Page 36 of Cruel Russian King

“Why didn’t you get one?” I asked.

“Because Lev said it would've been too much responsibility. I begged him for years, between twelve and fourteen, I practically lived on my knees begging.”

A thought shot through my mind. Of Ninel on her knees, begging to put my cock in her mouth.

Fuck.

I bit back a groan and smirked. “Two years, huh?”

She rolled her eyes but she smiled. “Two years wasted.”

“Do you want a pony, printsessa?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Her steps faltered. Her eyes went wide, caught between disbelief and longing. “If I wanted one…you’d get it for me?”

“I would.”

I hated that she had the power to make me want to give her anything, whether she obeyed me or not.

Because you're weak, Artie.My father's voice whispered in my ear.

She tilted her head at me, searching my face, but she said nothing.

For the next hour, she stroked llamas, scratched goats, laughed at sheep bleating after her. She even touched the alligators, and when she draped a snake around her neck she demanded I take a picture. And I did.

No one had ever demanded anything of me. Yet, here she was doing it andIobeyed.

When we finally thanked Kern and left the building, I closed my hand around hers as we walked to the waiting SUV. Her fingers curled around mine willingly, and my pulse spiked.

“Are you tired?” I asked once we reached the car.

“There’s more to see?”

“Today…yes.”

She grinned. “Then let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ruslan pulled up to a scrap yard. Ninel wrinkled her nose, unimpressed.

“If you honestly think this place is better than an art gallery, something’s totally wrong with you.”

I smirked. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

I helped her out of the vehicle, my hand firm at her waist, and together we walked into the yard. A few men glanced up in greeting, and then a voice rang out, “Yo, Mike, Mr. Rykov is here to see ya.”

From behind a heap of rusted cars stepped Mike, a six-foot-five, broad as a fucking wall, pure muscle and menace. Ninel instinctively took a step back, and I tightened my hold on her waist. I didn’t blame her reaction; Mike looked like the kind of man who could crush bone with one hand.

“Mr. Rykov.” He gave me a nod, then dipped his head politely toward Ninel. “Ma’am.”

“Mike, still working on that piece?” I asked.

“I am,” he said with a grin that showed a row of unnaturally sharpened teeth.

Ninel’s fingers gripped the back of my shirt as we followed him to the back of the yard. He shoved open the heavy warehouse door, and we stepped inside. Ninel froze at the threshold. Her eyes widened as she took in the massive sculptures of steel and iron twisted into brutal, breathtaking art, each piece forged from discarded wreckage.

“Ready to retract your comment about this place not being better than an art gallery?” I murmured against her ear.

She tore her gaze from the displays and grinned at me. “Oh, it’s still not better. But…it’s a close second.”