Page 81 of Konstantin
He turns, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, then casually pulls out his phone, types something, and slips it back into his pocket like this is just another day for him.
Not even a full minute later, two of his men walk into my bedroom, rolling in a black suitcase like they’re bellboys at some luxury hotel.
My mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me?”
One of them heads toward my dresser.
“Don’t touch my underwear,” I snap, glaring.
Konstantin smirks, utterly unfazed. “Don’t worry, malyshka. I’ll handle that personally.”
“This is insane,” I mutter under my breath.
“This isgood,” he corrects with a wicked grin, pulling open the top drawer.
Without shame, he begins placing my bras and panties into the zippered pocket of the suitcase, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, while his men head for the bathroom, carrying a duffle.
My face burns, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Still, the way he handles my most personal items, like he already owns every inch of me, sends a twist of desire and dread curling in my stomach.
The men return from the bathroom and give Konstantin a nod.
He extends his hand to me, and I just stare at it for a second, like maybe if I blink hard enough, I’ll wake up and this will all be some bizarre fever dream.
But it’s not.
With a resigned sigh, I place my hand in his, and he leads me out of the house.
As I lock the door behind us, something cold and final sinks in my chest. My nerves tighten with every step down the stairs, each echo of our footfalls slicing through the quiet of the night.
And when I spot the black Rolls-Royce SUV waiting at the curb, it hits me.
I’m not just leaving my house. I’m leaving my life.
And walking straight into the belly of the beast.
Konstantin opens the passenger door, but before I can climb in, he steps in behind me, his body pressing against mine. He plants his hands on the roof of the car, caging me in, heat radiating from him like fire, licking at my skin and curling into my spine.
Then his mouth—God, his mouth—dips low to the shell of my ear, his breath fiery and deliberate. “I haven’t been able to stop thinkingabout you.”
My eyes close, soaking in the moment like it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to hear.
He waits, like he wants me to say it back. Like he needs me to.
But I won’t. Even if it’s the truth.
“It’s alright, Ms. Monroe. One of these days, you’ll reciprocate.” His lips graze the crook of my neck, and I almost groan in pleasure.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I whisper, letting my head fall back against the hard plane of his chest. “You might be waiting a while.”
He laughs, a low, dark sound that feels like sin itself. “You’ll find out soon enough that I’m a very patient man.”
And somehow, that scares me more than anything else.
His fingers trail along my hip, dipping lower, until they press between my thighs, right where I’m already throbbing for him. One thick finger drags upward, rolling over my clit through my pants with expert precision, like he already knows my body better than I do.
“Ty moi ray i moi ad.” Every syllable is rough and revering.
He rubs me with maddening control, his pressure devastating me, and I nearly cry out. But before the sound can tear from my throat, he pulls back and opens the car door all the way, like he didn’t just unravel me with one hand.
