Page 13

Chapter 13

The Crown She Doesn’t Know She’s Wearing

Vasiliyi

T he sun hasn’t yet broken over Manhattan’s skyline, but the club is already quiet, and I’m still wired, caught in the aftermath of everything Galina stirred loose in me last night. Her dance replays on a merciless loop behind my eyes. The arch of her spine. The calculated strength in every twist. The moment her mask slipped, and I saw the woman beneath the armor. Not just a performance, not just seduction. It was a revelation. Unintentional, unfiltered, and far more dangerous than anything she’s done with intent.

She bared her soul without meaning to. And that’s what makes it lethal.

I grip the teacup tighter, the black tea scalding my throat like penance. Strong, bitter—no sugar, no softness. Just heat and control. But it does nothing to cauterize the wound she left behind. My palms still remember the armrests, the leather groaning beneath my grip as I fought the instinct to drag her from that stage and bend her to my will.

It wasn’t just lust. Lust is fleeting and contained.

This is something darker. More permanent.

Obsession.

She turned my club—my sanctuary—into her church. And I, unwillingly, became a devout observer.

I set the cup down, fingers trailing across the pages of her proposal. It’s brilliant—sharp, strategic, and commercially viable. VIP packages. Couture showcases. Performers as luxury brands, not commodities. It’s more than I expected. More than I deserve.

And it cements a truth I’ve been trying to ignore: Galina Olenko isn’t just playing at power.

She has it.

The Velvet Echo could be the keystone of my stateside operations, a way to rebrand the Volkov name, to build something legitimate. But with Galina in the mix, the lines blur. She isn’t just helping me build an empire.

She’s threatening to become the crown.

It has to stop. As soon as the club relaunches, I’ll cut her loose. For her sake. For mine. Because every moment she’s near is a razor slicing through my restraint.

A knock cuts through my thoughts, sharp and soft.

“Enter,” I say, already knowing who it is. No one else stays this late.

Galina steps into the office like a vision conjured from the edges of a dream—polished and composed in a pastel skirt suit, the morning light turning her hair to molten copper. Her heels are low, practical. Her presence, anything but.

I stare unapologetically. Not because I’m trying to undress her with my eyes.

But because I already know how she tastes when she breaks.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she says, her voice quieter than usual. There’s caution there. A thread of uncertainty. It doesn’t suit her.

“What is it, Galina?” My voice comes out sharp and clipped.

She hesitates, like she’s weighing the risk of whatever she’s about to say. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

I rise from behind my desk and nod toward the sofa. “Let’s sit,” I say. “We’ll talk there. You want something to drink?”

“Please.”

“Any preference?” I ask. “Coffee? Tea? Brandy?”

“Water’s fine,” she says.

Of course it is.

She’s here to be clearheaded. And I’m already drowning.

My mouth curves before I can stop it. My lisichka , dressed like a fever dream in those heels, making me think about how good her legs would look straddling my face. She’s trying to look professional, but the blush at her throat gives her away.

“Maybe some sparkling water, then,” I say, reaching for the bar.

But she’s already behind me.

“I’ve got it,” she says, brushing past me.

I let her. Watching her move is half the pleasure.

She drifts behind the bar, graceful as ever, and reaches for the glasses. I step closer.

My hand settles on her ass, a reflex more than a choice. “You’re distracting me,” I murmur, fingers pressing in. “And I’m trying to behave.”

She lets out a small, surprised sound, but instead of swatting me away, she tips her head toward me like she’s considering whether I’m worth the effort.

“Where’s the water?” she asks, voice low.

“Right. Drinks first,” I echo, not moving my hand.

She pretends she doesn’t notice as she pours the water into a glass. Her perfume curls in the air—something light and sharp, citrus layered over something deeper. It suits her. Bright and deceptive.

Our fingers brush as she hands me the drink. Hers tremble, just slightly.

I ignore the jolt that shoots through me, focusing instead on the sparkle of the water catching the faint morning light. This city never sleeps. Neither do I. And apparently, neither does she.

I walk back to the sofa and gesture for her to follow. “You go first. Two minutes. Make it count.”

She sits slowly, knees together, ankles crossed, posture perfect. A picture of poise and calculation. Her hands rest in her lap, but I can see the tension coiled in her shoulders.

I sink into the chair opposite her and roll up my sleeves, ignoring the crystal water as I lean forward on my elbows. I’m letting her lead—for now. But if she wants to play in my arena, she’ll have to learn the rules.

Her mouth presses into a line. She hesitates.

“I’ll just cut to the chase,” she says, her hands tightening. That little tic—grasping at the invisible—is one I’ve cataloged like everything else about her. She thinks I’m angry. I’m not. I’m wired. Lit up from the inside by the way she moves, the way she looks at me like she might bite or beg.

“I want to know where we go from here.”

“Now that I think of it, I might need you,” I add, smirking, “to do a little more…persuading.”

She knows exactly what I’m asking for. What I’m always asking for. She belongs to me—my name is on every inch of her, even if she won’t admit it out loud.

She leans forward, close enough that I can smell her skin. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

Christ.

My cock throbs at just thepossibilityof what she’s offering. But I don’t move. Not yet. Not until she gives me something I can’t take by force.

“Surprise me,” I say, voice soft.

And then I sit back.

Waiting.

Because the most dangerous part of this game?

It’s knowing I’ll let her win. Just to see how far she’ll go to claim her crown.

It takes everything I have not to close the distance. Not to press her to the wall and taste every inch of that mouth that never stops testing me. She’s come here for one thing. Maybe two. Control and surrender, though she’ll never admit it. She thinks this is about power. About getting me to say yes to everything she wants.

But I know better.

She’s not just playing a game.

She’s offering herself as the prize.

And I intend to win.

I don’t move. Just watch her.

“You want to persuade me?” I say, my voice a low, deliberate threat. “Start by warming me up. Give me a lap dance, lisichka .”

Her lips part, the faintest gasp escaping before she catches it. But I see the way her pupils flare. The flicker of excitement behind her poise. She stands slowly, every movement like she’s drawing a blade instead of undressing.

She doesn’t speak. She just turns, lifts her hands, and lets the jacket slide from her shoulders like water. It hits the floor in a whisper. The red blouse beneath it clings to her like it’s part of her skin. One button, then another comes undone beneath her fingers—slow, intentional, torturous.

She holds my gaze the entire time.

The red lace underneath is delicate, barely there. A trap dressed up in temptation. And when she slides the straps off her shoulders and lets her breasts spill free, my jaw tightens with the effort not to reach for her.

She moves to music only she can hear, hips swaying with devastating precision. Her hands graze her thighs, then her stomach, then up to her chest—teasing, never touching for long. My tie is the next casualty. She hooks her fingers into the silk, tugging it loose with a wicked smile.

Her knees settle on either side of my thighs, heat radiating from her as she straddles me. I don’t touch her. Not yet. I want her tobegfirst.

But then her fingers find my chest, skimming down over my shirt. Her skin is fire under my hands as I finally touch her—one palm curving around her waist, the other sliding up her back until I tangle my fingers in her hair.

She tilts her head back, offering me her throat like a dare.

I accept.

My mouth brushes the delicate skin just beneath her ear, and her shiver is immediate. I nip her there—gentle at first, then harder when she gasps—and her hips grind down against my lap.

“Tonight,” I murmur against her skin, “I’m going to wrap this silky hair around my fist and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath catches—half whimper, half challenge. Her thighs tremble slightly around mine, and I feel the way her body arches toward me, desperate for friction.

I grip her ass in both hands, dragging her forward, grinding her against the ache that’s been building since she walked through the damn door.

“If you don’t get naked,” I growl, voice rough with hunger, “I’ll rip that skirt in two.”

She doesn’t move at first. Just watches me, breathless, flushed, lips parted. Then she leans in, brushing her mouth against mine without kissing me.

“Then tear it,” she whispers.

And just like that, all bets are off.

My dick throbs as her slender fingers dance across my thighs. Palming her ass, I hold her prisoner, grinding her against me while I dip my head to her gorgeous tits and scrape the rough stubble of my cheek across her pale, sensitive skin. The erotic temptation in the contrast of her soft breasts against my hardened jawline makes me crave taking control. Temptation and the desire to own overwhelms me, and not even I recognize my low, guttural growl as my fingers dig into her firm hips.

And Galina fucking relishes it. Her moans become high-pitched, her hands digging into my shoulders as she kisses my lips, then my chin, down the length of my neck. I watch her, my arousal intensifying.

“Last warning,” I growl.

She unzips her skirt and steps out of it, naked except for a pair of thigh-high stockings and the crimson panties.

That image is now forever imprinted in my mind.

Then her hands are everywhere, tugging my tie, prying open the buttons of my shirt. Desperate fingers claw at my pants. Warm skin against cold steel of the zipper. God. Just one strong grasp, the slightest move, and I’d push inside her, taking all I want, all I need...

Her warm thighs contract around mine, her arms around my torso. Though she looks like a luscious kitten, Galina is the kind who wields claws and teeth. A sly glance, a perfect curve, all wrapped in vulnerability. Even now, it’s an exquisite challenge—figuring out the soft, delicate mask hiding a devious and hungry core.

She’s panting now, rocking slowly over my trapped cock, her breasts pressed against my chest. Fuck, I need to get rid of my clothes. I want to feel her skin against mine.

As Galina runs her soft hands up the defined ridges of my abdomen, I press a hungry kiss against her swollen mouth. I groan again, fighting the urge to release myself and grind my hips against hers.

Hooking one leg between hers, I break free and take advantage. Her gasp sends a thrill through me. The perfect opportunity, an involuntary opening, and I’m ready to pounce. I slam her onto the cushions, her nails scratching across my chest as she clings to my shoulders for stability, a helpless animal in the clutches of a predator. She knows what’s coming.

Pinning her wrists above her head, I loom over her as I taste the exposed curve of her neck. My nose inhales her intoxicating scent. So fucking inebriating. I’m getting drunk. Like wine and cigarettes, burning and euphoric.

She writhes under me, whimpering something unintelligible as her legs wrap around my hips, searching for the relief I’ve been promising. Galina won’t get it. Not yet. For as long as my rules stand, I’m the one delivering her submission.

Pushing off the sofa, I strip, tossing my clothes aside with each item. One by one. My belt. Shirt. Shoes. Pants.

She watches, eyes flaring wide and filling with hungry lust, looking gorgeous and debauched spread out before me on the sofa, her nipples hard and glistening from my tongue, her hands twitching to touch and explore. But I won’t let her. Not until she pleads for her own satisfaction.

I fondle my cock over my underwear, never losing eye contact. Watching her expression shift, knowing I control that shiver of anticipation. Let her imagine all the different ways I’m about to deliver her pleasure.

Without her saying a word, Galina rolls over, rising to her knees and turning to present her delicious ass. A wicked invitation to fuck her from behind. She turns her face to peer over her shoulder at me, and fuck, if she doesn’t look a damn sight more desperate than I’ve ever seen her. Her jaw tightens, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Oh, she needs this, and every inch of her wants me to go for the kill.

Gripping her knee, I push her thighs apart and use my free hand to cup her pussy, squeezing and warming her center. To say she’s ready is an understatement. The silk of her panties is soaked, ready to be torn right off.

So I do.

With a strong pull, the fabric tears away. Palming her, I squeeze her clit, the pressure driving her closer to the edge. She moans and arches her spine in invitation.

Fuck, I’ll take her. I’ll fuck her without mercy. She’s mine to do with as I please after all. But still, I need to watch her when she comes. The flush that steals up her neck, her back arched, and the quiver in her lips as she struggles to hang on a second longer... I want that mental image. I need it.

I draw away and reposition myself, wrapping an arm around her chest and tugging her onto the floor, gently putting her on all fours and spreading her thighs. With both hands, I smack her ass, marking the territory I intend to own once and for all.

“F-fuck,” she pants.

Another strong spank, bringing blood to the surface and painting her creamy skin pink. I massage her flesh, pressing the blood deep into her nerve endings. She ruts and cries out, desperate for release.

“Beg.” My command is sharp and controlled. “I’m waiting.”

She hangs there, suspended on the edge. She’s stubborn, her prideful side taking over her yearning instinct. I keep her there, holding my own orgasm at bay as I wait.

“Fuck me.” It’s breathy, wispy, completely unlike the woman she usually shows. Not as confident, more uncertain. Prey caught in a trap that can’t escape.

I pull her down and thrust her pussy over the tip of my cock, driving deep and splitting her open. Galina’s harsh cry makes me feel like a caveman, savage and uncivilized in my urges. It triggers something deep within me.

I grab her hips with one hand, using the other to grasp her wrist. The dominance, the need, the ache for release makes me manic with lust. Every heartbeat, every flash of need, it’s torture. Teetering on the edge, just a stroke more...

I snatch a handful of her hair and force her chin up. I slam into her again and again. My eyes fix on hers as our bodies meld, the energy rushing up and out of her mouth in desperate shrieks, while her walls pulse and milk my throbbing cock. With a shuddering moan, she explodes and collapses beneath me, splayed open and gasping for breath. I groan, thrusting harder and faster.

No mercy.

Nothing left but the brutal thrusts, her moans, and the tight spiral around the base of my cock. My balls draw up, cum rising to spill deep into her pussy. One more drive, and I empty myself. Completely. Irrevocably. I have never felt this sensation with any other woman.

Somehow, her presence demands a passion unique and raw, threatening to consume all and render me useless to the rest of the world. Or it could be the fact that I haven’t fucked anyone in a year. It’s not like hordes of women were waiting to enter the Siberian prison walls to warm us up.

The memory awakens a different kind of need in me. With a gentleness that surprises even me, I take my cock out of Galina’s pussy and sit on the sofa, pulling her in my arms. She hesitates but then wraps her arms around me and settles into the nook of my shoulder. I lay my head on top of hers, stroking her auburn locks.

Minutes pass in silence. I should tell her to get out, but my arms refuse to let her go.

I can’t explain what’s happening to me. I’ve never bothered holding anyone after sex. I’ve never sat with any woman like this, letting the post-sex bliss keep us warm.

Galina shifts, craning her head up to meet my gaze. “Do we have a deal?”

The spell shatters. I push her away and stand up, going for my clothes. Before she rises, I yank her by the hair and thrust my mouth against hers. She tastes like mine too—salty and potent. I kiss her savagely, needing the heat, the sparks, the electricity. I kiss her until we’re breathless, and I have to let her go.

“Consider me persuaded.”