Chapter 13 Katya #2
Trying to keep my movements casual so he doesn't get the chance to read me again, I rise slowly and reach for the vodka, but he moves faster.
"I know exactly what I'm talking about."
He closes the distance, stopping in front of me.
"You're good at this—at lying, at playing roles, at reading people. And you're starting to realize that you don’t hate working for me."
"Fuck you," I spit, but there's no true heat behind it.
Dimitri is like a puppy where I'm concerned.
I'm beginning to think he'll never really follow through on threats to harm me if I try to run.
If I've read him right, and I think I have, he's obsessed with me.
For now, that means I live in a window of opportunity to take what I want.
If that obsession turns, I may be in danger, but I don’t think I'm out of the sweet spot yet.
"You already did."
His growls excite me.
"And you would do it again if I asked."
My face burns.
"That was part of the deal. Something I had to do to purchase my freedom."
"Was it?"
He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
"Or did you want it as much as I did?"
I slap his hand away.
"Don’t touch me."
"You don’t mean that."
He leans closer, his body crowding mine.
"You want me to touch you. You want me to take control. You want me to make the decision so you don’t have to admit you want this."
"I don’t want this," I hiss, but my pulse is racing.
God, I want this, and I want him to make me say it.
I just won’t admit that to him.
"Liar."
We stand there, locked in place, the air between us crackling with tension.
My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears.
"You're scared," he finally says, "of what it means if you admit you want to stay. Scared of what it means if you admit you want me."
"I don’t want to stay," I say, my voice shaking.
"I want my freedom. That's all I have ever wanted."
"Then what happens after?" he asks.
"You walk out that door and go back to stealing and conning your way through life? You go back to hostels and one-night encounters and never staying anywhere long enough to be seen?"
I swallow hard.
"That is my life."
"It doesn’t have to be."
He cups my jaw, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
"You could stay. You could work for me. You could belong here."
"I don’t belong anywhere."
"You belong to me."
His thumb brushes over my cheek.
"You've belonged to me since the moment I caught you in that stall. And if you break my rules again, if you take risks without my permission, I may not let you go."
My breath catches.
"You promised."
"I did."
His eyes are dark.
"But promises can be renegotiated."
"Then I'll leave," I tell him bluntly, walking away.
Dimitri gives chase, following me as I walk toward the kitchen.
His footfalls are loud.
He's angry, and I've got him right where I want him.
He snatches my wrists, pinning them against the kitchen island.
His body presses into mine, all hard muscle and unyielding heat, his breath hot against my ear.
“You think you can just walk away, Katya? After everything?”
I glare back at him, my heart pounding not just from anger but from that twisted thrill that coils in my gut when he’s this close.
He’s dangerous—lethal, controlling, the kind of man who could snap my neck as easily as he snaps orders to his crew.
And yet, here I am, my body betraying me, arching just a fraction toward him.
Why do I want this?
Why does his dominance make my pulse race, make heat swirl between my thighs even as my mind screams to run?
He’s a cage I should hate, but God, the bars feel like velvet chains.
“Are you going to bully me or fuck me?”
The words spill out in a defiant tone, laced with the dare I can’t resist throwing at him.
His dark eyes flash, something primal igniting in their depths.
For a split second, I see the war in him—the boss who demands obedience clashing with the man who’s been unraveling since I walked into his world.
Then his mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue invading like he’s conquering territory.
I bite his lip, hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood, and he growls a sound that vibrates through me.
He releases my wrists only to yank my shirt open, buttons scattering like gunfire across the floor.
His hands are everywhere—rough palms skimming my ribs, thumbs brushing my nipples until they’re peaked and aching.
I gasp into his mouth, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his suit jacket.
I want to tear it off and expose the tattoos that map his sins.
Why him?
Why this monster who caught me mid-con, who forced me into his games?
He’s not safe.
He’s a storm that could drown me.
But that’s the rush—the danger sharpens everything, makes every touch electric.
I hate how he controls me, owns my secrets, but fuck, it turns me on, the way he looks at me like I’m his prize, his obsession.
Dimitri breaks the kiss, his lips trailing fire down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone.
“You want this, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a rumble that sends shivers racing over my skin.
“You push me because you crave the fight.”
I don’t answer with words.
Instead, I hook my leg around his hip, grinding against the hard length of him straining through his pants.
He hisses, one hand sliding down to grip my thigh, hitching it higher.
His fingers dig in, bruising, marking me as his.
I should hate the possessiveness, the way he treats me like property in his empire.
But it ignites something feral in me, a need to be claimed by the very danger that could destroy me.
He spins me around suddenly, bending me over the island.
The cool surface shocks my bare skin, my breasts pressing against it as he yanks my skirt up around my waist.
His hand cracks against my ass once, twice, the sting blooming into heat that makes me moan.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice edged with that accent that always undoes me.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
I twist my head to look back at him, my cheek against the marble.
His face is shadowed, eyes burning with hunger.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, then louder, “Fuck me like you own me, Dimitri.”
It's a rush to beg him and an even bigger rush when he grips my hair and yanks me up, then spins me around.
Before I know it, I'm draped across his shoulder and being carried through the house.
He tosses me onto his bed, and I bounce so hard it punches the breath from my lungs.
Then he's on me, tearing the clothing from my body like a crazed lunatic while I tug at his buttons.
It's all teeth and flesh and heat until we're both naked, our bodies writhing against each other on the slick sheets.
And when I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slick from how desperately wet I am, I let my knees fall aside.
He thrusts in hard, one deep stroke that fills me completely, stretching me to the edge of pain and pleasure.
I cry out, my nails scraping down his chest, body arching upward into him.
God, he’s huge, unrelenting, each thrust slamming into me with the force of his frustration, his need.
Why does this feel so right?
He’s a killer, a king in a world of blood and betrayal, and I’m just the thief he ensnared.
But in moments like this, when he’s buried inside me, pounding relentlessly, I feel alive—truly, dangerously alive.
His control isn’t a prison.
It’s a drug, addicting me to the power play, to the way he makes me submit and fight all at once.
His hand snakes between our battling hips, fingers finding my clit, circling with expert pressure that has me gasping.
“You’re mine, Katya,” he growls, leaning over me, his chest crushing my tits, teeth nipping my shoulder.
“No walking away. No more games."
I push back against him, meeting his rhythm, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the apartment.
“Then make me stay,” I challenge, even as sensations of pleasure build, coiling tight in my core.
He’s so deep, hitting that spot that makes stars erupt behind my eyelids.
I shouldn’t want his possession.
It’s toxic, a chain around my freedom.
But fuck, the danger excites me—the thought that he could lock me away, keep me as his secret weapon, his lover.
It terrifies and arouses me in equal measure, this man who could end me but chooses to wreck me with ecstasy instead.
He pulls out suddenly and hooks my legs over his shoulders, thrusting back in with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs.
His eyes lock on mine as he drives into me harder, faster.
I reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down for a messy kiss.
Our tongues wage war, mirroring the frenzy below—him claiming, me yielding and taking.
Sweat slicks our skin and the air seems impossible to inhale.
I'm suffocating and coming alive in every breath as his fingers find my clit again.
I'm tensing, coiling up for an explosion, and he takes pleasure in it.
He’s death incarnate, and I’m the fool who blooms under his touch.
Why? Because in his world, control is survival, and submitting to him feels like defying the odds.
It turns me on, this edge-walking, the way his dominance strips away my facades, leaves me raw and wanting.
His pace stutters, fingers rubbing my clit in tight circles.
“Come for me,” he commands, and the raspy way he says it pushes my buttons.
I clench, working for it, arching my hips to the right angle, and it comes, rushing in so thoroughly, I can't breathe.
The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, crashing through me, my walls clenching around him as I scream.
Pleasure explodes—white-hot, blinding—my body shaking, toes curling.
He follows seconds later, thrusting deeper, spilling inside me with a guttural groan, his face buried in my neck.
We stay like that, tangled and spent, breaths ragged in the quiet aftermath.
His weight pins me, but it’s comforting now, a blanket of possession I shouldn’t crave.
Slowly, he lifts his head, brushing a strand of hair from my face with surprising gentleness as I lower one leg at a time until his full weight rests on me.
His eyes search mine, vulnerability flickering beneath the steel.
I trace a finger over his jaw, feeling the stubble, the strength.
Why him?
Because in his danger, I find my fire.
He’s controlling, yes—obsessive, lethal.
But he sees me, the real me, the con artist who thrives on risks.
And that turns me on more than anything, the thrill of being wanted by a man who could have anyone, yet chooses to fight for me.
He kisses me softly this time, lingering, as if sealing a pact.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
And in this moment, spent and sated, I don’t want to.
"Promise?" I ask him in a breathy whisper.
"I mean it when I tell you, you're mine, Katya. No one else will ever touch you again. Do you understand me?"
"Mmm," I hum, letting my eyes shut and my body melt under his.
"Again," I say, and his teeth sink into my neck.
"If I'm yours, do it again."