Page 9 of Hers to Command

I don’t want Tracy tonight. Not really. It’s not enough, not satisfying the way it usually is.

I pinch her nipples harder than I would usually. Using the sensation of her struggle to pull away and her moan of discomfort to focus, I try to force myself into the moment, but it’s like there’s a barrier between me and what I’m supposed to feel.

“You need more tonight. What do you want me to do?” As much as she pretends otherwise, Tracy is an intelligent woman. There was no way she wouldn’t recognize something isn’t going to plan here and, more importantly, that there is a reason for it.

My frustration builds, and I grit my teeth, my movements becoming rougher, more desperate to drown out the thoughts of Anya.

Anya fucking Tsepov.

I push Tracy down and roll her over, tearing down the barely there string she was wearing. Then I spank her. Not the nice warm up kind of spanking, but the rough kind that turns her ass a satisfying shade of pink within a few blows.

Which makes me wonder if Anya likes it rough.

It’s infuriating how much space she’s taking up in my head. The fact that she’s come to me with a proposal like that, cool as ice, without a hint of submission or fear. No one does that. No one walks into my office and looks me in the eye like they’re my equal.

But Anya did. And worse, she made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—there’s something to her proposal.

Tracy’s ass is red now and I stop, allowing her to turn onto her back. She pulls me closer, but it feels needy, not seductive, and it’s just another turnoff to make my day more difficult. The heat that should be rising in my chest fizzles out before it even sparks. With a grunt of frustration, I push off of her, running a hand through my hair. She looks up at me, confused, maybe even a little hurt, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows better.

“I have to go,” I mutter, grabbing my coat from where I tossed it.

“Riccardo, is everything alright?” Tracy’s voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“Fine.” My voice is clipped, not giving her room to pry. I don’t owe her an explanation.

As I head back to my car, the chilly night air does nothing to cool the frustration inside me. Driving away from the pink nightmare of Tracy’s apartment, my mind spins faster. I’ve probably been seeing her for too long, anyway. And I hate the pink. It’s time to let her know she needs to move on and find a new place to live.

Checking the time, I realize it’s about time to eat dinner. I contemplate going back to the office, but I’m not in the mood. Nor do I want to go home, which is why I head toward one of my favorite restaurants. Mariana’s Cuisine on Lake Shore Boulevard.

The drive takes me a good thirty minutes in rush-hour traffic. Enough time to re-ignite my annoyance over the fact that this wasn’t supposed to happen. Women like Anya aren’t supposed to get under my skin. Gianna might have annoyed me a few times, but never has she gotten me worked up like Anya did with just one simple visit. Freaking Gianna married Mikhail Tspov.How in the ever loving shit did Anya top that with just one visit to my office?

I deal with people, make calculated moves, and never let emotions dictate my decisions. But Anya? She didn’t flinch when she laid out her plan. Marriage. To me.

And the worst part? I don’t hate the idea.

She has a point about it being a strategic move that I could use to my advantage. Not just regarding the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood, but to re-negotiate with Gianna too, an angle that Anya didn’t bring up. Marrying Mikhail’s sister has a certain appeal when it comes to stirring up some tensions between the newlyweds that I might exploit to my advantage.

Plus, she has already delivered some valuable intel.

I also don’t hate the idea of Anya at my side. Not just because of her looks. No, I reviewed her file today. She is obviously intelligent and has some fire to her. Enough that she’s finished a business degree and has attracted some pretty impressive funding money for her studies. There is also an open acceptance for her to the U of T Ph.D. program, though that hasn’t been mailed out to her yet. She’s definitely more than a pretty face. She could be a strategic asset. At least temporarily. If I trusted her.

Parking my car on Lake Shore Boulevard, I adjust myself before getting out of the car.

This isn’t about lust, though I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a part of it. Not when I’m sporting more of an erection, thinking about her than I did with Tracy’s bare ass in front of me. Anya is dangerous in more ways than one, and I can’t forget that. It’s also part of the appeal, which makes Gianna’s decision to marry Mikhail appear in a different light.

When I enter the restaurant, the hostess’s eyes widen, before she gives me a warm smile. “Mr. Angelo. Welcome. Would you like to eat in the backroom today?”

The private dining room in the back is a place I like to take business partners to. It gives us enough privacy and comes equipped with recording devices.

“Not today, thank you. Unless you don’t have space in the main room.”

“No, of course we have a table for you, Mr. Angelo.” She quickly grabs the menu. “If you would follow me, please?”

By the time I slide into the corner table, Milo, the owner of the place, arrives with a glass of scotch for me and shoos the hostess away.

“Macallan 30, a 30-year-old double-cast.” He informs me, and I nod my permission for him to put the glass down.

I don’t bother looking at the menu. I know the options and if there was something new on the menu, Milo would bring it up.

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