Chapter 5
ANDREI
My little caged bird has ears.
No. Not mine. I shouldn’t think of her that way. That’s dangerous, when she’s standing in front of me like this, arms crossed over her perky tits, staring up at me with that challenge in her eyes.
She has a bratty mouth. I’ve never liked brats, but this one…
This one makes me want to put her on her knees and show her a better use for that mouth.
Makes me want to slide my cock over her tongue to make it go still, order her to touch herself while I fuck her face so her complaints turn to moans.
I could fuck the brat out of her, leave her whimpering and begging instead.
Fuck. My cock stiffens and strains. She saw me getting hard when I walked in here; I saw where her eyes went. The last thing I need is for her to know how much she’s turned me on now. She might try to use it to her advantage, and I…
I’d like to think I’m not weak enough to fall for it.
But it’s been a while. It’s hard to find time to fuck when I’ve been worried about my empire falling down around my ears, about my men stabbing me in the back.
I’m wound tight, and this little songbird, who can’t keep her mouth shut, is so tempting that it’s hard to focus on what she’s saying instead of what I want to do to her to make her stop talking.
I grit my teeth, dragging my thoughts away from my aching cock and her pretty lips. "You should not be listening to things that don't concern you," I tell her sharply.
“I might die here. I’m locked up on your estate. I think everything here concerns me.”
I take a step toward her, against my better judgment. She’s pissing me off, and she also turns me on, painfully so. It’s the kind of conundrum I don’t fucking need right now.
"You don't know what you're talking about. Nothing concerns you except sitting right here and waiting for your father to let me know he has the money for you.”
Fuck, I should have fucking shot her already. She was right when she said my men will be pissed about it. The money is the only flimsy excuse keeping me from being under tighter scrutiny than I already have been from them. Money, they understand.
They wouldn’t understand that I can’t fathom taking this beautiful girl out back and putting a bullet in her head. I’ve never hurt a woman. I’ve never even considered it. And I don’t plan on starting now.
Which is why I need dear old Dad to fucking pay up, and quickly, so I can get her out of my house. Because if he doesn’t…
Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
And she’s far, far too perceptive. My men’s lips are too loose, clearly, talking too close to her room to not be overheard, but she’s piecing things together that she shouldn’t be.
Volkov is pushing. Testing my authority. Waiting to see if I'll crack under the pressure of holding territory. And instead of handling it the way I should—with brutal efficiency and absolute focus—I'm standing in this room, checking on a woman who should mean nothing to me beyond her ransom value.
"Don't I?" She tilts her head slightly. The movement is small, but it feels like a challenge.
Everything about her feels like a challenge.
"You've been distracted since you brought me here.
Your men are worried. I can hear it in their voices when they think I'm not listening. Someone's making a move and you're—"
"Enough." I take a step closer. She doesn't back away, like I’d thought she would, and now I’m far, far too fucking close to her. She smells like whatever expensive shit my staff stocks the guest rooms with, something that smells like flowers and beaches and makes me think of how I’d fuck her on a towel under the hot sun while waves lap at our feet.
Things I don’t need to think about. Things that make my cock strain painfully at the fly of my trousers, distracting me and making me angrier than before.
I’m the fucking pakhan of the Petrov Bratva. This little brat isn’t going to get the best of me.
"You think you understand because you hear conversations through a door? You think you know my organization because you're smart enough to piece together fragments?" My jaw clenches. “This is not your business, Soplyak.”
"You made it my business when you grabbed me off that street."
"I told you to mind—"
"I am minding it. This is me minding my own survival. If your organization falls apart while I'm locked in this room, what happens to me?" She glares up at me. “If you’re gone, your men are going to kill me. After they do other things first, probably.”
Just the thought of my men touching her makes anger flare through me, and nothing has actually happened. I can feel my hands clenching into fists, my teeth grating together, the desire to kill sweeping through me as if they actually did.
I feel myself sway toward her. “It doesn’t work like that,” I grit out. “In two days you’ll be out of here. Long gone, before anything that could happen, does. And nothing will happen to you.” I glare down at her. "I don't lose control."
She sniffs, shrugging up at me. "You're losing it right now."
The words land like a match on gasoline. I sway toward her, drawing in a long breath of her scent. God, she smells fucking good. I want to bury my face in her hair while I bury my cock—
Fuck. “You don’t know anything about control,” I growl, and her eyes flash up at me with a challenge, like she feels it, too. Like she can’t stop herself any more than I can.
“Do you?”
I grab a fistful of her hair, drag her mouth up to mine, and kiss her.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I needed her to stop talking. Needed to feel her mouth on mine. I need…
My cock is so goddamn hard. I need to come, and I want to do it inside her.
In her mouth, her pussy, anywhere she’ll let me in.
I bite at her lower lip, swallowing up her small cry of pain before I push my tongue into her mouth, tasting her.
She tastes like coffee and citrus, and I want to devour her whole.
And then… I feel her kiss me back.
Her hands come up to my chest. For a second I think she's going to push me away, but she doesn't. She grabs my shirt instead, fists the fabric like she needs something to hold onto, and opens her mouth under mine.
She’s like a fucking drug. Just this one moment of her submission to my touch has me starving for more.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I want her more than I can ever remember wanting a woman.
Lust pounds through my veins, hot and heavy, my cock throbbing.
I can feel pre-cum trickling down my shaft, soaking through my boxer briefs.
I haven’t been this hard, this feral, in…
Maybe never. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted like this. And I shouldn’t want her. She shouldn’t even be here. She’s a problem to be fixed, a bratty, mouthy girl who could undermine my control of my organization even more…
I slide my other hand around her throat as I back her up against the desk. My fingers curl lightly against her, squeezing the slightest bit. Her breathing stutters, and she moans, her fingers clutching at my shirt. Her tongue tangles with mine, and I feel her pulse speed up against my palm.
I could have any woman I want, except for her. I shouldn’t want her. Shouldn’t have her.
If the guards outside hear, I could say… what? That she’s a prize I’m allowed to take, if I want it? I’m the pakhan. I can fuck my captive if I want.
And then what? Her father won’t pay as much if he knows I’ve harmed her in any way. He’d never believe she wanted it. They’ll argue that. See me as weak for giving in to my lust.
She’s tight all over, lean and fit, soft in just a few places. Her breasts against my chest as her tongue licks into my mouth. She’d be soft inside. Her hips tilt against mine, pressing against the thick outline of my cock, and I can’t fucking breathe.
One of her hands goes to my hair, threading into it, and she pulls—not hard but enough to make me growl low in my throat. The sound is animal, uncontrolled. Everything I'm not supposed to be.
My hips rock forward, grinding my cock against her, and she gasps. I’m desperate for pressure, for friction, for anything to ease the ache. I curve a hand around her breast, my thumb flicking over her peaked nipple, and she whimpers.
Mine. The thought comes unbidden and unwelcome. She's not mine. She can't be mine. But in this moment, with her mouth open under mine and her body responding to every touch, she feels like she is.
She shivers under my touch and presses closer, and I can feel the heat of her even through our clothes. Her pulse is galloping under my hand, and I tighten it fractionally against her throat, wanting to see how far I can push my little brat. My little bird.
Mine, mine, mine.
I want to strip her bare. I want to see every inch of skin I'm only feeling through fabric. I want to taste her everywhere, want to make her come apart under my hands and tongue and on my cock until she forgets her own name.
The thought sends a bolt of heat straight down, my length straining until I think my zipper might pop. This is dangerous. This is losing control.
I don't care.
My hand slides down her stomach, down to the button of her jeans. I don’t know if I want her on her knees first, or on her back. Her mouth full of my cock, or her pussy. I don’t have a condom with me, but I don’t care. I’ll fuck her and then fill her mouth up with my cum. I’ll…
I hear the sound of the guards moving around outside the door, a low cough from one of them, and reality crashes back in.
What the fuck am I doing?
I tear myself away from her so fast she stumbles slightly. I catch her automatically, my hands on her arms, steadying her, and then I let go like she's burned me.
She's staring at me with wide eyes. Her lips are red and swollen from my mouth. Her hair is tangled from my hands. She looks thoroughly kissed and completely confused.
"Andrei—"