. She’s mine.
I shut down that crazy, possessive voice in my head, but the sentiment fucking lingers. She’s mine, damn it.
My thumb inches up her jaw, then rubs over the soft, pink flesh of her mouth. Her lips part for me automatically, and her tongue peeks out, grazing the tip of my thumb.
I groan and dip my head, intent on tasting her again, to lose myself in her mouth—
The beep of the door code shatters the moment.
She jerks away from me, retreating to the far side of the room just as the door opens. I turn to see Boris freeze when he spots me.
“I—I didn’t know you were here, sir.” His eyes dart between us nervously. “I was just bringing dinner.” He lifts the tray of food as proof, and I incline my head.
Without another word, he hurries towards the small dining area, drops the tray, and jogs out as if the room might detonate behind him.
When I face Melani again, she’s still easing away from me. “If I’m going to be here for much longer, then you’re going to listen to my demands.” She crosses her arms, but the hesitation in her eyes betrays the confidence she’s trying to project.
I raise a brow. This I would like to hear.
“I don’t have any clothes, no soap, toothpaste, nothing. I had to use water as mouthwash this morning. And I nearly lost my mind from boredom today. You can’t just lock me in this room and call it a day. I deserve basic amenities, damn it.”
Her voice gains more strength with each demand, and it makes me smile. “Is that so?”
“Even criminals in prison get treated better than this.”
I doubt criminals get five-star meals and one of the best views of Manhattan, but I swallow that response. “You want soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush?”
“And entertainment. If I’m going to be here all day, every day, I can’t be left alone with my thoughts. I’ll go crazy.” She meets my eyes from across the room. “Get me some books.” Then, as if bracing for resistance, she adds quickly, “Not non-fiction, for God’s sake.”
My smile widens. She did mention books this morning, but I had a lot on my mind and dismissed her. “You have a problem with non-fiction?"
“They make my eyes cross and give me migraines. No offense to the writers and readers of non-fiction. It’s just not for me.”
“I see.”
“And now that I finally get to make demands—” She takes a breath, steeling herself. “I need to speak with my mother. She must be worried about me. Even if you’re not going to let me go, I need her to know I’m okay.”
“I never said I’d give in to your ridiculous demands. Listening seems to make you feel better, and it costs me nothing.” I shrug carelessly, and she narrows her eyes.
“You can’t just leave me here all alone without at least trying to make things easier for me. I’ve been cooperative!"
I shrug again, enjoying her mounting frustration more than I should. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, myshka, but I can do whatever the hell I want.”
Her jaw drops, and I can see the rage flash in her eyes. I chuckle as I head for the door, her indignant huff sharp behind me as I pull it shut.
Boris meets my eyes briefly, then looks away. “Get me, Nathaniel,” I instruct him before making my way to my office.
I roll my neck tiredly as I sink into my chair. It’s been a long day, but that confrontation with my little prisoner leaves me strangely energized—and painfully aware of my unresolved arousal. Turning towards the window, I look over the city below as I pull out my phone and make a call.
“Send up a full wardrobe. Anything you think a woman might need,” I tell the manager of the boutique on the second floor. “I’ll text you her size. I want it delivered right away.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
I’m texting him Melani’s measurements—courtesy of Vasily’s thorough report—when there’s a short rap on my door. Nathaniel walks in. “You asked for me, sir?”
I drop my phone and spin my chair to face him. “You mentioned your uncle works in construction?”
His brows knit together, but he nods. “Yes, he’s a carpenter.”
Perfect. “Get him here first thing tomorrow morning. I want the smaller entertainment room converted into a library.” I have no need for two anyway.
“S-sir?” Nathaniel blinks at me. “What about the chess board, the pool table—”
“Find somewhere else for them.” My phone pings with a text, and I wave him away. “Go clear the room out now so when your uncle gets here, he can start immediately. And order books. Fiction. The kind women love to read. I need the library ready by midday tomorrow.”
I glance down at the text, hoping it’s Vasily with more information about Melani. But it’s Elmira.
Don’t forget family dinner tomorrow.
As if I would forget. We do this shit every month. When I glance back up, Nathaniel is still standing there, lips parted, staring at me like I’ve just ordered him to fetch a unicorn’s horn or something equally ridiculous.
“Well?” I ask.
“Midday tomorrow might not be possible,” he says carefully.
“I don’t think I can order books at this hour, and even if I could, shipping enough volumes to fill a small library will take time.
I’ll also need to get an interior designer to redecorate the room and direct my uncle on where to build the bookshelves and other necessary furnishings.
There are probably other logistics I can’t think of right now, but if I start making preparations tomorrow, we could have the library ready by—”
I lift a hand to stop the flood of excuses. “Reach out to all of them tonight. Wake them if you have to. Drop my name, and they’ll all come running. I want that library finished tomorrow.”
He gulps but nods. “Yes, sir.”