Page 62 of Owned By the Russian

Chapter 24 - Ilya

Ilya was trying to focus.

He really was.

But no matter how many numbers he crunched or meetings he sat through, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Valentina.

Her voice, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. Her smart little brain, her consuming presence. The smell of her skin, the softness of her tits, the swell of her ass. The way she felt in his arms, the taste of her on his tongue.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Fuck. He was pathetic. He’d barely been gone a few hours, and already, he felt the ache of missing her. He wanted to crawl back into bed with her, wanted to sink into her again, wanted to hear her cry and laugh, wanted to feel her nails carving bruises deep into his back, wanted to hear her be a smartass like she always was.

His brother, the smug bastard, noticed and looked like he was more than ready to tease him for it.

“Jesus, look at you,” Kostya drawled, sipping his rum as he leaned against his chair. “You’ve got that sickening lovesick look in your eyes. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Ilya downed his glass with a frown. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kostya grinned. “Can’t blame you, though. She’s gorgeous. Smart. Feisty. If you hadn’t claimed her first, I might’ve made a move.”

If it were any other man?not that they’d be so careless with their lives to do so anyway?that made the joke, he seriously doubted they’d live to make another blink. However, Kostya was his brother and an irritating clown at that, so he could spare him.

Slowly, he turned his head, fixing Kostya with a deadpan stare. “If you even think about it, I’ll break both your legs.”

Kostya burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m fucking with you. She only has eyes for you, you lucky bastard.”

That was the only reason Ilya didn’t actually feel jealous. Because heknewValentina was his. There was no doubt, no insecurity. Just an unwavering certainty.

Still.

“Keep talking, and I might maim you just for fun,” he muttered.

Kostya snickered. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s finish up here so you can go home and get your dick wet.”

Ilya shot him a death glare but didn’t argue.

Later, when he finally had a moment to himself, he leaned against his car and pulled out his phone, dialing his woman’s number.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice teasing. “Miss me already?”

It was ridiculous just how much he missed the sound of her voice.

He smirked, rolling his shoulders. “You have no idea.”

A warm chuckle came through the receiver. “Poor baby. Do you need me to talk you through your withdrawal?”

His eyes darkened, the heat in her voice seeping straight into his bloodstream. “Depends. How far are you willing to go?”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “That depends. Are you somewhere private?”

“Almost,” he murmured, already picturing where this was heading. “But I can be.”

Another soft laugh. Then, lower, more sinful, she whispered, “What a shame. If only you were home, I could tell you all about what I’m wearing right now.”

His grip on his phone tightened. His jaw clenched as he glanced around.

“Valentina.”

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