Page 19 of Owned By the Russian

Valentina turned on her heel, not wasting another second. She stormed toward the stairs, her footsteps sharp against the floor as she headed for any room in sight. Ilya, however, wasn’t done with her yet.

He followed, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hall behind her. “You’re not getting that phone back,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear, his voice low and amused.

She didn’t answer, just continued to storm up the stairs, slamming the first door open to reveal a room waiting for her. Ilya followed without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind them with a soft thud.

She spun around to face him, nostrils flaring. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” he said, watching her like she was some intriguing painting. “You just stormed into my room.”

Val’s gaze swept over the dark, soulless interior, her eyes narrowing at the imposing king-sized bed that sat in the center of the room, its stark presence impossible to ignore.

Without a word, she turned on her heel, heading toward the door.

But before she could get there, Ilya blocked her path, casually leaning against the doorframe with a signature smirk. His posture was effortless, yet there was something undeniably predatory about it.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

“Anywhere far from you,” Val shot back, her tone as sharp as ever.

Ilya straightened slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “This is the only bedroom in the apartment,” he said, voice smooth like butter. “It was designed for one person. So, you either sleep here…or nowhere.”

Val scoffed, her eyes narrowed in slits as she looked at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s only one bed.”

“I’m not sure why a bachelor would want two beds in his room.”

“There’s only one bed,” she repeated. This time, it sounded like it was starting to sink in.

“Seems like it,” he said without missing a beat. “I suppose we’ll have to figure out how to manage.”

He liked the way her jaw tightened. He could tell she wasn’t about to let him win and he was so ready for it.

“No way in hell will that happen,” she said, crossing her arms and leveling him with a challenging look. “I’ll take the bed for the night. You’re welcome to sleep on the floor or in your living room. It is your apartment, after all. So, you have many other options to choose from.”

There was something about the arrogance of her tone that ticked him a little bit. It didn’t seem to matter that he saved her life tonight. If he hadn’t been there when he was, she’d have been nothing but a corpse by now.

The thought of it made his chest tighten. One would think she’d be appreciative, but here she was, demanding his own bed in his own apartment like she had a right to it.

“You said it yourself already, Princess,” he said, stepping closer to her. “Itismy apartment. Which means I should be the one to get the bed.” He took another step closer, his voice lowering. “But, if you’re that desperate for it, I’m willing to share.”

“I’ve had a hell of a day already, so I’m not about to do this back and forth with you. The least you can do right now is to be a gentleman and leave the bed for me.”

Ilya scoffed. Like he hadn’t already saved her life. “Nothing about me is gentle, Valentina. You’ll do well to remember that. You want the bed, it’s all yours. As long as we’re both in it.”

Val stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. Her eyes narrowed, a defiant smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she closed the distance between them. “I’ve met plenty of gentlemen who’d gladly kiss my feet, or, at the very least, give me a bed to sleep in. And they don’t act likethis,” she taunted, her voice dripping with venom.

Ilya’s jaw clenched, his amusement flickering to something darker. The way she spoke, the challenge in her words, and the guts she had to mention other men in front of him—it all ignited something possessive in him.

His eyes darkened, and he could feel the tension building between them, hot and thick, drawing them one to the other. His hand, almost instinctively, reached out, grabbing her arm and aggressively tugging her to his chest.

They were inches apart now, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, tension coiling in the air. Ilya could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds, peaking through her lace and grazing his chest.

Raw desire flooded his eyes, a dangerous, explosive thing. The urge to shut that fucking mouth of hers with his slammed against him, harder and harder as their breaths became one. He wondered what she’d taste like, the feeling of his mouth sucking on her hot tongue.

Those gentlemen she mentioned—they’d never be able to kiss her the way he would. They’d never be able to satisfy the way he would.

And as maddening as the urge to kiss her was, he forced it down his throat. Now was not the time.

“You think you can just waltz in here and act like you’re in charge?” His voice was low and dangerous now, each word laced with a simmering intensity. His grip on her arm tightened, and the hairs on her pretty skin stood in attention. “What exactly are you going to do to earn that bed, hmm?” His tone was deliberately nasty, the sexual innuendo unmistakable.

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