Page 10 of Hers to Command

“I’ll take the Spigola Selvaggia today.”

“Of course.” Milo bows slightly and heads to the kitchen to make sure my dish takes priority. It’s a good reminder of what it takes to get the expected results without unnecessary delays. Decisiveness. And that means, like it or not, I need to make a decision about Anya’s proposal.

She has given me some useful information, but Anya Tsepov isn’t done with me, and I’m sure as hell not done with her.

Chapter Six

Anya

My hand glides down my body, searching for relief. Relief from the neediness my body has felt ever since I left Riccardo Angelo’s damn office. The office where I didn’t get any of the things I wanted.

Yet.

Riccardo is considering it. At least I think so, anyway. And instead of pushing him right now, I need to give him the chance to win at something. I need him to get that endorphin rush of being the dominant guy. Out maneuvering Dmitri will give him that fix. It’ll stroke his ego and then he’ll associate that win with me and he’ll be more likely to want more.

Tease him and then hook him.

If only his looks hadn’t been teasing my body into desperation at the same time.

After leaving his office, I went home. Antsy with nothing actionable to do. Until I finally snuggled into my sheets. And now I finally know what I need to do to get rid of that damn need.

I find my clit and circle it. The bit of pressure won’t do much for me, but it’s a warm-up exercise. My mind drifts back to Riccardo, the way his eyes focused on me like that of a predator. The sharp lines of his jaw, the not-so-subtle hint of danger that he did his best to assert by moving around the table to get into my personal space. A part of me wonders if he’s as controlled in bed as he was in the office, or if all that cool composure will shatter if I push him hard enough.

My fingers move faster around my clit. I’ve done this mental dance enough times I can almost feel the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, pinning me beneath him. Usually the faces of the men I think about while getting myself off are blurry. Inconsequential. But not this time. It’s like Riccardo’s face has carved itself into my memory.

As my fingers pick up speed, I imagine his hands on me, rough and commanding. I keep my eyes shut and imagine arching into his touch, not only because I’m craving more, but because I want to challenge his need to be the one in control. There’s a pull deep in my core, like I’m chasing something just out of reach. I’m getting closer to release much quicker than usual, but the idea of Riccardo losing that iron grip on his control, even for a moment, sends a shiver through me.

I’ve never chased the fantasy of being dominated—not exactly. I’m chasing power, my own power, even in these moments. The idea of making Riccardo come undone because of me... of seeing that precise, strategic mind unravel as I get under his skin? Hell,yes. That’s what I want. And screw anyone who brings up daddy issues while I fuck my own hand.

Tease him and hook him. I just need to stay focused.

I reach into my nightstand and pull out my Hitachi wand. I might have gotten closer to the edge than I usually get, and much faster at that, but I’ve never gotten off without the help of my electronically powered helper.

Pressing the vibrating bulb directly onto my clit, I hold it in place with one hand while my other had moved up to pinch my nipple. My breathing deepens, and the tension builds. The image of his smirk—the one that taunted me when I made my proposal—flashes in my mind, and the pressure I’m applying intensifies. A low moan escapes my lips as the pleasure washes over me in waves, making my core clench around nothing and driving me over the edge again as I pull on my nipple.

I take a moment to come down from my release, but then I put the wand on my nightstand and stare at the ceiling, reminding myself of what matters now that my body is temporarily sated. This isn’t about getting satisfaction. It’s about control, about claiming something back for myself. About knowing that I can use this...use him...to get exactly what I want. And finally, I drift into the first sleep since the day Dmitri Solntsev arrived in Toronto.

When I wake up again, I feel less needy, but the antsiness is back. I need to know what’s going on, and since no one is about to send me a report, I make my way to my father’s club.

Riccardo’s men killed five of Solntsev’s men at the airstrip. Four of my father’s guys, too. All of the women are gone. The co-pilotand one of the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood men are missing, or rather, not so much missing as in the hands of Riccardo’s people.

I sit in the kitchen, down the hall from my father’s office, nursing a glass of cold water while the muffled voices of the men leaving his meeting drift toward me. The door to the office closes with a final click, and for a moment, I hold my breath. Nobody invited me, of course, but I’ve been waiting here all day, making sure I’d be within earshot. Not that anyone noticed. I stayed out of everyone’s way and stuck to my kitchen nook.

Guilt gnaws at my insides. Rebelling against my father’s sexist attitude is one thing, but some of our men got killed today because of the things I told Riccardo. But, besides the guilt, there’s something else, too—satisfaction. Everyone is panicking, scrambling to figure out what happened. None of them suspect I had anything to do with it. Why would they? I’m just Adrik Tsepov’s daughter, the pawn no one bothers to consider beyond her value as a marriage token.

I doubt it’s a secret that I’m not exactly jumping for joy over my father’s plans to marry me off to Dmitri Solntsev, and yet my father hasn’t even considered I’d act out. Just like no one ever noticed that I ran everything Mikhail supposedly accomplished. Except for the killing and maiming he did for my father, that is.

Well, now I have killed too. Not directly, maybe, but still. Men are dead because of me. I bite down on one of the ice cubes.

Riccardo actually followed through. He acted on the intel I fed him, ensuring that the fallout from messing with Solntsev will land right on his doorstep. Hopefully, it will give me the extra time I need to persuade Riccardo to seal our marriage deal. The one that will actually save me from having to marry into the fucking Solntsevskaya Brotherhood.

Even the Italians are better, as long as it’s my own damn choice.

My fingers tighten around the glass as I weigh my next move. Should I head into my father’s office? Most of the men have left by now, but Sergei’s still in there. He’s like an uncle to me—stern but not unkind—and he rarely minds when I interrupt their business talks.

I need to know what they’re planning now that Solntsev’s men have been killed on our turf. Well, not exactly on our turf, if anyone asks Riccardo’s opinion on the matter, but here in Canada, which will be enough to ensure that the bosses in Moscow will look to my father for an explanation.

At least four of the Brotherhood’s men died, and though I doubt they’ll be mourning the pilot who took a bullet to the skull, they won’t be happy about the missing man. He is one of their own. A brother.

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