Page 65 of Blood, Bones, and the Bratva Bogeyman

But the copper taste in my mouth doesn’t fade when I turn away.

I excuse myself from the old misogynistic bastard with a tight smile and head straight for the bar. A moment later, Konstantin appears beside me, smelling like mint, sandalwood, and unfortunately, her.

“You smell like disappointment and poor choice,” I murmur, swirling my drink.

“Jealous,Lisichka?”

“I’m not sure if I should be,” I reply, my voice light but sharp as the blade at his hip. “Is it allowed when my husband gets groped by Botox Barbie?”

His chuckle is dark and wicked as his hand snakes around my waist. “You’re encouraged to be jealous.”

As he leans toward me, I get a whiff of the perfume that still clings to his suit jacket and step back with a growl.

“You still smell like her,” I snap.

“Do I?” he asks, his mouth twitching.

“You know you do.”

There’s a tilt of his jaw as a dangerous grin spreads across his face. “Then let’s fix it.”

His hand tightens around mine and we vanish from the crowd like shadows slipping into the dark. The door to the loo clicks shut behind us, and he snaps the lock. Then I barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing me back against the basin. His arms cage me in, his eyes dark with heat and possession.

“You think I’d let her touch me willingly?” he asks, his voice low and lethal.

“You didn’t stop her fast enough,” I retort, my temper still high.

His laugh scrapes against my ear as his hands tighten with the ownership that’s always been his language. “She didn’t matter.”

“She touched you,” I snarl.

“This what you need, little fox?” he growls. “Need me to remind you who I belong to?”

“Yes,” I breathe, my fingers fisting in his vest.

His mouth crashes into mine, bruising and hungry. The vanity unit digs into my back as he pushes me farther against it. His thigh shoves between mine, forcing them open, making space he doesn’t ask for. His hands roam, possessive and unrepentant, dragging the silk of my dress up as his fingers carve heat into my skin.

Turning me fast, he presses my hands flat to the cold basin, his eyes meeting my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror.

“Look,” he growls against my ear.

His hand tangles in my hair and yanks my head back until my throat arches. Teeth scrape against my neck, biting just enough to mark. “See who I belong to. Look at what only you do to me.”

The mirror doesn’t lie and neither does he.

He’s flushed and wild-eyed behind me, breathing like a man only seconds from snapping. The burn low in my belly burns as I take in our reflections. A man who terrifies half the country and a woman whose smirk refuses to apologize.

He grinds against me. “You think some little reminder of my past could ever come close to this?”

I whimper, arching into him. “Prove it.”

Konstantin holds me in place by my hair while the other drags my knickers down in one slow, deliberate tug, until they hang at my ankles. “Say it,” he orders low, not cruel but utterly without compromise.

“Mine,” I let out on a ragged breath.

“Again.”

This time, my voice is stronger. “Mine.”