Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Briony
Varlam's palm burned against the back of my neck, his grip firm, leaving no room for escape. That familiar cedar scent mixed with a hint of tobacco pressed down on me. I froze for half a second before snapping out of it and shoving at his chest with everything I had.
Of course, he didn't budge.
The man's chest was like a damn wall, his shoulders wide enough to block an entire door. I'd watched him pin a grown man against a wall. I'd been lifted off the ground by one of his hands. And here I was, thinking I could push him away with two hands.
I must've lost my mind to even try—no, the one who'd really lost it was him.
A minute ago, he was standing behind his desk, tearing into me. The next, he was kissing me like someone was about to snatch me away from him.
Wasn't this what he wanted? Me quitting? Me leaving the company, leaving his office, leaving that disgusting mess between him and that woman. They could get married, play out their whole lost-and-found love story, with no one left to be in the way. But he wouldn't let me go.
Varlam kissed harder, his mouth grinding against mine. I couldn't escape, so I bit down on his lower lip instead.
The taste of iron bloomed on my tongue. He finally pulled back half an inch. Blood seeped from his lip, but he didn't even flinch. He just stared at me with those steel-gray eyes, like he wasn't the one who'd been bitten.
I scrubbed the back of my hand across my mouth until my skin stung. This kiss didn't soften me. It only reminded me of how many times he'd decided things for me—my work, my staying, even when I should shut up—without ever asking.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I glared at him.
"You talk too much." His eyes were dark as hell.
"So you shut me up with your mouth?"
"Works."
Bastard. He always knew how to twist hurt and intimacy together. One second, he ground my dignity into the dirt. The next, one step closer and my body remembered heat it shouldn't. Like as long as I still reacted to him, everything he'd done could just be wiped clean.
No. Never.
Humiliation and rage surged to the top of my skull. My fingertips trembled. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. My palm burned, but that sharp crack let some of my fury out. Varlam's face turned to the side. I saw the red mark bloom across his cheekbone.
My breath stopped. I realized who I'd just hit. This was Varlam Petrov. The man who made people twice my size bow and call him Pakhan.
Fear crawled up my spine. I backed up instinctively, but the door was right behind me.
Varlam slowly turned his face back. His gaze was dangerously heavy. I thought he'd wrap his hand around my throat. But instead, he took my hand and pressed my palm back to his face.
"Not enough? Keep going." His voice dropped low. "Hit me till you're done being angry. Just don't say you're leaving again."
My spine went rigid. The vulnerability in those words was so unfamiliar I almost didn't recognize it.
He was strong enough to make danger bow before him. But now he held my hand, waiting like he wasn't sure how this would go. My chest tightened. I'd never seen Varlam like this. His clumsy show of weakness could move any woman.
But I knew I couldn't. I'd already been stupid over this man too many times.
"Why can't I leave?" I bit down on every word like I had to force them out. "I'm not your property. Not something you can lock in a safe. Varlam. I hurt. I get disappointed. And I have the right to decide when to go."
Varlam didn't answer right away. His expression looked painful, like something was stuck in his throat—couldn't swallow it, couldn't spit it out.
"Why?" His face tightened suddenly, like he was being forced to face something he didn't want to. "Because when I think about you packing up, taking Rory, and leaving. Going somewhere I can't see. People there will know you, see you every day, and I won't. My chest tightens up."
What was he saying? I almost thought I'd imagined that sentence.
He always kept his composure better than anyone. He used experience and power to lock down every emotion, never letting anyone see inside. But now I could see it.
"This isn't what I expected. But those damn thoughts keep popping into my head.
The more I tell them to stop, the clearer they get.
" The emotions churning in Varlam's eyes were too intense.
I felt like my soul was burning. "When I think about you leaving my life, I get so restless I want to smash everything! "
My heart beat erratically. I'd waited too long for these words. This wasn't a confession, but it was the closest thing Varlam could say to one. Because he'd never been the type to casually bare his heart.
My anger cracked where his words hit it. Bitterness poured out from inside, pushing heat into my eyes.
Varlam's body suddenly lowered. His movement dropping to one knee was so quick I thought I'd hallucinated it.
"Let me make this right." He looked up at me, his burning breath brushing my stomach.
This was a brand-new angle. This man didn't bow to anyone. Even his apologies sounded like orders. But now he was kneeling before me. Silver-gray hair fell across his forehead. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes were sexy and mature.
With his position, one word and HR would reject my resignation. Guards would block the door. The whole city would refuse to hire me. But he didn't choose any of those easy solutions.
He knelt down and put the choice in my hands. I knew what he was going to do next. Heat was already spreading across my skin, unstoppable.
"Don't do this." My voice wasn't as firm as I'd wanted.
"You really want me to stop?"
I could tell—if I said "yes," he'd stop. But I couldn't get the word out. I pressed my thighs together tight, but it didn't stop that shameful flutter.
Varlam didn't push. He just waited. That patience was more terrifying than force.
"I..." My throat was so dry it hurt. "I don't know."
"You tell me to stop, I'll stop." His hands slid up my legs, gathering the fabric of my skirt. "Hold this."
I took the hem with shaking fingers.
"Spread your legs."
I should've refused. I had every chance to refuse. But I didn't. My thighs parted slowly, and his hands clamped around them immediately, locking me in place. His head dipped between my legs, his mouth pressing against me through the fabric of my panties.
Oh God.
His tongue worked patiently, soaking the cotton until it clung to every fold. Only then did he hook his fingers in the waistband and drag them down my thighs. The cool air hit my exposed skin, and I bit back a whimper.
His lips brushed the outer folds first, feather-light, teasing. Then his mouth sealed over me entirely, sucking hard. Everything I was already leaking, he swallowed down. I should've felt ashamed—I hadn't even showered, but the thought dissolved under the heat of his tongue.
He licked me open slowly, thoroughly, like he had all the time in the world. Then his tongue pushed inside, mimicking the rhythm of something thicker, something I wanted with an ache that made my knees shake.
I grabbed his hair and came apart, gasping his name.
Before I could recover, he stood and lifted me like I weighed nothing. He carried me to the couch and laid me down, his hands already working the buttons of my blouse.
When my bra came off, he cupped my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples. "Fuck, these are perfect." He lowered his head and sucked one peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling until I arched off the cushions.
His fingers found the other nipple, pinching lightly, then pulling upward. The sensation shot straight between my legs. I felt him undo his belt, heard the rasp of his zipper. Then he was there, thick and hard, pushing inside.
He didn't move.
I was soaked, aching, and he just stayed buried to the hilt. The fullness made me squirm.
"Varlam, please..."
"Still planning to leave?"
I hesitated.
He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then slammed back in. Hard. The drag was exquisite torture.
"I'm not. I won't quit."
"Good girl." He sank in fully, bottoming out, and started to move.
His hands roamed my body, kneading the soft curves of my hips, my waist, my breasts.
I couldn't stop the sounds spilling from my throat—soft, broken gasps that turned into low, helpless moans as he rolled his hips in a deep, deliberate grind.
"You like it like this, don't you?" His voice was rough, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet sound of our bodies meeting filling the space between us. "Taking me so well."
It was overwhelming. My body responded violently, waves of heat rolling through me, thighs trembling around his waist. But beneath the pleasure, something hollow twisted in my chest. He'd done this with Brinny. Said these things to her. Probably been gentler, more careful.
My mood sank.
But Varlam didn't slow down. If anything, he got more intense.
His mouth found my ear, breath hot and ragged as he murmured against the skin.
"Only you make me feel like this." His hand slid down to where we were joined, his thumb circling with precise, relentless pressure that made my back arch. "You're incredible. So damn perfect."
Only you.
Those words unraveled something in me. The emptiness filled back up with warmth, with want.
My pleasure climbed again, sharp and dizzying, every thrust driving me higher.
I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as he kept praising me—my body, the way I felt around him, how good I was—and I believed him.
His rhythm never faltered, his hands never stopped worshipping every inch of me, squeezing, stroking, claiming.
We didn't stop until we were both wrecked, trembling, too exhausted to do anything but hold each other, sweat-slick skin pressed close, hearts still racing in the quiet aftermath.