Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Xeniya Morozova
Seventeen Years
Inever turned in my homework late—I hated being a bad student, or honestly, being bad at anything—but Mom fainted again. Her cancer was back. She’d been in remission for eight years, but the other day we were baking together, and she fainted.
She might have died, too, if I hadn’t stepped in and caught her before her temple hit the corner of the counter.
It was terrifying, and not much scared me anymore. But that did. We spent three days in the hospital, and I never left her side. Which meant I had to miss school and training.
The Pakhan was not amused.
But it was for Mom.
It turned out to be breast cancer, stage three.
She needed a double mastectomy this time and didn’t take it well.
She’d done everything in her power not to have that surgery the first time.
She didn’t want to be any less of a woman for Dad.
She didn’t want her sex drive to fail and her husband to lose attraction to her.
Of course Dad didn’t care.
He never cared.
He just wanted her because she was his. His Moyó nébo i moya zvyez-dá.
Their love was sickeningly cute.
One day, I wanted someone to look at me and love me the way my father loved my mother.
They were soulmates. Inseparable. Most mafia parents sucked.
They neglected their kids—or worse, abused them—but not my parents.
They loved us and protected us. They were also the perfect couple, disgustingly in love and always sneaking off together.
I shivered.
That was not an image I wanted in my head.
Unfortunately, sex was impossible not to imagine, because as I opened the door to my English class—to turn in my paper late—I was confronted with exactly that.
Everything moved in slow motion. At first, it was just the haze of bookshelves, tables in straight lines, the whiteboard and posters of literary classics. And then it was the noise—the slap of flesh and muffled moans.
I averted my eyes, embarrassed, and I started to apologize, but as soon as I opened my mouth to say the words, I realized they hadn’t seen me. And the they in question?
Severin Volkov and Miss Redfield.
And I really should have said something. What I definitely should not have been doing was watching my twenty-one-year-old teacher fuck my eighteen-year-old best friend.
Well, in all honesty, he was definitely fucking her.
Miss Redfield was face down on the desk, her shirt off, her nipples rubbing against the wood as Severin pounded into her from behind.
His shirt was off and pants undone, the ropes of his muscles on full display.
His hips moved in a steady rhythm, his muscles tightening and releasing with each thrust.
With each movement, I became more fascinated, my eyes drawn to his ass and the cute little dimples at his lower back.
My heart slammed against my ribcage. I bit my lip to stay silent. Getting caught was not an option. But fuck it. I watched anyway.
I was transfixed.
Miss Redfield’s nipples were pebbled, and she bit the heel of her hand to suppress her moans. It stifled some of the sound, but plenty still carried through the room.
This was a discipline problem, and she was failing. It shouldn’t be that hard to stay silent.
Severin reached around her, his fingers moving to caress her folds, while his rhythm never faltered.
I squinted, trying to take in more details. Moisture pooled in my panties. That was strange. Was I getting my period? But no, I’d just had it seven days ago.
What was happening? My core pulsed, and an insatiable hunger licked my insides. I had the urge to slide my hand down and touch myself—something I’d never done before. But no, that wasn’t quite right. I wanted him to do it. To touch me the way he was touching her.
Not with his penis, just his hand.
I gulped. What the actual fuck, Xeniya? You have never thought of him this way before. You don’t want him.
You just want sex.
Normal girls want sex. It’s okay.
I must have made a small noise, or Severin had a sixth sense, because his gaze shifted and locked with mine.
Every muscle in my body froze.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He saw me.
Kill me now.
But he didn’t do what I expected. He didn’t stop or get flustered. He simply smirked, gripped her hips, and moved harder, all the while his eyes stayed latched to mine.
Seconds stretched. Or minutes. I couldn’t tell. All I could sense was unfiltered, undeniable tension.
Oh, God. I shuddered, and my heart jumped into my throat, a bead of sweat rolling down my spine.
The air between us felt tight enough to snap. His gaze burned into my skin. The heat of it was so strong I was sure it melted my insides, too. Whatever emotion poured from him was intense, but the worst part was that I couldn’t tell the color of it.
The nature of it.
Was it anger? Amusement? Lust?
God, please don’t let it be lust. I could handle anger.
I couldn’t handle lust. Maybe all of the boys were right.
I was a prude. I didn’t care about sex. I cared about getting into the best college, earning my degree in computer science, and training—being accepted into the mafia as an equal to the boys.
I wanted power. I did not care about sex or Severin Volkov.
The intensity was too much, and I needed to look away. Oh, kill me now. I wanted to run out of the room and never look at him again, but if I did, Severin would never respect me.
And I hadn’t spent the last nine years training with the boys to lose all respect now. So I tilted my chin up, lifted an eyebrow, and smirked back. My look said, So what? Am I supposed to be horrified?
Frustratingly, it only made the corner of his mouth tilt higher, and he raised an eyebrow in return as if saying, Like what you see, Zaya?
And oh, God yes, I liked what I saw, and that was disturbing because Xeniya Morosova did not find Severin Volkov attractive. That was not okay.
I stayed perfectly still, refusing to break the tension. I was not weak. So we stayed like that until he came with a roar, paused for a slight moment, and pulled out.
I pinched my eyes shut to gain composure, and then forced myself to keep my gaze up—in the safe zone.
Do not look down.
Do. Not. Look. Down.
Well, fuck.
I looked.
And fuck. It was big. Far too big to comfortably fit inside a woman. God, look away, Xeniya. Look the fuck away.
I clenched my fists, trying to focus on something else, and finally, finally, I glanced back up at his face.
Which was a massive mistake.
Because the glee glittering on his sculpted features should have been illegal.
I was going to punch him or myself. This was not okay.
Miss Redfield made a sound, and our attention drifted to her.
A white substance dripped down her legs, and she whimpered, reaching back for him and saying, “No, I’m not done with you yet.”
“We have company,” Severin said, coldly, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping and buttoning up his jeans.
Not a single hair was out of place. It didn’t look like he’d done anything, let alone fuck someone on a desk.
Miss Redfield’s gaze whipped to me, and her face blanched. Her whole body trembled.
“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Redfield, Xen won’t tell a soul, will you, Xeniya?” He raised a highly amused eyebrow.
He loved to use his eyebrows as weapons.
“All of Severin’s secrets are safe with me.” The words came out harsher than I meant them to. “I was just coming to turn in my essay.”
I held up the paper, and it wobbled with the movement.
“For which she will get an A-plus,” Severin said as he handed Miss Redfield a tissue to clean between her legs.
“I don’t need you threatening anyone to get me good grades.” I walked over to the desk, not caring that my teacher was still half-dressed and disheveled. I set my essay down and turned on my heel to leave.
It was best to exit quickly, my dignity intact.
“Of course you don’t.” Severin strolled after me, his stride even and steady without a care in the world. But given that he had grown into a redwood tree, he caught up to me quickly in the hallway.
He didn’t let up on his pace, and soon he was up half a step in front of me.
“I am pretty sure that was illegal,” I said, crossing my arms.
He shrugged. “And what’s new? Most of what I do is illegal, Zaya. I wanted to fuck the teacher, so I fucked the teacher.”
I pinched my eyes shut. Not the bunny again. He had come up with the nickname when we were babies, and he had never let go of it.
“I’m not judging.” I bit my lip. “But you should wear a condom. No need for babies or STIs.”
“Oh, thank you, doctor.”
I shook my head. “You’re welcome.”
“So you’re a voyeur.” His voice was playful and far, far too amused.
Was I? I bit the inside of my cheek. Maybe I was. I didn’t hate it. In fact, I liked watching. That was perhaps the most disturbing part.
“I guess I am.”
He gave a low chuckle. “I never would have guessed you were so kinky.”
“Apparently, I am.”
“And you’re still a virgin.”
Pressure built behind my ribs, and my face went still.
It wasn’t said as a question. It was said as a fact. So I didn’t respond. What was there to say?
He stopped in front of me, forcing me to halt before running into him. He turned, his body inches from mine. “I could fix that problem.”
My heart jolted into my throat, and I stepped backward, my spine hitting a locker, the lock digging into my shirt.
“I wouldn’t want that,” I breathed as he stepped forward, hovering over me. He was so fucking tall.
“Oh?”
My throat went dry as the desert, and my face started to sting. This whole conversation was imbalanced and unfair. But I said the words I shouldn’t have said anyway. “I’d want it to matter.”
The vein in his jaw ticked as he braced against the lockers above me. Caging me in.
“You should get on birth control.”
My face scrunched. The comment came out of nowhere. “Why?”
“For when I eventually fuck you.”
Then he did something I’d never expected and had no idea how to handle. In fairness, I didn’t know how to handle any of this.
He plunged his thumb into my mouth, and I gasped.
I froze. Every muscle in my body went taut as a harp string.
“Suck,” he said darkly.
What? No fucking chance.
“No.”
“Suck, Zaya.”
“No.” My nostrils flared, and I glared up at him. Out of pure defiance, I bit down.
His eyes stormed, and my heart pounded. The tension was unbearable. He was unreadable, and not knowing what he was feeling or thinking killed me.
It wasn’t fair. I was an open book. Every thought, every feeling, was readable. Painted across my face like a da Vinci masterpiece.
Then he chuckled. “Oh, you are too much fun.” He pulled his thumb from my mouth with a pop, and he stepped back, giving me some room to breathe.
“One day, I will fuck you, Zaychik.”
I shook my head, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Maybe. But don’t ask me again unless you want it to matter. Unless you want to keep me forever.”
“That won’t happen.”
“I know,” My voice barely carried, “So you’ll never have me.”
My stomach twisted as I stared into his liquid-blue eyes. I needed to get as far away from Severin Volkov as possible. I had planned to stay in New York for college, but my father wanted me to go to the University of Chicago.
He wanted me to get away from the Volkovs.
He was right.