Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Sergei
I sat behind my desk, listening to the sound of the door closing. Didn't look up.
Files still spread across the surface. Just spent two hours with Brianna.
Her uncle was one of Eastern Europe's biggest arms dealers, controlled the supply chain I wanted.
Been negotiating with him for three months now, and Brianna—whether on her uncle's orders or her own initiative—started showing up in my office more frequently, under the guise of "assisting with negotiations. "
Brianna was smart. She knew what cards she held and drove a hard bargain during negotiations. I gave ground on two points, held firm on the crucial one. We reached terms that both sides could live with.
Before she left, she asked if I was free this weekend. Said she knew a good new restaurant in Manhattan.
I told her no.
She clearly didn't want to accept that, but under my impatient stare, she finally went quiet and left reluctantly. Out of courtesy to a business partner, I walked her to the door and tolerated her little moves.
This was how I'd spent the last three months.
Days handling company business. Evenings meeting with Bogdan.
Nights analyzing Viktor's movements. Sleep came around dawn, then back up at six.
Over and over. Viktor's play was more complex than I'd anticipated.
He wasn't just courting family insiders—he was reaching out to external forces.
Docks, weapons, and several old lines back in Eastern Europe—he'd reactivated all of them. Like a net, tightening from all sides.
I didn't have time for distractions.
Told myself I didn't have time for distractions.
But during those sleepless hours at night, I still thought about her—the way she stared at my lips while learning Russian, how she looked asleep on my office couch with Misha, standing in the work shed after the rain with a strand of auburn hair stuck to her cheek.
I wanted to fuck her.
Wanted to pin her against the wall, grip the back of her neck, kiss her until she couldn't stand, until she could only stay upright by leaning into me.
Then press her onto my desk, strip off her clothes, kiss her collarbone, squeeze her tits, paint every inch of her with my cum.
She'd call my name in that trembling, soft voice, like she did in the shed. Then I'd fuck her hard, fuck her until she couldn't say anything but my name.
I'd jerk off to these fantasies, imagining I'd come on her face or inside her pussy.
After, I could finally sleep.
The price was dreaming of that face.
"Miss Collins," I spoke without looking up from the files—tried not to look at her, or I'd have her bent over the desk in seconds. "Go ahead."
Silence.
I turned a page.
She still didn't speak.
I waited a few seconds, picked up my pen, and circled a number. This data needed verification. Have Bogdan—
Footsteps. Then—
Bang.
Sharp sound. Hard.
I looked up.
Her hand slammed against my desktop, palm pressed over files, knuckles white from the force. Leaning forward, those eyes boring straight into mine.
"What's your game?" she said.
Not loud, but each word precise, like nails hammered into the air.
"Sergei Volkov, what the hell is your game?"
I set down my pen and leaned back in my chair. Looked at her.
Never seen her like this.
Standing across the desk, chest heaving rapidly, eyes red—not from crying, but something fiercer.
My heart softened for an instant.
Just an instant.
Then I crushed it down.
"Miss Collins," I said, voice cold, "is this how you speak to your boss?"
She froze.
I watched her, waited for her to back down.
Before, she always did—got halfway through saying something, hit a wall with my words, then dropped her gaze, fingers twisting her hem, swallowing everything back.
But this time she didn't look away.
She bit her lip, raised her eyes, sidestepped that question. Changed angles.
"What about Brianna?" she asked. "Why was she here?"
I frowned.
"What gives you the right to ask?" Voice colder now. "Since when do my company's employees need your permission to report to me?"
The words cut like a blade. Watched her catch it.
Her face went white for a second, lips pressed tighter, that light in her eyes dimmed, then flared back up like flames doused with gasoline.
"You're just playing me," she forced out through clenched teeth.
"You were good to me, supported my dreams, even your possessiveness—" Her voice rose, ending in something close to a shout. "It was all on a whim! And I was the idiot who believed it!"
My heart clenched.
Too fast. I dropped my gaze again, picked up the pen like a shield.
"Think what you want," I said.
Words fell. She went silent. Air congealed to suffocation.
I stared at the files, counting words, waiting for her to leave.
One second.
Two.
Three.
"You asshole!" A scream, voice cracking.
Almost snapped my pen.
What? What was she doing?
Before I could process it, a hand grabbed my tie and yanked.
My face pulled to hers. Tears welling in those eyes.
"Fuck you," she said.
Then kissed me.
Her lips crashed into mine with reckless force, more like fighting than kissing. One hand gripping my tie, the other still braced on the desk.
Her lips were crooked, teeth knocked my lower lip. Her breathing ragged and chaotic, like a trapped animal thrashing.
But this kiss—
This kiss snapped the wire I'd kept taut for three months.
I grabbed the back of her head and kissed her back.
I leaned forward, hip bone grinding against the desk edge. Hurt like hell. But felt better than I had in months. One hand gripping her head, the other digging into her waist, tongue prying past her teeth into her mouth. Tasted her—sweet like wine, slightly salty like tears.
She responded.
Her hand released my tie, grabbed my collar, nails digging into the skin above my collarbone. Her body leaned harder, chest nearly pressed to mine. I could almost hear her heartbeat through the small gap and two layers of fabric—fast and heavy, like drumbeats.
This wasn't kissing.
This was war.
Neither retreating, neither yielding. Lips colliding, teeth clashing, tongues tangled, breathing wrecked.
Finally broke apart. Both gasping, foreheads pressed together. Her hand still clutching my collar, mine still cradling her neck.
Eyes still red.
"You're an asshole," she choked out, voice thick with tears. "You know that? These three months I—"
She paused, drew a deep breath.
"I went and fell for you asshole anyway."
Tears spilled from those blue-green eyes, streaming down her cheeks, landing on my shirt—each one hot enough to burn through fabric.
My world stopped. Then—
Everything collapsed.
All restraint, all longing—in that instant, shattered. Like a thousand-year glacier finally melting, becoming endless waves crashing over me, threatening to drown me.
I gripped the back of her head and kissed her again desperately.
She whimpered, fingers clutching my shirt like she wanted to tear it apart.
My tongue forced past her teeth, invaded her mouth. Her tongue tangled with mine, refusing to retreat, biting my lip hard. Tasted blood.
"Fuck—" I growled, grabbed her waist with my other hand, and hauled her across the desk.
Papers scattered.
Pen holder toppled.
Didn't care.
I pressed her onto the desk, leaned over her, and kept kissing.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, fingers threading through my hair, pulling hard enough to nearly tear my scalp off.
"Asshole," she cursed between kisses, voice broken. "You asshole—"
"I'm here," I said, gripping her waist, pulling her up to sit on the desk edge. Kissed her earlobe, her neck, that stretch of skin at her collarbone I'd craved.
"I missed you—"
"I missed you, too." I bit her shoulder, heard her broken moan. "Every day. Every night."
My hand slid to her thigh, palm against skin beneath her skirt, feeling her warmth.
She trembled, legs instinctively clamping together.
"Sergei..."
"Yeah?"
"I..." She bit her lip, face flushed. "Fuck me."
Those words were a fuse, burning away all reason.
I gripped her neck, kissed her hard while stripping off her coat, tossing it to the floor.
Unbuttoned her blouse one by one, revealing white lace underneath, and beneath that the skin I'd been starving for.
"You know what I've been thinking these three months?" I said, fingers hooking her bra edge. "About you sitting in my office, reporting to me, wearing these things. About what sounds you'd make if I bent you over this desk."
Her breathing quickened, green in her eyes deepening.
"Then why didn't you?" she said, voice edged with challenge.
I smiled.
"Doing it now."
I pushed her skirt up, exposing black garters on her thighs. My fingers traced along the garter edge upward, feeling the smoothness and warmth of her skin.
She trembled all over, fingers gripping the desk edge tight.
"Sergei..."
"Shh." I bent down, kissed her inner thigh. "Let me look at you."
Her panties were pink, lace-trimmed, center already soaked through.
My fingers pressed through the fabric against that wetness. She gasped, legs trying to close instinctively. I wedged them open with my shoulder.
"Don't," I said. "Let me see."
She bit her lip, face red as blood, but slowly relaxed, legs parting.
"Good girl."
I hooked the edge of her panties and pulled them down slowly.
The soaked fabric peeled away, stretching a strand of silver that gleamed in the office light.
Fuck.
She was this wet.
"Ella," I said, fingers sliding into that wetness. She moaned immediately. "You know how beautiful you are?"
"Sergei, please..."
"Please what?" My fingers circled her entrance, not entering. "Say it clearly."
"Please!" She was crying now. "Please fuck me!"
Couldn't hold back anymore.
I unbuckled my belt, pulled down the zipper, and freed my cock already aching. Stroked it twice.
Then gripped her waist, thrust in completely in one motion.
"Ah!" She screamed, fingers digging into my shoulders, nails piercing my flesh.
Too tight.
Too hot.
Too fucking perfect.
I gritted my teeth, forced myself to stop, and let her adjust.
"Relax," I said and kissed her forehead. "Relax, baby."
She gasped, body gradually relaxing, inner walls slowly releasing their spasms.
"Move," she choked out. "Please move—"
I started moving.
Pulled out slowly, then slammed back in hard.
Once.
Again.
Every thrust hit deep, drew broken moans from her.
"Fuck," I growled. "So tight."
"You're too big," she cried, legs wrapping tighter. "Too deep, Sergei—"
I sped up. The desk started shaking, things falling off one by one.
Didn't care.
Just wanted her sounds, her expression, her body.
"Look at me," I commanded. "Open your eyes and look at me."
She struggled to open her eyes. Those blue-green pupils already unfocused, filled with lust and tears.
"That's it," I said, thrusting hard again. "Let me watch you come."
"I-I'm close..."
"I know." My fingers found her clit between her legs and pressed hard. "Come for me, baby. Give it to me."
She screamed, whole body tensing, inner walls clamping frantically, like they wanted to strangle me.
That tightness pushed me over the edge, too.
"Fuck, Ella—"
I slammed into her a few final times, then came inside her, wave after wave, like pouring out three months of longing.
Collapsed against her. Both gasping violently.
Only our breathing filled the office, and the air conditioner's hum.
Her fingers still threaded through my hair, her other hand resting on my back. Could feel her heartbeat through skin, syncing with mine.
"Asshole," she whispered.
"I know." I kissed her forehead.
Outside, the sky had darkened. Evening light bathed the office in soft golden-orange.
My breathing gradually steadied. Phone buzzed. I glanced—Bogdan.
That wire in my brain pulled taut again.
Viktor.
Dmitri.
That net was still tightening.
And her, pressed against me now, naked skin warm and damp, real, making me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time.
I spoke.
"Ella."
She hummed lazily.
"Are you sure?"
She lifted her head, looked at me, eyes still warm, slightly confused.
"I mean," I paused, choosing words carefully, "being near me isn't safe."
She froze.
"What do you mean, not safe?"
"Literal meaning," I said. "I have enemies. More than one. People close to me sometimes get caught in the crossfire."
She stared at me for several seconds, then her mouth twitched.
"What, are you some kind of superhero?" she said, "and supervillains might kidnap me?"
I didn't smile.
She noticed. Smile faded slowly as she searched my face, expression turning serious.
She sat up, turned, cupped my face with both hands, and made me look directly at her.
Her palms were warm.
"Sergei," she said my name with that Russian pronunciation she'd learned, syllable by syllable. "I heard you."
I looked at her.
"I'm not stupid," she said. "I know you're not just a regular CEO. I know you have Bogdan, and people I've never seen but who definitely exist. I know there's a lot you haven't told me."
Her thumb gently stroked my cheekbone. Light touch, like soothing something.
"But," she continued, "I like you. Not your status, not your money, not your position. You." She paused. "I like that you remembered my dreams. I like watching you crouch down to coax Misha. I like the expression you had in that shed when you told me you wanted to be an architect once."
My throat tightened.
"You don't need to push me away to protect me," she said. "You just need to let me stand beside you."
I looked into her eyes.
Light in those eyes.
Not the light of someone drunk on love, but something deeper, heavier—the light of someone who'd considered all consequences, weighed all risks, and still chose to stand here.
I took her hands from my face, turned them over, and kissed her palms.
"You'll regret it," I said.
"I won't," she said.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Outside, the last ray of sunlight fell across the carpet, gilding the scattered files and rolled pens.
"Alright," I said.
She smiled.
The smile started in her eyes, then spread slowly to her mouth, like a flower blooming at dusk. She bit her lower lip trying to hold it back but couldn't. Finally, her whole face opened up into a brilliant, bright smile that made my chest ache.
I gripped the back of her head, pulled her close, kissed her.
I would protect her. No matter the cost, no matter who I had to fight, no matter how much blood had to be spilled, I would protect her.
Until I died.