Chapter 11 - Valentin
I thread my fingers through Gela’s hair, scratching softly down her scalp, and I think she likes it by the sound of the soft little gasps she makes. Kissing her is like having life breathed into the part of me I had long forgotten.
I The taste of her lips is sweeter than I imagined, and I've imagined it plenty. To have her at last is a treat wilder than I had hoped for. Her body arches into mine, and if we go any further, I fear I won’t be able to control myself even if I want to.
But the minute she clutches my shirt tighter to pull me close, I realize there isn’t any need for restraint. She wants me just as bad from the way she brushes her tongue against mine.
Something primal takes over. I need all of her.
We rise from our chairs together, never once breaking the kiss. I slide my hands down the soft curves of her waist until they’re digging into her hips, and she thrusts into me, hungry and devouring. God, she drives me to the edge of madness.
With my fingers digging into her hips, and my lips still on hers, I begin to walk her backward.
“Is the door locked?” she whispers against my lips.
“Why? You getting ideas?” I grin back against hers.
She bites my lower lip, sending heat scorching down to the base of my spine.
I pull away to sweep my arm across the desk, clearing it as things clatter to the ground. I don't give a fuck about any of it.
I lift her up by the waist and set her on the desk. Her legs widen to wrap around me, and she uses the force from her thighs to pull me back to her.
“Well, well, well, Gela Jones, you really shouldn’t work so damn hard.” I bite my lip as I drown in her wild eyes.
“And you really shouldn’t be this distracting,” she growls and pulls me closer until her lips flatten against mine.
I kiss her again, harder this time, one hand cradling the back of her neck while the other slides up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher and higher and higher. Her skin is soft and supple, delicate in every way, and just touching her makes the ache between my legs grow fiercer.
She moans into my mouth and digs her nails into my shoulders. I wish she’d dig deeper and leave scars I can’t erase because forgetting Gela seems like an impossible sin.
I begin to trail soft kisses down her neck, and she seems to like that, for she tilts her head back to give me better access.
I let my teeth graze the sensitive spot just below her ear. Her sharp intake of breath tells me I've found a sweet spot.
I gently nibble at the skin in that corner while I reach for the buttons of her blouse with my fingers. Slowly, I undo each one until her shirt’s open on the front, the bottom still tucked daintily in her skirt.
But it’s enough to catch sight of her breasts, spilling out through that delicate lace bra that makes my mouth water.
“Fuck, you're beautiful,” I murmur, tracing the edge of the lace with my finger. Her skin prickles with goosebumps at my touch.
I cup her breast through the lace and feel it heavy in my palm, my thumb brushing over her nipple. It hardens instantly, and she arches into my touch, seeking more.
Her hands pull at my shirt impatiently.
I ease the cups down, letting her beautiful breasts spill into my waiting palms.
I dip down and take a nipple in my mouth, swirling around it with the planes of my tongue. She cries out and reaches for my hair, holding me there. I suck harder, and her hips buck against mine.
My hand slides higher up her thigh until I reach the edge of her panties, which I trace with my fingertips in slow patterns. I enjoy watching her squirm with want, I realize.
“Valentin,” she pleads breathlessly. “Don't tease me.”
“What’s the fun in that?” I grin, and she growls.
But what I want, more than anything else in this moment, is to please her.
I slip my fingers in through the side of her panties and find her already wet for me. It’s a pleasant surprise that makes me groan, and I begin to stroke her real slow. She loses all hold over her face, her eyes now fluttering close as her mouth parts open into a moan.
“Fuck, you look beautiful like this,” I tell her and circle her clit with my thumb.
Her entire body tenses. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me closer. My mouth finds hers again, swallowing her moans as she begs for my fingers.
Already, I feel the innate need to be inside her, my cock throbbing hard against my boxers.
“Gela—” My voice is hoarse just as I begin to ask her what she really wants, when my goddamn fucking phone begins to ring.
I freeze, my fingers still on her clit.
“Ignore it,” she whispers against my lips.
I have every intention of doing so, but the phone cuts off, and my emergency line begins to ring.
“Fuck,” I hiss, knowing what that means. Only my family has access to the emergency line. Something is really wrong out there, and one of my siblings is probably involved.
I reluctantly pull away and press my forehead against hers. “I'm sorry, I really have to check this.”
She nods but looks disappointed. She’s still breathless, her chest heaving, and I hate leaving her like this, but duty calls.
I grab my phone from where it landed on the floor and check the screen to see a missed call from Iosif.
I immediately call him back.
“Valentin?” He sounds scared. “Listen. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What happened?” I immediately begin dressing. From the corner of my eye, I see Gela sit up, the worry clear in her face.
“I’m in deep shit at Krukov's place. I got into a fight while digging for info on the Zakharovs, and the place is wrecked. Krukov's men have me cornered. I’m calling from the bathroom.”
My blood runs cold. Krukov's gambling den is notorious for its handling of troublemakers. “Fuck, Iosif! I'm on my way.”
I hang up and turn back to Gela, who's already rebuttoned her blouse, her face flushed with concern.
“I have to go,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet and keys. “We’ve got a little bit of a family emergency.”
“Is everything okay?” she asks, sliding off the desk.
“Iosif’s in trouble,” I explain, grabbing my gun. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”
She nods, understanding but clearly disappointed. I can't leave it like this. I rush over to her in a half run and cup her cheeks between my hands, kissing her deeply one more time.
“This isn't over,” I promise against her lips. I mean it, because leaving her wanting feels like I’m betraying whatever is growing between us, and I need her to know I’m in for the journey.
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t say more.
***
I screech to a halt outside Krukov’s dingy building, the sad excuse of a place he calls a gambling den.
When I step inside, I find utter chaos, like the whole place has been ransacked. The tables are overturned, there’s broken glass everywhere, and in the corner, surrounded by four of Krukov's goons, is my idiot little brother, sporting a bloody nose.
“Val!” He looks thoroughly relieved when he sees me. “Just in time for the party!”
I flick him off. He always does this. Gets into reckless trouble, then acts like he’s having the time of his life, even when he’s seconds away from getting his kneecaps broken.
“Mr. Yuri.” Krukov turns to me with a face full of rage. “Your brother has caused quite a disturbance in my establishment.”
“I can see that,” I say calmly. “I'm here to collect him and make things right.”
“This gambling den is neutral territory, but he caused a ruckus by asking dangerous questions.” Krukov narrows his eyes. “He pissed off a bunch of guys, and look what they did to this place!”
“I'll handle it. Name your price for the damage.” I try to appease him.
“But, I didn’t fucking do this. Catch the guys who broke your tables, will you?” Iosif protests.
“Iosif!” I bellow, shutting him up before Krukov does. Iosif doesn’t look happy, but at least he keeps his mouth shut.
“You see that?” Krukov now looks positively pissed. “Your brother is a menace. He does this again, and I’ll bar the whole lot of Yuris from here, you hear me?”
“Oh, come on now.” I throw Krukov a charming smile. “How about you give me a number, and I swear I’ll sort my dumb brother out.”
This time, Iosif doesn’t protest, not even at being called dumb. Krukov likes to pretend his spot is neutral ground, but being barred from here is being blind to information. Everyone comes here for one thing, and it isn’t for getting dealt a hand of cards.
It’s for the secrets.
I can’t afford for our family to be shut out from Krukov’s.
After negotiating a sum that makes me wince—Iosif really did a number on the place—I grab my brother by the collar and drag him outside.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand once we're in the car.
“I was trying to help!” he protests, dabbing at his bloody nose with his sleeve. “I heard Krukov's place was where the Zakharovs invite the city cops. I thought I could get some info for you.”
“Next time, do it quietly, will you? It’s no help when everyone knows what you’re up to.”
“I swear I had it under control until one of them recognized me as a Yuri,” he mutters.
“There better not be a next time, Iosif. I mean it.” I glower at him, and after that, he doesn’t offer any more excuses. My brother is a royal pain in my ass, but every time, I do what I must to save him from trouble.
I drive him to Trifon's compound, where he has his own cottage. No way am I letting him go back to his apartment in this state, and especially not when he sent his men off for the night and whoever he pissed off could come looking for him.
“You will stay here tonight without causing trouble,” I tell him as I help him inside. “And don't tell Trifon about this. I'll handle Krukov.”
“Thanks, Val.” He gives me a bloody grin. “You always have my back.”
“Someone has to,” I grumble, but give him a parting hug. I've been watching out for Iosif since we were kids, and there’s no point stopping now.
I head back to Krukov's to smooth things over properly. It’s not just about the damage; I have to find out who the troublemakers were and keep them all quiet about this incident.
***
By the time I get home, dawn is almost breaking. I'm exhausted, my muscles are aching, and my mind is still spinning with the events of the night.
From Gela's kiss to Iosif's mess, it's been one hell of a day.
I collapse into bed without even undressing fully, and I'm out before my head hits the pillow.
When I wake, the sun is high in the sky. I check my phone and see that it’s almost nine in the morning. That’s pretty late, for my standards.
I’m still groggy and know I can’t think straight before a cup of coffee. I throw on a clean shirt and head downstairs, straight to the kitchen.
What I find there stops me in my tracks.
Gela is standing at the stove with her back to me, humming softly as she flips something in a pan. Not only that, but the table is already set for two, with coffee already poured, fruit cut, and a breakfast casserole steaming in the center.
“Tell me I’m dreaming,” I mutter, in utter disbelief at the sight before me.
She turns and freezes when she sees me.
“Oh,” she says, a flush creeping up her neck. “You're up.”
“And are you…cooking?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
“Don't sound so shocked.” She rolls her eyes, turning back to what I see now are pancakes. “I do know my way around a kitchen, you know?”
I approach the table cautiously, eyeing the spread before me. “What's the occasion?”
“No occasion,” she shrugs, sliding the last pancake onto a plate. “I was hungry, and since you pay for all the food around here anyway, I figured I might as well make enough for both of us.”
“How domestic of you,” I tease, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Next thing I know, you'll be wearing an apron and asking about my day.”
She points the spatula at me threateningly. “Don't push it, Yuri.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, fighting a smile. “Wouldn't dream of it.”
She sets the pancakes on the table and takes a seat across from me. I serve myself some of everything, because it all looks so damn good.
“Should I be worried?” I ask, poking at the casserole with my fork. “Is this your revenge? Slow-acting poison?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “If I wanted to kill you, I'd be more creative than breakfast poisoning.”
“That's... oddly comforting.” I take a bite of the casserole. It's delicious. “Not bad, Jones. Not bad at all.”
“Don’t go thinking you should fire the chefs or something,” she says dryly, but I catch the small smile before she wipes it off.
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat.
“So, everything went okay last night?”
“Yeah.” I smile at her, touched that she cares to ask. “Iosif caused some ruckus, but he’s alright.”
“Good,” she nods. “That’s good.”
But suddenly, it feels like there are too many words unspoken. Suddenly, all I can see is Gela spread out on that desk of mine.
“About last night.” She’s the first to address it, and I find myself dropping my fork, hoping for her to tell me she’s been thinking about it as I’ve been.
“We got carried away,” she says firmly. “It can't happen again.”
A wave of disappointment crushes in my heart. Last night, she wanted it just as bad.
“What the hell changed?” I ask, as neutrally as I can. I want her to speak her mind, and if it disappoints me, well, that’s on me.
She hesitates, just for a second, but it's enough for me to know she needs time to figure out this is a lie she’s telling herself.
“Because this thing between us is temporary, right?” She speaks at last. “I'm only here until it's safe for me to leave. Getting... involved would just complicate things.”
I want to argue and tell her that nothing about this is temporary for me, and that, from the moment I first saw her, something in me recognized her as mine.
But I don't because she’s not ready to hear that yet.
So I simply nod and take another bite of pancake. “If that's what you want.”
Relief flashes across her face. “Good. I'm glad we understand each other.”
“Perfectly,” I lie, and continue eating the breakfast she made for us.