Page 8

NIKOLAI

N ikolai's eyes glint in the dim warehouse light. The air reeks of sweat and fear. A man dangles upside down before him, rope cutting into his ankles.

"You thought you could approach her." His voice remains eerily calm.

Blood drips from the man's swollen lip onto the concrete floor. His whimpers echo through the empty space.

"I didn't know she was with someone." The man's voice trembles.

He delivers a quick backhand, hard, across the face. The slap reverberates through the warehouse.

"Every woman deserves respect when she says no." he circles the hanging man slowly. "But Taraji belongs to me."

Two men stand in the shadows. They watch with detached interest as he works.

"Tell me again what you said to her." Nikolai pulled out his favorite knife.

"I just asked for her number." The man sobs .

"After she said no twice." He traced the knife along the man's cheek without breaking skin. "You persisted and got too close to her face."

One of the men in the shadow’s steps forward. Issac stands a head taller than Nikolai with a scar across his throat.

"Want me to take over?" Issac asks.

"No." He stares at the captive. "This one is personal."

The second man laughs. Kamal is smaller but deadlier with hands that have snapped dozens of necks.

"You've gone soft for this woman." Kamal lights a cigarette. "Never seen you like this."

Nikolai ignores him. He grabs the hanging man by the hair.

"Five years I've waited." he speaks directly to the captive. "Five years watching men who didn't deserve her touch what's mine."

The man's eyes widen. "Please I have a family."

"So do I now." His face breaks out into a cold smile. "And you threatened it."

Issac steps closer. "The collection grows."

"Indeed." Nikolai nods. "This makes eleven."

The hanging man screams but Nikolai covers his mouth. He delivers three precise punches to the kidney area.

"Taraji is mine." he speaks with quiet intensity. "Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to punish when necessary."

He turns to Issac. "Finish him but make it clean. No evidence."

Issac nods. Kamal flicks his cigarette away.

"Your little stalker sent pictures of her at yoga." Kamal hands Nikolai a phone. "She has quite the ass."

With each swipe, more pictures of Taraji in tight leggings comes through. Her curves fill out the spandex perfectly.

"You've had people watching her all this time?" Issac asks.

"Of course." Nikolai pockets the phone. "I protect what's mine even before she knows she's mine."

He walks toward the exit. The warehouse door creaks as he pushes it open .

"Call me when it's done." He trusts them without hesitation to do what needs to be done and doesn't look back.

In his sleek black Bentley his driver waits silently. Nikolai slides into the backseat.

"Home sir?" The driver asks.

"Not yet." He checks his watch. "I need to call her first."

He pulls out his personal phone and his heartbeat quickens at the thought of hearing her voice. His thumb lingering over the green call button for a fraction of a second before pressing. The line rings twice, three times, and then—

“Hello?” Taraji’s voice is warm, gently curious.

He closes his eyes for a beat, letting the sound of her soothe him. “Good evening, Taraji. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

She laughs softly. “No, it’s perfect. Me and the girls are curled up on the couch with some wine and a heating pad. Glamorous, I know.”

His lips twitch. “I’m sure you make it look better than anyone else could.”

She snorts. “Flattery, Volkov? You must want something.”

He relaxes a little, the darkness of the evening beginning to recede. “Perhaps. But mostly I just wanted to hear your voice.”

She’s quiet for a second. “Well, you’ve got it. What about you? Did you have a good night?”

“Productive,” he answers, voice smooth. “Tied up some loose ends.” He glances at his bloodied knuckles, hidden in the shadows of the back seat. “Nothing interesting.”

She hums. “Sounds mysterious. Is that code for ‘I spent the day intimidating people in a three-piece suit’?”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “Something like that.”

She yawns. “Sorry. These massages always make me sleepy. Keisha and Kate got me to do yoga. You would’ve laughed at how inflexible I am.”

“I doubt that,” he murmurs. “I think I will find you very flexible when you want to be.”

She laughs again, a little breathless. “You’re terrible. ”

“Only for you,” he says, smiling into the phone. “What did you eat?”

She groans. “Too much. Curry puffs, pad Thai, mango sticky rice. I think I’m going to explode.”

He imagines her, full and content, cheeks flushed from laughter. “Sounds perfect. I’m glad you had a good night.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her breathing soft through the line. “I did. It was… easy. For the first time in a while, I didn’t feel like everyone was judging me.”

“They’re idiots if they do,” he says instantly, voice hardening. “You’re the most extraordinary woman I know.”

She’s silent, and when she speaks again, her voice is small. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replies. “You should know that by now.”

She lets out a little sigh. “I’m still getting used to all of this. You, caring what I think. Protecting me.”

He softens. “You deserve it. You always have.”

She shifts, and he hears the rustle of her blanket. “I keep replaying what happened earlier in my head. I can’t believe you just… did that. For me.”

He’s quiet, his tone darkening a notch. “I would do far more than that for you, Taraji. No one lays a hand on you. Not ever again.”

She’s quiet. He wonders if he’s scared her, but then she says, “I believe you.”

He smiles. “Good girl.”

Her breath hitches. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to get ideas.”

“Maybe you should,” he growls softly. “I want you thinking about me. About us.”

She’s teasing again, back to her playful self. “Well I think of my therapist more. Are you jealous of my massage therapist?”

His jaw tenses, but he keeps his voice light. “Should I be?”

She laughs. “He’s seventy and calls everyone ‘darling.’ You have nothing to worry about, darling. ”

The word makes his cock twitch, but he keeps his voice steady. “Glad to hear it.”

She hums. “Maybe you can give me a massage someday.”

“I plan to,” he says, voice dropping. “But you won’t be thinking about yoga, I promise you that.”

She laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“Only for you,” he repeats, softer now. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” she admits. “But I like talking to you. I… missed you.”

His breath catches. “I missed you too. More than you know.”

She’s quiet again, then: “Will you be at the office Monday?”

“I will. Will you come see me?”

“Of course,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about… us.”

He lets out a slow breath. “As have I.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. She finally breaks it, voice soft and vulnerable. “Thank you. For everything. For believing in me, even when I didn’t.”

He smiles, something warm uncoiling inside him. “Always, Taraji. Always.”

His voice drops lower. "I can't wait to see you."

"Me too." She pauses. "I should get some sleep."

"Goodnight Taraji." He smiles into the phone.

"Goodnight Daddy." She says it so naturally then gasps. "I mean—"

The line goes dead. Nikolai stares at his phone his cock gets even harder and starts throbbing to release. His heart was thundering, her voice echoing in his head.

"Drive." He orders his chauffeur. "Now."

The Bentley pulls away from the warehouse. Nikolai unzips his pants and pulls out his throbbing erection.

"She called me Daddy." He strokes himself slowly. "She's perfect."

His large hand pumps up and down his shaft. He recalls Taraji's curves in her tight yoga pants.

"Fuck." He groans speeding up his movements .

The partition between him and the driver remains up. Nikolai spreads his legs wider.

"She's mine." He grunts working his cock harder. "All fucking mine."

He imagines Taraji on her knees calling him Daddy begging for his cock. His balls tighten with the fantasy.

"Such a good little girl." He whispers increasing his pace. "Daddy's good little girl."

His orgasm builds quickly. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket just in time.

"Taraji!" He groans as he erupts into the cloth.

His body shudders with release but the tension doesn't fully dissipate. He's still semi-hard thinking of her.

"Monday." He promises himself tucking his cock away. "Monday I taste what's mine."

The Bentley glides through London's streets. Nikolai looks out at the city lights.

"No man touches what's mine." He whispers against the window. "No one."