Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Varlam
I brought her to one of my bars. Part of my portfolio, with a unique design. The ceiling was one massive piece of stained glass, heavy with Russian church vibes. The ambient lighting made the whole place feel lazy, indulgent.
Briony relaxed here. She knocked back several drinks, her lips growing more glossy and full. I'd already felt them in that lounge—how soft they were, how her saliva tasted like honey.
And her lush body. Those curves fit my hands like they were made for them. She was the sexiest woman I'd ever seen. If no one had interrupted us earlier, I would've tasted every inch of her.
Fuck. My cock was hard again. I forced down the heat rising in my chest and clinked my glass against hers.
"You like it here?"
"Who wouldn't?" She looked up at the kaleidoscope of light on the ceiling, eyes bright.
"Maybe. My places are only for people worth pleasing."
She turned to me, surprise flickering across her face.
"Wait, you own this bar? You seem so low-key. I didn't think you'd go for this ornate style. I figured you'd be more minimalist."
I didn't care about style. This was just one of many properties I'd acquired.
Things were different now. Back in the day, violence worked. Not anymore. If you wanted to hold onto bratva honor in New York, black market ops alone wouldn't cut it.
The pigs at the precinct were always hunting for their cut. I had to adapt—turn dirty money into clean cash flow. With enough legitimate companies on the surface, it wasn't hard.
I figured that was why this girl thought I was a gentleman. This "treat people nice" act kept me out of trouble.
"So you think you've got me figured out already?" I stared at the flush spreading across her face.
"I wouldn't dare claim to understand anyone anymore." She paused, eyes dimming. "I thought I knew my ex-boyfriend. My best friend. But they were screwing behind my back. I still don't get it—he dumped me, so why humiliate me at the wedding with Chloe? Because of my body?"
She grabbed her glass and drained it.
I frowned. That caught me off guard. She'd dated Makar?
Makar and I were half-brothers. I didn't pry into his life. Who he dated, who he married—none of my business. I only went to his wedding because it was Petrov family tradition. We had to pretend to be close, at least on the surface.
But I hadn't realized Makar was a bigger asshole than I thought. Our father kept him away from the dangerous bratva life—not so he could hurt innocent, good women.
"That bastard's blind." I meant it. "I guarantee every strong man out there would kill for your body."
She propped her elbow on the table, resting that face—the kind that drove men insane—in her palm, looking at me.
"Does that include you?" Her voice was thick with alcohol.
"What if I said yes?"
Her eyes—like two rare gems glinting under the lights—locked on mine.
"Then someone should do something about it." She closed her eyes, her curled lashes trembling.
The faint lemon soap scent on her skin crawled up my nose and into my lungs. I could feel her breathing quicken. She'd worked up serious nerve to say that—to ask a man she barely knew to kiss her.
Refusing would be ungentlemanly.
I leaned in. Her lips felt like cream melting against mine. She touched my tongue first, tangling with it. Her mouth still tasted of sweet liqueur. I swallowed her sugary saliva greedily. She was like a peach bursting with nectar, begging to be devoured.
When we stopped, her hands were still wrapped around me, her chest pressed against mine. Her neckline gaped open, her breasts pushed up by the square cut of that white dress, displayed like a feast.
Good thing our booth was secluded. Barely anyone passed through here.
"Varlam." She said my name, straddling my lap, fingers wandering restlessly across my chest.
She was shattering my control. I was losing my fucking mind.
Sure, Makar didn't deserve her. But that didn't mean I could just do whatever I wanted. She was drunk, completely unguarded. I didn't want to take advantage—especially not of Briony. But I had to admit, she was the most perfect gift the universe had ever given me.
I needed to cool off. If this kept up, I'd take her right here. Trust me, that wouldn't be good for either of us.
"I need to step away." I clenched my jaw, easing her back against the couch. "Wait here."
I left, ignoring her protest. I checked the surroundings first, making sure Briony would be safe. I knew I was being an asshole, but I had no choice.
I walked into the bathroom, crushing down frustration and need, and shut the door. The air in the enclosed space felt thick and scalding.
Her image flashed through my mind again—straddling my lap.
"Fuck—"
I could picture exactly how good it would feel to be inside her.
Her thick thighs wrapped around my waist, soft belly pressed to mine, my cock buried deep. Her tight, slick pussy clamping down on me. Her full breasts bouncing with every thrust.
Those breasts felt like water in my hands, spilling between my fingers when I squeezed. I already knew how deadly that felt. I reached for my zipper, yanked down my briefs. My cock sprang out like it had been waiting.
The cool air made the tip even more sensitive.
I imagined her riding me, trembling under my touch, golden hair damp with sweat. My hand started pumping.
She'd collapse against me, nails digging into my back, begging me to go deeper. Then that impossibly tight cunt would squeeze me, milking me as she came.
I wanted her. Wanted to ruin her for anyone else. Wanted those heavy tits wrapped around my cock, wanted to paint her face with my cum. The images burned through my brain, heat pooling in my gut.
My strokes got rougher, faster, until I came hard.
After the release, clarity returned. What the hell was I doing? Fantasizing about a girl half my age—my shithead brother's ex—riding me? And I just jerked off to it?
I splashed cold water on my face, thoughts spinning.
She wasn't a good choice. The second I found out about her and Makar, I should've stopped. But I didn't. I told myself Makar didn't deserve her, that they should've broken up anyway.
This was insane.
It had to end. I'd go out there, tell her she was drunk, and I'd be a gentleman and take her home. That would be the end of it.
I left the bathroom and headed back to the booth—only to see a man in a white suit standing there, drink in hand. Briony was laughing with him, and my vision went tight.
Why the fuck did I leave her alone?
I said the booth was safe. But there he was—some stranger next to Briony. My jaw clenched. I was sure she didn't know this guy. He had that lazy, player smile—the kind of playboy Briony wouldn't go for.
But they looked like old friends. My chest ached.
The man sat down next to her, draping his arm over her shoulder. She didn't push him away. She just smiled brighter.
I sped up, getting there before things went further.
Only then did I get a good look at the bastard. Messy curls, neat scruff, sculpted features. A sharp sense of threat hit me. He was the type young girls liked.
"Don't touch her." I stopped myself from throwing him out. "She's with me."
The man pulled back slightly when he saw me, but that smug grin stayed put.
"Sir, you should respect a lady's wishes." His English was thick with an Italian accent. "I think the lady's enjoying my company."
He put his hand back on her shoulder.
I looked at Briony, desperate for her to say no. Instead, she smiled—sly and sharp.
"I agree." Her voice was lazy. "I think this handsome, interesting gentleman and I are getting along just fine."
She was punishing me for leaving her—she should. She should punish any man who tried to resist her. But knowing it was me? My throat burned.
"Looks like I win." The guy raised his glass at me, taunting.
Fuck that. Briony wasn't his prize. I had to do something.
I grabbed his collar and hauled him up. His hand fell off Briony's shoulder.
"Keep harassing her and I'll break you. Then I'll throw you out of my place." My voice carried weight—enough to make anyone surrender.
His Adam's apple bobbed. Fear crept into his eyes.
"You're—Mr. Petrov? I didn't know—"
"Get out." I shoved him away before he finished.
He crawled off, apologizing, all his swagger gone.
"I thought you weren't coming back." Briony's voice was light and soft from the alcohol.
She held an empty glass, the blush on her face spreading to her ears.
"You should've turned him down," I said, irritated at how unguarded she was. "Or called the bartender."
"A girl getting hit on in a bar is normal, isn't it? Especially when she doesn't have a date. Or are you upset seeing another man talk to me?" She leaned closer, body loose. "But you turned me down just now."
Her scent made me want to crush her into me. No one could resist her.
"You're wasted." I pulled her against me, lips almost touching hers. "I was going to take you home. But you can tell me you want more."
"Of course. I—WANT—MORE." She enunciated each word like a kiss.
I was about to explode. My brother's ex? Half my age? Drunk? Fuck it all.