24. Ilya
ILYA
The green confirmation bar on the laptop screen is still glowing, casting a pale, clean light across the polished mahogany of my desk.
I’m not looking at the screen anymore. I’m staring at the side of her face.
Her hair is falling out of her loose bun, a few messy strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck.
She’s leaning back in my leather chair, her small hands resting flat on the armrests, a tiny, self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
She looks completely at home in my office, as if she didn't just spend the last twenty minutes dismantling a federal treasury block that had my entire captain detail sweating.
She’s magnificent.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful, and it’s not just the way her vanilla scent is slowly pushing the smell of tobacco out of the room.
It’s her mind. She stands in the middle of a war zone, looks at a spreadsheet, and finds a backdoor through a British underwriting firm because she actually understands how the Vostok family hides their debt.
I reach out, my large, callused hand wrapping around the back of her leather chair. I spin her slowly until she’s facing me, her knees brushing against my thighs.
"You’re staring again, Kovalevskii." She tilts her head, her hazel eyes bright with that sharp, stubborn spark I’ve come to crave. "Did I put the decimal point in the wrong place, or are you just trying to remember how to breathe?"
I don't pull my hand back. I slide my fingers up to her jaw, my thumb resting over her pulse point. It’s jumping, a fast, light flutter under her skin that tells me her confidence is just a mask for the adrenaline humming in her veins. "You’re a dangerous woman, Via."
"I told you." She doesn't flinch from my touch, her neck curving slightly into my palm. "I grew up in this house. My father might have lost his edge, but he didn't raise an idiot. If you’re going to keep me, you might as well use the brain you paid for."
"I didn't pay for your brain, little bird," I say, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that sounds thick in the quiet study. "I paid for your name. But right now, I’m starting to think I got the better end of the transaction."
"You did." Her fingers rise to grip my wrist, her touch warm against my skin. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
The physical tension in the room is a constant, buzzing wire, so hot and thick, I can practically feel it humming against my teeth.
I don't want to talk about Zurich. I don't want to think about Dmitri, or the Vostok captains, or the rain hitting the glass outside.
I just want her. I want to feel her body beneath mine on the very desk where we just spent the last hour plotting a multi-million-dollar fraud.
I want to show her exactly what she is to me.
She isn't my captive anymore. She isn't a bargaining chip.
She is my queen.
I stand up, my boots heavy on the rug as I close the small distance between us.
I reach down, my hands catching the edges of the heavy black laptop and the stack of folders, and sweep them to the far end of the desk in a single, rough motion.
The plastic clatters against the wood, but I don't even look at it.
I grab her by the waist, my fingers digging into the soft knit of her black sweater, and hoist her onto the center of the desk.
She lets out a short, startled gasp, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself as her heels click against the dark wood.
She’s sitting on the edge, her legs parting naturally to accommodate my bulk as I step between her thighs.
The grey afternoon light from the French doors catches the flush on her cheeks, her hazel eyes wide, dark, and completely focused on my mouth.
"Ilya..." Her voice is a breathless, shallow thread. "We have a meeting with the captains in ten minutes."
"They can wait," I rasp, my hands sliding under the hem of her sweater, my rough palms flat against the warm, bare skin of her waist. "Let them sit in the foyer and wonder why the Pakhan is late."
"You're a brute," she whispers, but her fingers are already tangling in the dark hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me down toward her.
"I am," I agree, my mouth sealing over hers.
I part her lips with my tongue, tasting her, devouring her with a quiet focus that leaves her whimpering against my mouth. She wraps her legs tightly around my waist, her bare ankles locking behind my back, her body pulling me as close as the wool of our clothes will allow.
I pull back slowly, my breath hot against her lips, my hand rising to cup her face. "You saved him today, Via."
She blinks through the haze of the kiss, her eyes searching mine. "I saved your five million."
"You saved your father," I say, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. "And you did it with a laptop and twenty minutes of work. If I had known you were this dangerous, I would have doubled the guard on your bedroom a month ago."
"You would have tried," she says, a tiny, sassy spark returning to her voice. "But I would have found a way out anyway."
"Probably," I say, a faint, dark amusement flickering in my eyes.
I reach for the hem of her black sweater, my hands working fast as I pull the heavy wool over her head and toss it onto the leather chair behind us.
She’s wearing a simple white lace bra, her pale skin goosebumped in the cool draft from the window.
I look at her breasts, the soft curve of her collarbone, and the deep, dark purple mark I’d left on her neck at breakfast. It looks like a brand, a permanent marker that tells the entire world she belongs in this room, with me.
I drop to my knees on the floor between her thighs, my hands sliding down to her black leggings.
She watches me, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps as I slowly slide the fabric down her legs, pulling them over her feet and tossing them aside. I strip off her white lace panties, leaving her completely bare on the dark, polished mahogany of the desk.
The contrast is overwhelming. Her small, pale, and incredibly soft body resting on the hard, dark wood where I usually sign execution orders and shipping manifests. She looks like a temple I’m finally being allowed to enter.
I reach out, my fingers gently parting the soft fold of her sex.
She is soaking wet, the sweet, slippery syrup of her arousal already coating her inner thighs. She lets out a quiet, trembling sigh as my hand touches her, her head tossing back against the leather blotter behind her.
"Ilya... please..."
"I’m going to make you scream, Via," I murmur, my voice low and flat. "I want everyone in this house to know exactly what we’re doing in here."
I lean down, my mouth pressing directly against her wet, throbbing clit.
She arches off the desk with a loud, breathless shriek, her fingers instantly clawing at the dark wood on either side of her hips.
Her body is shaking, her thighs trembling against my shoulders as I lick her slowly, my tongue sweeping upward over her nub with a hard, steady pressure.
I don't go fast. I take my time, my hands wrapping around her hips to hold her steady as I drink her wetness, my tongue driving into her tight, slippery channel before coming back up to tease her clit.
"Ilya! No, I’m... I can't..." She’s thrashing her head against the desk, her wrists pulling against nothing as she tries to find purchase on the smooth wood. "I’m close..."
I don't stop. I slide my fingers inside her, matching the frantic, rolling rhythm of her hips, my thumb putting a relentless, heavy pressure on her swollen nub.
"Let it go, Via," I growl against her wet skin, my voice a deep, vibrating rumble that she can feel in her bones. "Give it to me."
"Ilya!"
She shatters. Her body goes completely rigid on the desk, her head tossing back as she screams, her wetness clamping down around my fingers.
Her release flows over my hand in a hot, soaking wave, and I drink her, my tongue devouring her climax, my mouth sealing over her wet skin until her sobs turn into soft, panting gasps.
I pull my hand back, my fingers slick with her juices, and crawl back up her body.
I stand up, my hands going to my belt. I unbuckle the heavy leather, the metallic click of the brass buckle loud in the quiet study. I strip off my trousers and briefs, letting them pool on the rug, my cock springing free—thick, rigid, and throbbing with a painful, heavy ache.
I step between her thighs, but I don't drive inside her. Not yet. I lean my weight forward, my forearms resting on the cool wood on either side of her head, pinning her loose gold hair against the desk. I press the head of my shaft against her slick opening, sliding slowly up and down her wet cleft, painting us both in her fresh release, but denying her the actual entry she’s aching for.
She gasps, her hips tilting upward instinctively, her heels digging into my hips as she tries to force the depth.
She glares at me through her blown-out, glassy pupils, her breath coming in hot, rapid hitches against my neck.
"Are you going to keep standing there analyzing the logistics of this, Kovalevskii, or are you actually going to do something? "
I brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb tracing her lip. "You think you're in charge because you cleared my accounts?"
"I know I am." Her fingers grip my shirt collar, her grip surprisingly tight as she pulls me down, taking a sliver of the control back. "You're a sadist, Ilya."
"I'm a businessman, Via. I don't make investments without calculating the exact return."
"Then take your dividend."
The defiance in her eyes completely undoes me.
I slide inside her—not in a violent, sudden ram, but in a slow, torturous, inch-by-inch descent that fills her completely.
The raw drag of skin on skin is so tight, so hot, my jaw clenches as my entire length disappears inside her, my forehead dropping against hers as I hold myself perfectly still to keep from releasing immediately.
She lets out a long, shuddering sob against my mouth, her internal muscles clamping down around me like a hot vise, trying to force a faster rhythm. "Ilya... oh god."
I stay still, letting her stretch around the thick weight of me, letting her feel every single throb of my pulse inside her. "You wanted an equal, little bird. You have to work for it."
I begin to move, but the rhythm is entirely different from before.
It is a slow, heavy, grinding rotation of my hips, pressing hard against her swollen clit, using the friction to make her climb the wall again.
The heavy mahogany desk creaks beneath our combined weight, the steady slap of the rain against the glass windows behind us matching the wet, dragging slide of our skin.
"Ilya... please." Her hands claw at the dark leather desk blotter behind her head, her voice cracking as she completely loses her grip on her sass. "Harder. I can't... I can't breathe when you do it like that."
"Breathe with me," I rasp, my hands sliding down to hook under her thighs.
I lift her legs, draping her knees over my broad shoulders, completely exposing her to the cold draft from the French doors and the direct, heavy depth of my thrusts.
The new angle is incredibly deep, my cock hitting her cervix with every single slow, relentless drive of my pelvis.
I keep the pace deliberate, forcing her to feel every ridge of my skin, torturing both of us with the agonizing friction until she is weeping against my collarbone.
She shatters for the second time, her body shaking violently as her climax hits her in a tight, clamping wave that goes straight to my chest. The pleasure is too sharp, too intense.
My control snaps. I drive myself deep inside her one last time, my body tensing as I release my hot seed deep inside her womb.
I stay buried inside her, my chest heaving against hers, our shallow, rapid breaths the only sound in the quiet study.
Slowly, I pull back, the soft, wet sound of our release lingering in the air. I sit on the edge of the desk, my hands staying on her waist as she shivers, her pale legs bare against the dark wood.
She looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark, her chest still heaving. She looks wrecked, beautiful, and entirely mine.
I reach out, my large, rough hand gently brushing a stray golden strand of hair away from her eye, my touch lighter than it has any right to be.
"You're a genius, Via," I whisper, my voice a low, gravelly rasp.
"I know," she pants, a tiny, breathless smile scratching at the corner of her mouth despite her exhaustion. "But you're the one who got to reap the benefits."
"I did," I say, a faint, dry amusement in my voice as I stand up and reach for my trousers. "Now let's go tell Dmitri he’s out of a job."
She lets out a soft, dry laugh, her hand rising to touch the mark on her neck as she sits up on the edge of the desk.
I fucking love this view.