Chapter 22 #2
Her fingers brush up to his chest for a split second, and while Alexei maintains a polite distance, he makes no effort to pull away. I slam my glass down against the marble top.
"Give me alcohol," I tell Bohdan. He sighs. "He said no alcohol—"
"Bohdan."
He takes one look at my face, spots the woman across the room, and chooses the path of least resistance.
"One drink." As soon as I grip the cold glass, I run a hand down my skimpy dress and walk straight across the VIP floor to assert my place right next to him, and ruin his chances of getting laid.
I loop my arm through Alexei’s and press my body flat against his side, looking up at him with a sweet smile. "Hubby," I say with a cheerful voice, "the drink Bohdan picked was awful. Be a good future husband and buy me something strong."
Alexei clamps his hand onto my waist and pulls me hard against his side. His thumb drags over my hip bone to secure his hold. He stares at the full glass of alcohol already in my hand, then meets my eyes with amusement.
"Alcohol is a bad idea for you," he mutters.
"That’s why you’re here to look out for me," I shoot back, dragging my free hand up his chest. "Right?"
The woman clears her throat to pull his attention. I turn in her direction and act stunned by her face.
"Oh! I am so sorry," I say, opening my eyes wide. "I didn’t see you standing there at all."
She smiles without missing a beat. “Not at all. I’m Celeste. An associate of Alexei’s.”
“Associate,” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air. I shake her hand, gripping her fingers tighter than I need to. “How nice. I’m Zoya. His fiancée.”
Celeste pushes her eyebrows up. “Fiancée? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh?” I look up at Alexei and keep my fake smile in place. “You didn’t mention me to your close associate, darling?”
Alexei digs his fingers into my waist to deliver a silent warning. “We’ve worked on a few projects together. Celeste handles information.”
“Three projects,” Celeste says, turning her gaze to him. “We make a good team.”
I tilt my head. “How lovely. And do you two spend a lot of time together outside of these ‘projects’?”
Celeste opens her mouth. “Well, we’ve had a few—”
“It’s professional outings only,” Alexei cuts in to shut it down, his tone full of authority. “That's all.”
I pivot back to Celeste and stretch my mouth into a cunning smile. “Perfect. Just making sure. We wouldn't want any confusion about whose hands get to touch my future husband.”
Celeste’s smile breaks for a fraction of a second. “Of course not.”
I grab Alexei’s tie and give it a quick tug to pull him down closer to me. “Come on, hubby. You owe me that drink.”
I start steering him away by the silk material. Once we gain a few steps of distance from Celeste, I yank him down hard until his face is inches from mine.
“Don't play stupid games with me, Alexei,” I warn him, my tone losing its playfulness. “You won't like the stupid prizes.”
A dark smirk takes over his face. “Whatever do you mean, wifey?”
“Buy me the damn drink first,” I snap. “Then I’ll show you what I mean.”
He orders my drink without dropping my gaze, keeping his hand anchored to my waist. The bartender sets the glass on the counter. Alexei leans back against the marble, studying me.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m listening. What would my wife like to know?”
“Your relationship with Celeste,” I say, grabbing my drink. “Personal or professional.”
“Professional,” he answers. “Always has been.”
“And you never—”
“No.” He stops me before the words leave my mouth, his voice flat and resolute. “Never.”
I take a drink and look out at the crowd. He gestures to the bartender, and two shot glasses slide onto the counter. He pushes one in my direction. I look down at the glass, meet his gaze, and pick it up. We throw the shots back together.
He puts his glass down and holds my stare. "Is there anyone else you want to know about?"
"Is there anyone I should know about?"
"No," he answers without hesitation. "There isn't."
I twist the empty glass between my fingers, keeping my mouth shut.
"Are you going to ask me what you want to ask me?" he says.
"I don't know what you mean." He just stares at me.
I drop the glass onto the bar. "Is there anyone else I should know about? Anyone who looks at you the way she does?"
The silence stretches out just long enough to pull my eyes back to his face.
He wears a smile and I can already tell he’s about to piss me off.
"Wait," he says.
"Don't."
"Are you jealous?"
"No."
"Zoya."
“Why would I be jealous? You can do whatever you want. This is a marriage of convenience.”
He turns to face me, leaning his elbow on the bar with his body angled toward mine. He signals the bartender again, and two more shots slide across the counter. He pushes one toward me.
“You’re jealous,” he says. “Just admit it, you want to be mine just as I’m already yours.”
I pick up the shot. “I’m not jealous.”
We drink.
“I like this side of you,” he says, setting his glass down while his voice drops warm and low. “The possessive side. I need your crazy to match my crazy. I mean it.”
I set my glass down and look at him. “You want to see my crazy?”
“More than anything.”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
“Try me,” he says, and the smile on his face has me wanting to punch and kiss him in the same breath.
I hold his gaze for a long moment. Then I stand up, smooth my dress, and walk toward the exit. He follows, falling into step beside me and leaning down close to my ear.
“Where are we going?”
I don’t look at him. “You want to see if my crazy matches yours. Follow me.”
I march through the club, faking confidence.
I don't know where I'm going, but I take a left turn. I move past the bar and the booths, letting the crowd blur into a mess of color. The VIP area branches out, and I pick a path, walking until Alexei’s silent presence behind me feels like a threat.
I slow down, searching the dark corners.
Then I walk right into a wall. It is a solid, stone barrier. I stand there and stare at the stone.
Alexei stands beside me. He stares at the wall, then at me. He stays silent for a long moment.
“You don’t know where you’re going,” he says, amusement in his tone. “Are you looking for the private booth, wifey?”
“I know where I’m going,” I snap, defensive and embarrassed. “And yes, I was looking for it. It’s too dark in here.”
“Sure,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “Why don’t we go this way?” He points down the hall. “I saw a booth down there.”
I turn around. “Lead the way,” I say, acting as if I meant to go there all along.
His hand hits the small of my back to steer me.
He stops at a door, pushes it open, and holds it while I walk inside.
The private room is small, dark, and velvet-lined.
The club music drops to a low pulse through the walls.
He walks in behind me, the door clicks shut, and he sits on the couch.
He leans back, watching me stand in the center of the room in my gold dress, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Well?” he says, his tone taunting. “We’re here. Do you want to show me your crazy, or was that just more talk?”
I reach into my clutch and pull out my phone.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Remove your pants,” I command.
Silence fills the room.
“Kinky,” he says with a smirk. “I didn’t know you were into this.” He reaches for his belt, unbuckles it, and pushes his trousers down. His cock springs free, thick and hard. I look at it and hit record.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Recording,” I state. “Blackmail.”
He looks at the phone, then at his cock, and finally back at me.
“Okay,” he says, his voice rough. “Do you want me to stroke myself for the camera?”
He wraps his hand around himself, stroking once while watching my face.
“Stop that,” I snap.
“Come here then,” he says. “You can’t blackmail a man for sitting alone on a couch. That’s just a Tuesday. If you want proper blackmail material, you need to catch me in the act.”
I cross the room and his hands find my hips, pulling me down onto his lap. The gold dress rides up. He shifts my panties to the side and his fingers find me soaked and open. He stays silent, which is worse than if he had spoken.
“Angle the camera down,” he says.
“I know how to handle a camera,” I retort.
“Then handle it properly.” He positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”
He thrusts up into me before I can answer. I grab his shoulder with my free hand and try to keep the phone steady, but I fail.
“Hold it still,” he says, his voice strained as he pushes inside my pussy.
“Fuck warn me next time, you’re not exactly small,” I breathe out hard.
“I plan to carve the shape of my dick, into you.” He pulls me down onto him, slow and deep. “So hold the camera still, were about to sculpt.”
I find the angle, and he finds the rhythm. My hips roll down to meet his, and we move together. The room is quiet except for the wet sound of my body taking his cock and the noise of our breathing.
“If we’re going to be married,” I say, my voice unsteady, “at least have some respect for me. Don’t let women put their hands on you.”
“Did you see me flirt with her?” he asks, thrusting with a steady pace. “Did you even see me smile at her?”
“No,” I admit.
“And do you see me smiling now?” He looks up at me, a smile spreading across his face while his cock drives up into me. “Do you see that?”
“Yes,” I breathe, “but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is your problem?” Another thrust. “What do you want from me?”
I look at him. With his cock buried inside me and his hands locked on my hips, his eyes are fixed on my face, and I’m out of places to hide.
“I want your attention only on me and nobody else—because I’m your wife.”
He goes still.
“Wait,” he says. “So you finally admit that you like me? Should I assume that?”
“I don’t like you,” I say. “I’m tolerating you. You’re attractive, but your personality sucks.”