Chapter Seven
Riccardo
T he Royal Ontario Museum is almost deserted at this hour, just the way I wanted it. I sit on a bench near the dinosaur exhibit, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the massive bones on display. There’s something about this place—powerful, quiet, but with a sense of history. It reminds me of my business motto: always play the long game.
I hear her footsteps before I see her. Anya is on time, as expected. After all, she’s the one who reached out. Again. Which leaves me in a good negotiation position.
She wants this. And for some fucked up reason, I want her.
Luckily, she beat me to it, reaching out via email. Perhaps that should make me hesitate. There is something desperate about the way she’s pursuing this, but as she’s coming closer, she looks at me with that same determination again, just like when she walked into my office the day before yesterday. Only this time, I’m not sitting behind a desk, making this meeting feel more intimate.
My lip twitches. A covert meeting at a museum. It really is out of an old mystery novel.
She walks up to me, glancing briefly at the towering skeletons, before dismissing them and settling her gaze on me. That same spark of defiance glinting in her eyes, as if she wants to be here but still needs me to know she isn’t about to let me take charge.
It’s so damn hot I’m tempted to reach out and pull her against me. Press my mouth over hers to find out if she’d gasp and lean into me, or claw at my face while kneeing my junk.
“You picked a hell of a spot,” she says, her voice low but steady.
I smirk. “Thought you might appreciate the view.” I gesture around at the fossils. “Reminds me of the people we deal with—most of them always hungry and some of them just waiting to be buried and displayed.”
Anya doesn’t take the bait, only raising her eyebrow in challenge. No matter, I didn’t really expect her to react. Perhaps hinting at her father’s poor health and looming death isn’t exactly polite conversation, but it’s one thing that’s definitely playing into my decision. If old Tsepov dies, there is no obvious line of inheritance when it comes to his Bratva position. Mikhail has jumped ship, so even though he’d be the logical next in line, his role in the Bruno syndicate messes with that.
Marrying Anya will give me equal dibs as Gianna, and I certainly don’t enjoy the notion that Gianna Bruno thinks she can expand once Tsepov senior is gone. Which, of course, hinges on getting rid of Dmitri Solntsev first.
“So,” she says, cutting right to the chase and completely ignoring my comment, “the shipment went exactly as I said it would. Solntsev lost five of his men, and now he’s scrambling.”
I nod, leaning back a little and taking her in. She’s wearing a simple blouse and black pants, but they hug her curves in all the right ways. I hate that I notice. That I can’t seem to stop noticing when I should focus on business first. Her intel was good—better than I expected.
“And now you want to seal the deal,” I say, my voice calm, though my mind is anything but. Not to mention my pants, since my dick has apparently taken to having a Pavlovian reaction to Anya.
She crosses her arms, standing in front of me like she’s ready for battle. Of course, the movement also lifts her breasts up and I can’t help but admire the way they create a fuckable shape where her blouse is creating a V-opening in the front. “I do. Sealing the deal is in both of our interests. You get to cut off the Brotherhood’s power grab at my father’s organization and prevent him from moving in on your territory and shipping routes.” She pauses, her eyes locked on mine. “Plus, it undermines potential claims from the Bruno syndicate as a result of Gianna’s marriage to my brother.”
I raise an eyebrow. Looks like she’s been coming up with the same rationale as me. “And you?”
Her chin lifts a fraction. “I get my freedom. It’s mutually beneficial.”
I stand up slowly, moving toward her. She doesn’t back away. She never fucking does. But I can see the tension in her body, the way she holds herself as if bracing for something. I take another step closer until we’re only inches apart.
“Mutually beneficial,” I repeat, my voice dropping lower. “And what about us? You’re not na?ve, Anya. You know a marriage isn’t just business. What else does this deal entail?” I shouldn’t fucking push this now, but I can’t help myself. Being near her has my mind reeling with all the ways and places I want to fuck her.
She doesn’t flinch, but her breathing shifts ever so slightly. “It is just business. Or at least, in our case, it will be.”
I can’t help but grin. “Right. So you want me to marry you but keep my hands off?” I shake my head, chuckling. “You’re something else, Anya.” My hand reaches out, and I brush my fingers against her arm, testing the waters. The tension between us snaps tight like a wire.
She doesn’t pull away, but her eyes harden. “This is a business arrangement,” she says, her voice like steel, even though I can see the fire burning beneath the surface. “I’m not for sale.”
“Sure.” I drop my hand, though the electricity from the brief touch lingers. “A business arrangement where we’re both getting exactly what we need.”
She nods once. “Exactly.”
I can’t resist pushing her just a little further. Call me the devil. “And what happens when the lines blur? Because I might not be able to buy you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. And I usually get what I want.”
Her eyes flash, but she keeps her voice steady. “Is that so?” This time, she’s the one stepping closer.
“I don’t do halfway measures. If we do this, you’re mine. All the way.”
She meets my gaze, unflinching. “Fine. But then the same goes both ways. And no other women on the side. If you want to stake a claim, so will I.”
Her response is such a one-eighty that I almost blink at her. Luckily, I have enough boardroom experience not to do that, even as my dick is pressing for primary control of my brain function. The woman is full of surprises, and I’m fucking eager to dive a bit deeper into things. Literally.
“Then it’s settled,” I say, my tone final and not betraying my thoughts, which mirror that of a horny teenager who can’t believe his luck, which is not at all what I ought to be feeling at the prospect of getting married.
“Good,” she says, sounding like she wants to get the last word in during a disagreement in the schoolyard. It’s fucking hilarious.
“Normally I’d say we shake on it, but under the circumstances...” My hand moves to cup her nape. “...I think we can come up with something better.” My voice drops, the innuendo clear as I hold her gaze, daring her to back down. Because we’re not kids, and the things I want to do now are very much adult things.
Anya doesn’t move, but her chest rises, just a little quicker than before. Her eyes darken and I fucking love the way the air feels, charged with tension.
She smirks. A small, controlled flash of a smile. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Riccardo?”
Fuck. I like the way she says my name.
I move closer, just enough to brush my chest against hers, feeling the swell of her tits through my dress shirt. My hand lifts, fingers grazing her cheek, then her jaw, before I tilt her chin up just slightly. Her lips part, but she doesn’t pull away.
Just like last time, she looks at me, as if in challenge.
My cock gives a needy jerk.
“You already know,” I murmur, my thumb brushing across her lower lip.
For a second, I think she’ll push me away. I’m ready for it—the slap, maybe even the knee to my groin. But Anya leans into me, and that’s all the invitation I need.
No. You can’t buy a woman like Anya. But fuck me if I don’t get to taste her, anyway.
I close the distance, pressing my mouth against hers, and she responds immediately. Her lips part under mine, and I enter her with my tongue before pulling back and nipping at her lower lip, sucking it into my mouth and claiming it with my teeth. She tastes like fire and danger, and I want more—hell, I need more.
This woman is addictive. I knew that much already, but touching her is a whole different level of high.
My hands slide down her body, gripping her waist, pulling her against me as I deepen the kiss. Her nails dig into my shoulders like she wants to tear me apart even as she pulls me closer.
There’s no hesitation, no playing coy. It’s raw. Primal.
I break the kiss, breathless, my forehead resting against hers as we both catch our breath. “Tell me I can seal this deal.” I fucking claimed her with my kiss and something in me needs her to submit. There is a primitive urge to have her acknowledge she needs more from me.
Anya’s chest rises and falls against mine, her breath shaky. But even now, she doesn’t give in easily. “ We can,” she responds, her voice husky, “but it doesn’t mean I’m yours yet.”
“Yet?” I grin, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my voice low and rough. “But you will be.”
Because fuck it all. I’m going to make Anya Tsepov mine.
She smirks, that familiar defiance flickering back into her eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I laugh, the sound rumbling in my chest as I step back just enough to look at her. “Then let’s get out of here.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Where exactly do you plan on going?”
“My place.” It’s not a question. I know where this is heading, and so does she. The museum may have seemed like a great idea earlier, but now there’s only one place I want her.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, as if she’s considering something, then nods. “All right.”
I don’t waste any time. I take her hand and lead her toward the exit. The cool night air hits us as we step outside, and I flag down my driver, pulling Anya into the backseat beside me.
The ride is quiet, but the tension is anything but. I can feel the heat radiating off her, the way her leg brushes against mine, the way her hand rests just a little too close. Every second feels like an eternity, waiting to get her alone.
She’s taking a risk getting in the car with me, and I fucking like that.
When we finally reach my place, I pull Anya out of the car and up the steps to the entrance. The second the door closes behind us, we’re on each other again. Her hands are in my hair, tugging hard as my mouth crashes down on hers. I walk her backward until her back hits the wall, pinning her there as I kiss her harder, deeper. Her body arches against mine, and I groan at the feel of her curves pressed against me.
Anya
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, Riccardo’s mouth is on mine again. It’s not soft. There’s no easing into it. This is raw, unfiltered need, and I meet him with the same force. My hands grip his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to match his intensity. If I tug on his scalp with a bit of extra force to remind him I’m not one of his easy conquests, then so what? This is so much better than the fantasies I touched myself to.
My back hits the wall, and I gasp, but the sound is swallowed by his lips, his tongue, the taste of him. His weight presses against me, and the heat of his dick digs into my hip.
This isn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to meet him, negotiate, seal the deal, then walk away. It was supposed to be strategic. But now, with his hands gripping my waist, his lips tracing the line of my neck, everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control.
He challenged me and damn him, it worked.
I should stop this. I should remind myself that I’m here for a marriage of convenience, for protection—not for this .
But every inch of me craves him.
Every inch of me wants this.
Wants more.
Fuck him if he thinks he can buy my body by marrying me. I’ll fuck him when and how I want to. And I want him now. Before he’s ever signed any papers.
I push him back for a second, catching my breath, and his eyes are wild, dark with lust. He’s waiting, and finally that controlled smirk he always wears is gone. I reach for him, tugging him by the collar of his shirt back to me. His lips crash into mine, harder this time, and my body hums in response.
His hands roam my body, exploring, claiming. Every touch sends a shiver down my spine, making it harder to think. There’s no space left between us now—just heat and pressure and the overwhelming need to feel more.
My breath comes out in short, ragged gasps when his mouth moves lower, kissing a trail along my jaw, down my neck, sending sparks through my nerves. My mind goes fuzzy when his lips skim over my collar bones. It’s been too damn long since someone has done that and the last guy needed detailed instructions which killed the mood.
My fingers are clumsy as they fumble with the buttons of his shirt, my mind buzzing, unable to focus on anything other than the need building inside me.
“You’re not supposed to want this,” I murmur, half to him, half to myself, but the words sound weak, hollow. My logic feels distant, irrelevant. I’m barely holding onto the control I pride myself on.
His lips pause at my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. “Neither are you,” he murmurs back, voice thick with amusement. He pulls away just enough to look at me, his eyes glinting with that cocky self-assurance I both despise and am inexplicably drawn to.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat when his hand moves lower, fingers tracing the curve of my hip, slipping under the fabric of my blouse. The touch is electric, and any argument I had dissolves into nothingness. My body betrays me, leaning into him, arching into the way he makes me feel.
His hands move up, cupping my breasts, and I suck in a sharp breath as his fingers brush over my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
But I want it. I want him . And right now, nothing else matters.
Because fuck everyone for making decisions for me or without me.
This is my damn choice.
I want to fuck Riccardo.
Riccardo pulls back just enough to meet my gaze again, his breathing as unsteady as mine. “Say it,” he demands, voice low and rough.
My mind is racing, but I know what he’s asking.
“I fucking want you.” The words barely escape my lips, because damn him , but it’s enough. It’s all he needs.
In one swift motion, he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom, his mouth finding mine again, devouring me with a hunger that feels almost dangerous. I should be scared. He’s the boogeyman I was warned about as a child. The enemy. The Italian . The one who might kill anyone in my family for more turf. But I’m consumed by the thrill of it, fully aware that I’m playing with fire and loving the heat.
We crash onto the bed, his body pressing me down, and I pull him closer, clawing at his back as his hands roam. He rips the front of my blouse open, his eyes raking over my bare skin. But I’m not one of the girls who are on display in one of my father’s clubs. I pull him down, biting his lower lip the way he keeps doing to me because hell yes, that zings straight to my pussy each time and now he’s getting payback.
As his tongue teases my lips, I slide my hand down to his waistband. His belt is already undone, so I slip my hand into his pants, finally feeling the thick length I need to ease the pulsing ache deep in my core.
Before I completely lose myself, I break the kiss. “We need protection.”
“Not yet.”
He trails his mouth down my chest and abdomen, tugging my pants with him. I clutch the sheets, resisting the urge to reach for him.
This could go one of two ways: either he’s going down on me to make me lose my head completely, forcing me to surrender all control for the night, or this is my moment to set the tone for how things will work between us. With him working for me.
I choose option two.
His head dips between my legs and I moan when his lips go for the sensitive skin where my leg and pussy meet. His tongue darts over, massaging my pussy without dipping inside. It’s infuriatingly good and I let him play for a while before I grasp his hair.
“My clit, Riccardo. Lick it, or don’t you know where to find it?”
He growls and pulls his head back, but I don’t let go of his hair. He gets the choice, rip out the strands I’m holding onto, or press his mouth back on my pussy.
He chooses option two as well, but instead of licking my clit, he sucks it into his mouth hard.
A scream escapes me, but I don’t let go of his hair. I give it a bit of a shake the way one would with a naughty puppy. “Don’t disappoint me,” I threaten, and to my satisfaction Riccardo lowers his head with a huff that sounds almost like a laugh.
And then he fucking licks me. It’s like I’ve turned into a goddamned popsicle and he hasn’t gotten a treat in years.
My hands fall to my sides and I curl them back into the sheets as I writhe under his mouth. It’s so damn good and then almost too much, but when I try to scoot away, his hands dig into my hips.
“Oh, no you won’t,” he growls, looking up at me and giving me a short break from the intense pleasure. “You wanted me to lick you and that’s exactly what I will be doing. For as long as I want.” And then his mouth is on me again, and he drives the sensation up, up, up again until I want to scream and escape but also can’t bear the idea of him stopping.
Except that’s exactly what he does.
Stop.
He lifts his head and grins at me.
“What the fuck?” is all can get out as my clit pulses in rhythm with my heart. I reach to touch myself, suddenly needing more again, but Riccardo slaps my hand away.
“No, that’s my job, remember?” And then the asshole actually chuckles as he lowers his mouth again and starts licking me again.
That fucker.
For a moment, I let him, because after that short break, it feels so damn good to have his hot tongue pressing down on my clit again, but then I lift my legs and wrap them around his head, squeezing hard. At the same time, I buck my hips up and twist. It’s neither elegant, nor does it work out exactly as I’d hoped. I’m no pro-athlete after all, but I still get what I want and that is Riccardo off from on top of me. We’re both on our sides now, but his face is still between my legs. I can’t see his mouth, since it’s buried deep in my core, framed by my thighs, but his eyes seem to be laughing at me as he starts licking again.
The guy is fucking nuts, and yet I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
I push myself up and twist my hips to maneuver myself into a sitting position on his face. It’s not easy, but since I don’t especially care if Riccardo is hurt or able to breathe in the process, it works just fine.
And then I’m finally on top.
“Now lick,” I order and I can’t help my grin, because, yeah, okay , this game is pretty fun.
While he complies and his tongue gets back to work, Riccardo doesn’t seem to accept defeat yet, because as his tongue pushes into my folds again, his hands come up to hold my hips in place.
And then he nips.
Actually fucking nips my clit.
With his teeth.
I topple forward and the next thing I know, he slaps my ass and his cock pushes at my entrance. I’m so damn wet and horny, all I can do is moan as he drives into me.
Hell, I’ve needed this. So I arch my back and push back, rocking myself on his cock as his hand massages the spot where he slapped me.
He starts slamming into me and it’s almost enough to make my brain go haywire, but I have just enough sense to push my own body back in rhythm with his movements, riding his cock in the most mind-blowing way.
He wants to slap my ass? Fine. But I make sure his balls are slamming into my pussy hard enough he’s going to remember this tomorrow. I bet I can take it harder than he can.
Except, neither one of us is playing fair and I’m getting close already. My muscles are taught and I feel the pressure building low in my belly. At least there is no fucking way he’s far off either, so I simply keep going until wave after wave of sweet release ripples through me.
And then I feel it. His cock stiffens even more and hot jets of cum shoot into me like molten lava.
Fuck. So much for using protection.
“You’re mine now.” His words are more of a groan than anything, muffled by the fact his mouth is still pressed against mine, but I hear him. And I can picture his smirk perfectly.
I’m not his. I never will be. I will never belong to a man.
But for tonight, I’ll let him believe otherwise.
And then I fall asleep because I can’t do anything else just now.