The pulse fluttering at her throat.
The tremble in her breath.
She backs against my desk, as if the space between us isn’t about to disappear. Her uniform is wrinkled, her skin damp with spilled scotch and unwanted touch. But none of that dulls the hunger she ignites in me. If anything, it stokes it into something more savage.
Something holy.
My gaze devours her.
Not for show.
Not even for sex.
But toremember.
To burn this version of her into memory, the way she looks after someone else tried to claim her.
Like a warning.
Like a promise.
Like mine.
“Show me your wrist.”
The words land like gunshots in the silence between us.
She doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t flinch. But her eyes flicker, alive and dangerous, flashing behind the cool exterior. Defiance. Hunger. Maybe both.
Then, slow and controlled, she lifts her arm.
The mark glares back at me, red and raw.
My thumb brushes over it, and her breath catches. That sound goes straight to my cock—unfiltered, instinctive, real. It’snot the wound that makes me burn. It’s the fact thatsomeone elseput it there.
“I had it under control,” she says, voice like cut glass. But her fingers twitch in my grasp. Her weight shifts—tiny tremors betraying her calm.
“Like you had the ledgers handled?” My voice drops as my grip tightens around her wrist, not enough to bruise, but enough to remind her.
She doesn’t blink. Her expression doesn’t shift. But I know her tells now. The slight clench of her jaw. The tension riding high in her shoulders. She’s pretending to be unbothered.
I can feel her pulse hammering beneath my thumb.
“I’m not some damsel who needs saving, Vasiliy. I was born into this life. Remember?”
My name on her tongue is a fucking detonator.
“You think this is about protection?” I step in, forcing her back until the edge of the desk bites into her hips. I cage her in, my body blocking escape, my voice barely above a growl. “You’ve forgotten something vital,lisichka.”
Her pupils flare at the nickname.
“Everything in this club is mine,” I breathe, “Including you.”
She inhales sharply, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim. If anything, it ignites.
“Is that the lie you tell yourself? That youownme?” Her hand presses against my chest, the heat of her palm burning through the fabric. She doesn’t push me away. Not really. She holds me there.Daringme. “We both know it’s not that simple.”
No. We don’t do simple.