Chapter 4
TERESA
My heart thrums as he shuts the study doors behind him, cutting off the world. I grab the laptop and press it to my chest before fumbling for an apology.
“I… I was just… uh, typing stuff into Google.” I’m off to a bad start.
“That much is obvious.” His grin fades as his expression turns thoughtful. He moves with predatory ease, reminding me of a wolf circling its prey. “You Google your doubts. That’s endearing.”
Endearing. God help me.
He pauses at the desk, the brown folder catching the firelight.
“It appeared Volkov’s order today upset you,” I say, needing words to fill the space, trying to change the subject. “Whatever it was.”
Vlad’s eyes flick to mine. “Upset? No. Annoyed is more like it.” He taps the folder. “It will force a choice I do not relish—empire or conscience. And I have so little conscience left.” A faint smile ghosts across his mouth. “Volkov knows this.”
A chill skates down my spine. “You mean he wants you to—”
He silences me with a look that silently says, “Don’t ask. Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It’s not my business.”
“No need to apologize.” He turns to the bar. Crystal clinks as he pours smoky amber liquid into a cut-glass tumbler. Without breaking eye contact, he brings it over and places it in my quivering hand.
“To steady your nerves.” The directive is soft, absolute.
I hesitate, lips brushing the rim. The scent of whiskey reaches my nose. “I shouldn’t.”
I want to, but I shouldn’t.
“You should,” he counters, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Drink.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. I tip it back. Liquid fire blooms down my throat, warm enough to hush the tremor in my fingers. But the tremor in my chest only sharpens.
He picks up the folder and opens it, skimming dense pages while I watch the muscles play along his jaw. The veins in his forearms shift under his skin. Everything about him is precise, disciplined, yet I sense a thread pulled taut beneath that calm. One deliberate motion and the man could snap.
“You asked Google if it’s wrong to be attracted to your boss,” he says without looking up.
Embarrassment scorches me. “That was ridiculous. I was—”
He chuckles, cutting me off. “I hope the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I was asking for a friend.’”
That gets a small, nervous laugh out of me. “No. I was just… I don’t know. Burning off nerves while waiting for you.”
“They say fear and desire are like two nerves wrapped around one another,” he murmurs. “Twist one, the other reacts.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
That’s a lie, one I sense he sees right through. He has me pegged. My fear and desire for him are, just as he said, twisted together like wire. I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
His gaze meets mine, pinning me in place. “You should be.”
In an instant the distance between us shrinks. I swallow hard, forcing a wry tilt to my mouth. “And yet here I sit, dutifully delivering your paperwork.”
“Bravery,” he says, “or the world’s worst survival instinct.” He snaps the folder shut and sets it aside. “Either way, I admire your commitment.”
Another sip steadies the drum in my chest. Warm whiskey, warm fire, the scent of his cedar and smoke threading between. Every glance becomes its own conversation. Breath fans between us, growing thick as molasses.
He tips his head. “Hands still shaking?”
“A bit,” I admit.
“Good.” Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Allow me to steady them.”
He closes the bit of distance left between us in a single, unhurried step and slides the empty tumbler from my fingers. He sets it on a side table before his hands come back for mine, enveloping them completely.
His skin is rough, calloused in a way that speaks of hard work—unusual for a man whose deals are struck with pens and pistols. Instinct tells me to retreat, break contact before the spark becomes a flame.
I ignore it. I stare at the improbable sight of his big, powerful hands cocooning my smaller ones.
“You have every right to fear,” he says, voice low. “After what you’ve survived.” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist in a lazy circle. “But not right now. Not with me.”
I know exactly what he’s seeing in my eyes, echoes of panic, grief, and uncertainty. What he doesn’t see is the raw want beneath it. My pulse jumps, panties becoming slick at the lightest pressure of his touch.
“To be honest,” I reply, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”
His smiles, half-dangerous, half-reassuring. “Then let me show you how I feel.”
The first brush of his lips is exploratory—almost polite—but the restraint lasts a single breath. He deepens the kiss, claiming my mouth with an urgency that borders on feral.
He tastes so goddamn good.
I gasp, and he growls, the sound vibrating straight to my core.
Large hands slide to my hips, thumbs digging into soft flesh as he pulls me up from the chair and presses me against his body. I feel his cock hard and unyielding against my abdomen through his trousers. The contact sends a course of heat through me, a sense of want.
He breaks the kiss and breathes against my cheek. “Feel that? Not fear, kotenok. Hunger.”
“Yes,” I manage, the word a shaky exhale.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, feeling hard planes of muscle beneath fine cotton. He lifts me just enough so that my heels tip off the rug, and I cling to him, dizzy with the effort it takes not to dissolve.
One palm travels down, fingers splaying over the curve of my back, then lower, cupping my buttocks. He presses rhythmically, coaxing my hips to rock forward into his groin. Friction sparks—delicious and impossible to resist. I moan against his throat, every instinct shouting at me to run.
His answering growl is pure satisfaction.
He slides two knuckles over my center in slow, deliberate strokes that make me arch.
Cloth against cloth shouldn’t feel this good, but each drag sends a bright pulse through my nerves.
My head tips back, firelight fluttering behind my eyelids as I lightly moan.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, mouth grazing my jaw. “Let me hear you.”
Another stroke, firmer this time, and I gasp, hips bucking helplessly for more pressure. He obliges, rolling his knuckles until I’m panting into the collar of his shirt, fingers digging into the broad expanse of his back.
My world narrows. All thoughts dissolve—there is only the relentless promise in his touch and the realization that I have never, ever felt wanted like this.
His knuckles drag another shudder from me, each stroke a deliberate theft of my sanity. His eyes, dark and sensual, hold mine, daring me to break contact. Suddenly, his hand shifts, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my slacks, breaching the thin barrier of my panties.
I gasp, clutching his shoulders as his calloused fingertips find my slick heat.
He explores with ruthless precision, circling my clit with a slow, firm pressure that makes my thighs quake.
My breath fractures into sharp moans, hips grinding against his hand.
He murmurs something in Russian, low and guttural, as his fingers delve deeper, curling inside me.
The stretch is exquisite, a sweet burn that unravels me. My nails bite into his back, heat coiling tight before snapping. My climax crashes through me, a white-hot wave that leaves me trembling and breathless, clinging to him as my body pulses around his fingers.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. With a predator’s grace, Vlad lowers me onto the rug before the fire, its warmth kissing my skin.
His hands are deft, unbuttoning my slacks and peeling them down in one fluid motion.
My blouse follows, leaving me in my bra and panties, exposed under his hungry gaze.
Firelight dances over my curves as his eyes devour me, reverent and ravenous.
“Teresa,” he breathes. “You’re so goddamn sexy.”
His lips find my collarbone, trailing kisses down the swell of my breasts and along my stomach, worshipping every inch. He nips at the soft flesh of my hips, murmuring, “Perfect. Every curve.”
I should stop him. It all feels so wrong, like I’m disgracing Maxim’s memory. But God help me, I can’t stop.
His hands slide up, easing my bra straps down, baring my breasts. His mouth follows, hot and worshiping, tongue circling each nipple before drawing it between his lips. I arch, moaning, as he lavishes attention on each peak, his teeth grazing just enough to spark a sweet ache.
My fingers fumble with his belt. I ease the zipper down, the heat and weight of him pressing against my palm. The look he gives me—dark, lustful—gives me a full-body shiver.
“Easy, kotenok,” he murmurs. “You’ll undo me.”
He reaches into his pocket for a condom, tearing the foil quicky. I catch his hand trembling just a little before he recovers. Seeing him so ready, so focused, and absolutely locked on me turns my body to liquid.
Maxim’s memory knocks softly, but I turn away from it. For better or for worse.
Vlad guides me back onto the rug, parting my thighs with a gentle but unyielding touch. He tugs my panties down, then presses against my entrance. He enters me slowly, inch by wonderful inch, filling me until I’m stretched, full, complete.
I whimper, nails raking his shoulders as he begins to move, each thrust deep and slow.
The rhythm builds, relentless, his hips snapping against mine.
My legs wrap around him, urging him deeper, the friction of his body against my clit sparking fire through my veins.
His growls vibrate against my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse as he drives harder, faster.
I look up at him, muscles flexing, sweat gleaming on his upper lip, dark hair falling into his eyes as he moves. His cock, thick and relentless, disappears into my pussy over and over. His abs tense with each roll of his hips, scars catching the dim light.
He leans down, lips crashing into mine, tongue claiming as his hand kneads my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it’s a hard, aching peak.
“Teresa,” he growls, “come with me.”
The pressure builds again, a tidal wave cresting. I’m gasping, clawing at him, lost in the heat of his skin, his scent, the way he fills me. His rhythm falters, a desperate edge to his thrusts, and I feel him tense.
My climax hits first, a shattering pulse that rips a cry from my throat. He follows, a low roar tearing from him as he buries himself deep, shuddering as we unravel together. The world blurs—firelight, sweat, the weight of his body anchoring mine.
We collapse onto the soft rug beneath us, breathless, tangled, the fire warm against our skin.