Page 4

Nikolai

Here’s the thing they never tell you about obsession.

It doesn’t come all at once, crashing down like some kind of divine punishment. No, it seeps in slowly, consumes you, and eats away at your sanity piece by piece until you're nothing but a mess of raw nerves and unfulfilled cravings. Then it spreads until everything you are is stained with it.

I’ve only been obsessed twice in my life.

The first time was when I was fifteen, watching my father burn alive while I held a knife to the throat of the man who lit the match—his brother. The two of them abused me until I was old enough to fight back. And I made them turn against each other when I figured out how easy it was to manipulate people. It doesn’t take much to create an illusion in someone’s mind and make them see what they thought they wanted to see.

Their deaths should’ve made me feel something—grief, rage, something—but all I felt was the rush of finally being in control. That tremendous satisfaction of power.

The second time... is her.

The girl who thought it was okay to hunt me. Stalk me. Invade my life like some kind of martyr on a fool’s quest.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t kill her when I had the chance.

Because I need her, too.

It’s sick. Twisted. But here I am, staring at her like she’s some kind of forbidden prize I have to ruin to claim. Like the only way to possess her is to break her first.

She’s standing there, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and her chest is heaving from the surprise of finding me in her apartment. Those big, accusing blue eyes glaring up at me like she’s got me figured out.

Too bad for her, that part of me died a long time ago.

“What makes you think I'd give you either?” she challenges.

I smile slowly, my grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. “Because,” I say softly, my voice almost inaudible, “right now, I have all the leverage.”

Her throat flexes beneath my hand, and that single gesture makes my cock twitch.

“You really think I’d beg for anything from you?” she tries to hold her own, even though her pulse is thundering so loud I can feel it beneath my fingers.

“Begging’s just the beginning. By the time I’m through with you, you won’t remember what it felt like before you met me.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s all bark and no bite, Nikolai.”

“I will ask you one last time. Why are you following me, Katya?

She tightens her grip on the towel, chin lifting, bold despite her vulnerability. “Wow, you really think you can scare me, don’t you? That’s bold, even for a Bratva dog.”

“You’ve been playing spy, malyshka. Stalking me through the streets and the gutters. Tell me why, or this gets uglier.”

“Uglier? You’re already ruining my decor with that scowl. Maybe I just like the view—those tattoos do scream trouble.”

My jaw tightens, but her sass pulls at me, her towel slipping slightly, revealing the curve of her breast. I force my eyes up, ignoring the pulse in my groin. “Don’t play cute. Irina, your sister—she’s why, isn’t she? You think I took her?”

She steps forward, towel shifting, her skin glistening, and I swallow hard, my focus fraying. “You know something, don’t you?” she snaps, voice steady despite her near nakedness. “Men like you don’t prowl for nothing. Spill it, or I’ll scream.”

I laugh, low and rough, leaning in, our faces inches apart, her scent—soap and defiance—hitting me hard. “Scream, and I’ll gag you, printsessa. But I’d rather you talk. What’s Irina to you, besides a reason to haunt my steps?”

Her eyes narrow, but a flush creeps up her neck, betraying her. “She’s my blood, not some pawn in your vodka-soaked games. And you—what’s your excuse for breaking in? And don’t give me that nonsense that you wanted answers. You already told me that you know everything about me. Were you hoping for a show?”

I grin, teeth bared, my hand twitching to brush that towel aside, but I keep still, control tight. “You’re giving one already, Katya. Keep tailing me, and you’ll see more than you bargained for. Now, answer—why me?”

She tilts her head, towel slipping another inch, her voice a taunt. “Maybe I’m drawn to danger, Nikolai. Or maybe you’re just too pretty to ignore.”

My cock strains, her words a hook, but I step back, danger outweighing desire, for now. “Careful, malyshka. Pretty can bite.”

She holds my stare, the towel clinging precariously, and I know this dance is far from over. Because she’s beautiful. Fucking perfect, really. And it pisses me off. Pisses me off how much I want to rip that towel away just to see her shatter.

“I see that you love looking at me in this towel,” she teases me, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I clench my jaw, heat surging through me, my cock straining against my jeans as I hold her stare. “Careful, malyshka. You’re playing with fire, and I burn hot.

She lets the towel dip lower, revealing more of her body. My blood roars, and I close the gap, towering over her, my hand hovering near her waist, itching to rip that towel away. “I could devour you, Katya, leave you trembling, begging for more.”

Her lips part, a flush creeping down her neck, but she doesn’t back down, her voice a taunt. “Big talk for a man who’s just standing there. Scared I’ll taste too good?”

I growl, low and hungry, my fingers grazing her arm, electric sparks igniting. “Scared? No. I’m fighting not to fuck you against this wall, towel be damned.”

She leans in, her damp skin brushing my chest, her whisper a dare. “Then why fight it? You want me, Nikolai. I see it in those eyes, starving for a taste.”

My control frays, my hand sliding to her hip, gripping just shy of bruising. “You don’t know what you’re asking, printsessa. If I take you, there’s no going back.”

“Then take,” she says, her gaze fierce, towel slipping to reveal a nipple, hard and tempting. “Or are you afraid I’ll ruin you first?

I press closer, my cock throbbing, her heat pulling me under. “Ruin me? Malyshka, I’d wreck you, and you’d thank me for it.

Calling her baby or beautiful in Russian means absolutely nothing. But she is. Beautiful, I mean. Fucking exquisite.

I have encountered enough women in the past to give an expert opinion, but this woman trumps it all. She smells of soft skin, wet hair, and damp pussy, but there is something else as well, something spicy and sensual that makes me want to do all sorts of depraved things to her.

I get even closer to her on reflex, first to capture the essence of that spicy smell, then to feel the softness of her skin against my rough hands.

The light dustings of freckles on her cheeks are marvelous, bathing her in such a warm tinge I ache to melt into and devour her whole. It’s disturbing enough to feel these things for a woman who could very well have been sent by an enemy.

It certainly isn’t the first time I am getting… propositioned by women like this. And yet, despite knowing, or rather, suspecting it, I can’t get myself to stop wanting her.

Her teasing suddenly changes form. She raises her chin up, stares at me with annoyance rather than anything else, and finally says:

“I’m just looking for what happened to my sister. She was kidnapped over five years ago. I only started searching for her a few months back when I saw your name in her journal. Up until now, all the leads I found about her involvement in the Bratva have been a dead end, but this one pointed to you. You were the last person seen with her before she disappeared.”

Her voice is firm, insolent, but her eyes make me want to hear more. This is definitely not pity I feel.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“When I found your name in her journal. I dug into her laptop and found a deleted photo of you on her cloud storage. It was attached to the same message I saw in her journal. I had an ex in the police force, and he owed me a favor, so I ran your face through facial recognition software.”

My jaw tightens. “And?”

“And you’re not as much of a ghost as you think you are. It turns out that being a writer isn’t just about making up stories. It’s about knowing how to find the right ones.”

So, she’s good at this. Better than I gave her credit for. But instead of admiring her resourcefulness, all I feel is the need to crush it.

“So, you aren’t a spy?”

“No.”

“And nobody sent you?”

“No.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Do whatever you want to do, but that’s the whole truth.”

“Don’t tempt me, Krasivaya, or you’ll be dead before your pretty little body touches the floor. It’d be a shame, don’t you think, for me to mess up the rug here? Hard for the next person to clean up.”

Her eyes soften considerably. “I wasn’t spying on you, I promise,” she whispers, her voice shuddering now, and it’s like music to my fucked-up soul.

I came here to end her. To take care of a loose end before it unraveled any further. But I can’t. Not when I want to rip that towel off and fuck her till she blacks out against this wall instead.

“I could kill you right now. One bullet, and it’s over.”

“Then do it.” She’s daring me, those pretty lips twisting into a grin that’s more reckless than brave. “You came here with a plan, didn’t you? So pull the trigger or get the hell out.”

“I think you’re confusing mercy with curiosity. Maybe I don’t want to kill you. Maybe I want to ruin you instead.”

Her mouth parts, but the words don’t come. She’s trying to hide her fear, but I can feel it.

“So fucking eager to play the martyr, but all I see is a little girl who wandered too far for her own good.”

“Or maybe it’s you who wandered into my trap,” she snaps back. “You’re the one with the gun, but I’m the one you can’t seem to leave alone.” Her tone’s wild, and it makes my blood boil with lust and rage.

I chortle. “Leave you alone? Sweetheart, I’m the nightmare you invited in.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you want from me?”

You can’t go around breaking into women’s apartments while they’re in the shower, waving guns in their faces. That just makes you look like a fucking psychopath.”

“I am a psychopath, trust me.” It’s the curiosity and the intrigue. It’s why I still haven’t touched her yet; why she’s still breathing. Usually, the people I’ve come across are frightened of me, even the ones who I won’t even kill. They’re all afraid of me because they know me. My name brings fear even to the strongest men, but not to her. Watching her, it’s almost as though she’s unaffected by the gun and my presence in her home. It’s uncanny.

“And you’re loving it, aren’t you? The way I’ve got you pinned here. The thrill coursing through your veins, not knowing what happens next, but aching for it.”

She says nothing, but her breath quickens, betraying her.

“You aren’t afraid of me because you want me. Even if it’s going to be the thing that kills you, isn’t it?”

In a move that takes me completely by surprise, she takes off the towel and stands completely naked in front of me.

“I know you watched me at that strip club,” I tell herI know you watched me thrust in and out of her pussy; watched me pound into her, balls deep, relentless. And that turns you on, doesn’t it? That’s how you like it…you like it rough and hard.”Her body’s bare, skin flushed from the shower, nipples hard, pussy glistening with want. I freeze, my cock throbbing painfully in my jeans, as she steps back, leaning against the wall, one leg propped up on a chair.

“Watch me, Nikolai,” she says, her voice a taunt, and slides her hand down, fingers plunging into her pussy, rough and fast, no hesitation. Her folds part, slick and swollen, her juices dripping onto her palm as she fucks herself, knuckles deep, her other hand pinching her nipple, twisting hard.

She moans, loud, unashamed, her pussy squelching with each thrust, cum leaking down her thigh, pooling on the floor. My mouth waters, fists clenching to keep from grabbing her, ripping her hand away to replace it with my dick.

“Like what you see?” she gasps, fingers slamming faster, her clit pulsing, her tits shaking with each rough jab. “Is this what you wanted to do to me?”

I’m rock hard, undone, her brazen pleasure a fire I can’t escape.

I’m on my knees before Katya, her pussy dripping inches from my face, her fingers still buried deep, slick with her cum as she pumps them rough and fast against the wall of her apartment. The sight of her—bare, flushed, unashamed—has my cock straining painfully in my jeans, a steel rod begging for release, but I’m locked on her, her juices glistening on her thigh, her clit swollen and pulsing.

Her moans fill the room, raw and needy, a siren’s call that drowns out the city night outside. We’re enemies, her trailing me over Irina’s disappearance, me breaking in to demand answers, yet here we are, caught in a fire neither of us can resist. She wants this, her body screams it, and I’m helpless to deny her, my hunger for her a beast I can’t chain.

“Keep watching, Nikolai,” she gasps, her voice a taunt, her fingers plunging deeper, cum dripping to the floor in a glistening pool. “See what you’re missing, Bratva king.”

I growl, low and hungry, my hands twitching to grab her, to claim what she’s teasing. “You think you’re in charge, malyshka?” I say, my tone thick with want, edged with the grit of the streets. “I’ll have you screaming my name before this night’s done.”

She laughs, a sultry sound that hits me like vodka, and pulls her fingers out, slick and shining, holding them up like a prize. “Screaming? You’ll have to earn it, pakhan. Show me what that mouth’s good for.”

Her challenge snaps my restraint, and I lean in, my hands bracing her legs apart, her pussy open and inviting, dripping with need.

“Earn it?” I murmur, my lips brushing her inner thigh, tasting her warmth. “I’ll fucking destroy you, Katya, until you’re begging for my cock.”

“Do it then,” she says, her voice bold and eager, her hand tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. “Eat me, Nikolai, make me cum like you mean it.”

I dive in, my tongue lashing her clit, hard and fast, sucking the swollen bud into my mouth, her taste exploding on my tongue—sweet, tangy, pure sin. She moans, loud and unrestrained, her legs trembling as I lick her folds, slurping her juices, my chin slick with her arousal.

“Fuck, yes,” she cries, grinding against my face, her pussy smearing me, her cum dripping down my neck. I plunge my tongue deep, fucking her with it, her walls clenching around me, gushing more as I lap her up, relentless, starving for every drop.

“You taste like heaven, printsessa,” I say, pulling back to kiss her clit, teasing it with my teeth, gentle but firm. “This pussy’s mine tonight, enemy or not.”

“Yours?” she pants, her grip tightening in my hair, urging me on. “Prove it, volchok. Make me forget we’re at war.”

I growl again, diving back in, my tongue circling her clit, flicking it fast, then sucking hard, her moans rising, echoing off the walls. Her cum floods my mouth, a river I drink greedily, my lips working her folds, kissing every inch, her pussy pulsing with each lick. I spread her wider, my hands firm on her thighs, and trail my tongue lower, teasing the tight ring of her ass, her body jolting at the touch.

“Oh, God, Nikolai,” she gasps, no fear, just want, her voice thick with pleasure. “There, yes, don’t stop.”

“You like that, malyshka?” I say, my tongue circling her asshole, slow and deliberate, tasting her musk, earthy and intoxicating. “You’re filthier than I dreamed, begging for my mouth everywhere.”

“Begging?” she laughs, breathless, pushing back against me, her ass opening for my tongue. “I’m commanding, pakhan. Give me more, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

I chuckle, the sound muffled as I plunge my tongue into her ass, fucking it deep, her hole tight and warm, clenching around me as she moans, her pussy dripping onto my chin.

“No one else, Katya,” I say, pulling back to kiss her ass cheeks, nipping the soft flesh. “This is mine, every fucking inch, and I’m not sharing.”

“Then claim it,” she says, her voice a dare, her body trembling with need, her pussy and ass offered up like a feast. “Show me what a Bratva beast can do.”

I dive back in, my tongue alternating between her pussy and ass, licking her clit, then plunging into her asshole, back and forth, a rhythm that drives her wild. Her cum soaks my face, dripping down my jaw, pooling on the floor as I suck her clit hard, my tongue flicking fast, then thrust into her ass again, deep and slow, her moans a symphony of lust.

“Fuck, Nikolai, you’re good,” she cries, her legs shaking, her hands clawing my scalp, pulling me tighter. “Keep going, make me cum, I need it.”

“You’ll cum when I say,” I say, my lips on her pussy, sucking her folds, my tongue teasing her clit with quick, sharp licks. “This pussy, this ass—they answer to me tonight, printsessa.”

“Please,” she moans, no shame, just raw desire, her body rocking against my mouth, chasing release. “I want it, Nikolai, give it to me, now.”

Her plea fuels me, and I double down, my tongue fucking her pussy deep, lapping her walls, her cum flooding my mouth as I suck her clit, hard and relentless. I slide back to her ass, my tongue plunging in, circling her tight hole, her body shuddering with each thrust.

“Cum for me, malyshka,” I say, my lips brushing her clit, kissing it softly, then sucking hard. “Let go, give me everything.”

She screams, her pussy clenching, gushing cum onto my face, her ass pulsing around my tongue as her orgasm rips through her, her juices spilling down my chin, soaking my shirt, dripping to the floor in a messy flood.

“Nikolai, fuck, yes,” she cries, her body trembling, her hands gripping my hair, holding me there as she rides the wave, her cum coating me, marking me as hers, even if we’re enemies.

I keep licking, slower now, savoring her pussy, her ass, kissing her clit, her hole, drawing out every shudder, every moan, her pleasure my only focus.

“This pussy, this ass—I could eat you for days.”

She laughs, breathless, sagging against the wall, her legs weak but her eyes alive, sparkling with want.

“Days? Careful, volchok, I might hold you to that,” she says, her voice teasing, but there’s warmth there, a crack in our war.

I kiss her pussy one last time, soft and lingering, then rise, my cock aching, but I don’t push for more—she’s given enough, and I’m not here to take what she doesn’t offer freely.

“You’re trouble, printsessa,” I say, standing close, her cum still slick on my face, her scent all over me. “But fuck, I like trouble.”

She grins, leaning in, her lips brushing my jaw, tasting herself on me. “Trouble likes you too, Nikolai. Even if you’re the enemy, you’ve got a mouth that could start a revolution.”

I laugh, stepping back, my dick screaming for relief, but I keep control, the Bratva in me knowing when to pull back. “Revolution, huh? Keep that fire, malyshka, but don’t think this changes anything. You’re still the person who tried to follow me around.”

“Likewise,” she says, her gaze sharp but playful, her body still flushed, open, inviting despite our divide. “But I’ll take this ceasefire, pakhan, long as you keep delivering.”

“But watch your step, Katya. Next time, I might not kneel. “You want to look for your sister? Go right ahead, but I have nothing to do with her.” My voice drops. “So stay out of my way. This is your only warning, Katya.”

She laughs, bold and free, her voice chasing me out. “Next time, I might make you beg, Nikolai.”

***

I drop into the driver's seat of my car, my knuckles white against the leather steering wheel. Fuck. The image of her naked body burns in my mind, a torment I didn't ask for. She trembled under my touch, fear and desire warring in those defiant eyes, and now I can't shake the feeling of her skin beneath my fingers.

My phone rings. Pavel.

"What?" I snap, rougher than intended.

"Boss wants an update on the Lev situation."

I close my eyes, trying to focus. "Tell him it's handled."

"And the girl? The one who's been following you?"

"She won't be a problem."

"You sure about that?" Pavel's tone suggests doubt.

"I said I handled it." The words come out like ice.

A pause. "Whatever you say, brother."

I end the call and toss the phone onto the passenger seat. I need a drink. Or maybe just to hit something until this ache subsides.

The drive to my apartment is a blur. Inside, I pour three fingers of whiskey, downing it in one burning gulp. It doesn't help. Nothing will, not with her scent still clinging to my clothes, not with the memory of her pulse racing under my palm.

"Stupid," I mutter, pouring another drink. "Fucking stupid."

The alcohol burns, but it can't erase the truth: I want her. Not just to break her or control her—though God knows I want that too—but to possess her completely. To own every breath, every sound, every shiver.

My phone buzzes again. A text from an unknown number:

You think threatening me will stop me? Try harder.

I laugh, harshly, realizing this girl’s got bite. I wonder how she got my number. Well, it wouldn’t be too hard for someone who‘s good at finding out things like she does.

I knew she wouldn't back down. That's what makes her dangerous and irresistible.

I type back: Keep pushing. See what happens.

Her response is immediate: I'm not afraid of you.

You should be.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Finally: why did you let me live?

I stare at the screen, the question hitting closer to home than I'd like. Why did I? The smart move would have been to eliminate the threat. Instead, I'd gotten distracted by soft skin and fierce eyes.

Don't mistake mercy for weakness, I reply. Next time won't end the same.

There won't be a next time. I'll find what I'm looking for before then.

I smile despite myself. Sweet dreams, Katya. Watch your back.

Setting the phone down, I walk to the window. Somewhere out there, she's plotting her next move, probably cursing my name.

But as I stand there, watching the night deepen, I know I'm lying to myself. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. And the next time we meet, I might not have the strength to let her go.