Page 24 of Under His Control
Duration: Twelve months from the date of the civil ceremony.
One year of fake wedded bliss.
Financial security: An account will be opened in my name, funded with $100,000, labeled “For the bride’s peace of mind.”
Non-repayment clause: So long as I stay married for the full year, I keep the money. If I leave the marriage early, the funds boomerang back to Anatoly, and more importantly, Chris’s protection disappears along with them.
Awesome. No pressure. Just my brother’s life on the line.
Privacy:We can’t tell anyone it’s an arrangement. To the world, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Happily Ever After.
Right. And I’m Cinderella, minus the talking mice.
Option to extend: After twelve months, we either walk away or renegotiate in good faith.
“Okay,” I mutter, dragging my finger down the trackpad. “So, basically, I get married, I act normal, and I don’t run screaming into the night. In exchange, the Russian mafia doesn’t kill my brother. And I get $100,000 for my trouble, not to mention sharing the lifestyle of a billionaire.”
I blow out a long breath, flop back onto the cushions, and stare at the ceiling. I’m marrying my terrifyingly hot boss to save my idiot brother.
That’s it. No fine print about sex or anything like that. Nothing but a timeline and a promise that my brother lives.
I skim the contract one more time, looking for traps, but the language is shockingly kind. If anything, Anatoly’s giving me too much. I could never repay $70,000; it would take me decades.And that’s to say nothing of the hundred thousand he’s just gifting me.
I set the papers on the coffee table and stare at them.
I’ll sign it in the morning,I decide.
No sense pretending I’ll change my mind, but I want a good night’s sleep first—if I can sleep at all.
A glance at the clock tells me it’s 10:47?p.m. I’ve been vibrating with adrenaline for hours, my brain playing highlight reels of Anatoly’s mouth, his hands, that deep, velvet voice. Every time I remember him touching my knee, I feel a flutter between my thighs.
The man radiates lust like a furnace. If we share a bed—no,whenwe share a bed—there’s no way it stays purely transactional. And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I want it to.
The one luxury in my apartment is the deep, claw-foot tub squeezed into the bathroom by a previous tenant with delusions of grandeur.
It’s ridiculous to have in such a small space, but tonight it feels like a blessing. I top off my wine, grab my phone and the little waterproof toy hidden in my nightstand, and head for the bath.
I turn on the tap. Before too long, steam begins to curl up as the tub fills, the faint scent of lavender rising with it. I strip, pausing to study myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I’ve always been curvy and painfully aware of it.
The memory of Anatoly looking at my body like it was something he wanted to devour sparks heat low in my belly. He made me feel wanted, sexy.
I sink into the water with a deep sigh. The warmth wraps around me, soothing the ache in my shoulders and neck. I set the toy on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.
I’m back in his office, but the lights are dim, the city’s evening glitter painting his face in shadow.
Anatoly stands in front of me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. “Come here,?nevestushka.” Bride-to-be.
He takes my wrists, gently guiding my hands to his chest. Heat radiates through the thin cotton of his shirt. I feel the steady pounding of his heart. “Unbutton me,” he orders softly.
My fingers tremble as I work the buttons, revealing hard planes of muscle dusted with dark-blonde hair. He shrugs the shirt off, muscles rippling. I’m afraid I might drool.
“Your turn,” he says, unbuttoning, then sliding my blouse from my shoulders. His palms skim down my arms, raising goose bumps. He cups my breasts through the lace of my bra, thumbs circling until the peaks tighten.
“Perfect.”
He kisses me, slow and claiming. His tongue tangles with mine, tasting, coaxing. I moan into his mouth, arching against him. He breaks away long enough to unclasp and toss my bra aside, sucking one nipple between his lips. The sensation goes straight to my core. I gasp, fingers threading through his hair.
He lifts me effortlessly, placing me on his desk. Cool, polished wood against my back, hot mouth on my skin. He pushes my skirt up, finding the damp silk of my panties.
