Page 41 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“You’re the one who followed me into that bathroom,” she cries. “You—you practically forced yourself on me!”

“‘I want this,’” I say, slowly repeating her words that have been replaying in my mind since we met. “‘I want to come.’ Does that sound like someone who was forced?"

Even twisted in hate, her face is beautiful. The point of her chin, the fullness of her lips. She doesn’t have an ugly angle or emotion.

“I despise you.”

I step forward, pinning Belle between my body and the conference room table. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not a liar,” she hisses, squaring off with me even though she's a good six inches shorter. “About anything. I didn’t sleep with my boss. And I really do hate you.”

"You don't lie?"

"No.”

"Okay." I raise my hand and cup her delicate jaw. I can feel her pulse fluttering against my fingertips. I drag my hand lower, down into the hollow beneath her collarbone. "Then answer this, princess: do I make you wet?"

She goes rigid under my touch and presses her thighs together like she's worried I'll reach down and check.

To be fair, I’m considering it.

"Not in your wildest fucking dreams.”

I shake my head and drag my finger down, swirling around her clearly pointed nipple. Her back arches into my touch and I chuckle.

"Liar."

"I'm not!"

"Wishing you weren't attracted to me doesn't mean you aren't."

Her cheeks are a beautiful rose pink and her lips are parted, panting, as her body responds to how close we are.

My body is responding, too. Belle glances down and notices. "You're attracted to me, too."

I nod. "Very."

She wasn’t expecting the honesty, but I have nothing to hide.

“I don’t make it a habit to fuck people I’m not attracted to,” I continue. “But given your situation with Roger, maybe you don’t understand what that's like."

Belle pounds a fist into my chest. “I’m not fucking him, asshole.”

I grab her arm and twist it so her wrist is against my lips. She makes a halfhearted effort to pull her arm away, but her eyes are fixed on my mouth.

“Is that why you’re doing all of this?” she whispers. “Because you… you like me?”

Arslan’s words ring in my head, but I shove them away. I tell her the same thing I told him: “I’d like to be inside of you. There’s a difference.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’ll be rid of me soon enough,” I say, nibbling across the delicate blue vein in her wrist. “My infatuations don’t last long.”

She’s trembling, her body vibrating with palpable desire. The effort it takes to not press her back onto the desk and give into what we both want is exhausting.

But some things are better when you work for them.

She lets out a soft groan of frustration. “What’s the matter—you can’t pleasure a woman long-term? Do they get bored with your little bag of tricks?”

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