Page 24

Ilya was trying to focus.

He really was.

But no matter how many numbers he crunched or meetings he sat through, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Valentina.

Her voice, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. Her smart little brain, her consuming presence. The smell of her skin, the softness of her tits, the swell of her ass. The way she felt in his arms, the taste of her on his tongue.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Fuck. He was pathetic. He’d barely been gone a few hours, and already, he felt the ache of missing her. He wanted to crawl back into bed with her, wanted to sink into her again, wanted to hear her cry and laugh, wanted to feel her nails carving bruises deep into his back, wanted to hear her be a smartass like she always was.

His brother, the smug bastard, noticed and looked like he was more than ready to tease him for it.

“Jesus, look at you,” Kostya drawled, sipping his rum as he leaned against his chair. “You’ve got that sickening lovesick look in your eyes. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Ilya downed his glass with a frown. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kostya grinned. “Can’t blame you, though. She’s gorgeous. Smart. Feisty. If you hadn’t claimed her first, I might’ve made a move.”

If it were any other man―not that they’d be so careless with their lives to do so anyway―that made the joke, he seriously doubted they’d live to make another blink. However, Kostya was his brother and an irritating clown at that, so he could spare him.

Slowly, he turned his head, fixing Kostya with a deadpan stare. “If you even think about it, I’ll break both your legs.”

Kostya burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m fucking with you. She only has eyes for you, you lucky bastard.”

That was the only reason Ilya didn’t actually feel jealous. Because he knew Valentina was his. There was no doubt, no insecurity. Just an unwavering certainty.

Still.

“Keep talking, and I might maim you just for fun,” he muttered.

Kostya snickered. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s finish up here so you can go home and get your dick wet.”

Ilya shot him a death glare but didn’t argue.

Later, when he finally had a moment to himself, he leaned against his car and pulled out his phone, dialing his woman’s number.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice teasing. “Miss me already?”

It was ridiculous just how much he missed the sound of her voice.

He smirked, rolling his shoulders. “You have no idea.”

A warm chuckle came through the receiver. “Poor baby. Do you need me to talk you through your withdrawal?”

His eyes darkened, the heat in her voice seeping straight into his bloodstream. “Depends. How far are you willing to go?”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “That depends. Are you somewhere private?”

“Almost,” he murmured, already picturing where this was heading. “But I can be.”

Another soft laugh. Then, lower, more sinful, she whispered, “What a shame. If only you were home, I could tell you all about what I’m wearing right now.”

His grip on his phone tightened. His jaw clenched as he glanced around.

“Valentina.”

“Mm?”

“You’re playing dirty.”

She exhaled a slow, knowing sigh, and then, with deliberate mischief, said, “What, this? This is nothing. I could have you begging with just my voice if I wanted to.”

God, you have no fucking idea.

A low, husky laugh escaped him, his tongue running along his teeth. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

He leaned his head back against the car, inhaling through his nose, already picturing her―the smug glint in her eyes, the curve of her lips as she played with him. His Valentina. His wicked, sinful woman. His naughty, little minx.

“Care to prove it?” he challenged, voice rougher now.

“Gladly,” she said. “But first―”

A rustling sound came through the speaker, like fabric shifting. Then a quiet hum, the kind that went straight to his cock. “I should tell you where I am.”

His brows furrowed. “Where?”

“In a boutique. Alone . In the dressing room.”

Ilya swallowed hard, glancing around the empty parking lot. The thought of her―alone, maybe with her legs spread just a little, teasing herself while whispering his name―shot fire through his veins.

“What are you doing in there, Printsessa ?” he asked, his voice now just a shade off desperate.

“Hmm.” She dragged out the sound, breathy and full of intent. “Trying on heels. Very high ones. The kind that make my legs look so, so long. The kind that would dig into your back when I wrap them around you.”

He cursed under his breath, reaching down to subtly adjust himself.

“You should see me,” she went on, her voice all silk and honey. “I’m standing in front of a mirror. Lifting my dress, just a little. My panties match my bra. Lace. Red.” A slow exhale. “You like red on me, don’t you, Ilya?”

He closed his eyes, head tipping back. “You know I do.”

“Thought so.” She made another soft sound, one that sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. “I wish you were here. Right here . Pushing my dress up the rest of the way. Feeling how wet I am for you already.”

Fuck . He ran a hand down his face, pulse hammering. “Keep talking like that, and I won’t be able to walk back inside.”

She chuckled, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. “Oh? I was just getting started. Should I stop?”

He gritted his teeth. “Valentina.”

“Ilya.”

“Go home,” he ordered, his voice tight with restraint, leaving no room for argument. “Be in bed when I get there. Naked. Wearing those fucking heels. Waiting . And you won’t touch yourself. Not until I’m back.”

She hummed, satisfied, and he could hear the rustling again, like she was straightening herself out, putting an end to his suffering. “Hurry, then,” she said, her tone coy but breathless. “I really want to see you.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, before promising, “I’ll be there soon, Baby. I promise.”

She hung up first, leaving him hot, frustrated, and grinning like a fucking idiot.

He pulled himself together and strode back into the building, where Kostya and their guest were waiting. For the next ten to fifteen minutes, Ilya wrestled between staying in business mode and keeping his sanity intact. His mind kept drifting―his gaze flicking to his watch, counting down the seconds until he could be with Valentina again. Until he could slide into her tight, wet cunt, and feel her wrapped around him. Until he could silence that teasing mouth with his own. Until all she could do was moan his name.

But just before their meeting came to an end, Ilya’s phone rang, shifting attention to him.

Ilya glanced from the screen to Kostya. Viktor .

He apologized to their guest before sliding his finger across the screen, frowning as he answered, “What?”

Viktor’s voice was sharp, urgent. “We have a problem.”

Ilya’s stomach turned. “What kind of problem?”

Viktor sounded grim. “We lost Aleksander. He slipped out and went dark.”

Ilya’s entire body went rigid. A cold weight settled on his chest.

“That’s not all,” Viktor continued, his tone even heavier. “The bodyguard assigned to Valentina and Irina was found dead.”

Ilya rose to his feet, his pulse thundering in his ears. “And the girls?” he forced out, voice deadly quiet.

Viktor hesitated.

Ilya’s blood turned to ice. His grip on the phone tightened, his patience snapping like a live wire. “Where the fuck is my wife, Viktor?”

Silence.

Then―

“They’re gone.”