Page 12

Ivan

The sharp clack of the pool balls echoes through the room as I line up my next shot. The dim light casts shadows across the table, and I focus on the game, using it to keep my thoughts steady. Maxim leans against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his lips, while Artem chalks his cue, his face unreadable as always. Sergei and Viktor are lounging on the leather couches, drinks in hand, watching the game with lazy interest.

I sink the eight ball, winning the round, and step back, handing the cue to Maxim. “Your turn,” I say, though my mind isn’t entirely on the game.

Maxim takes the cue and lines up his shot, but his eyes flicker toward me. “You think she can be trusted with this?” he asks, his tone casual, but I can tell he’s weighing the risks.

I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “She has no choice. She’s smart enough to know that if she wants to survive, she has to deliver.”

Artem, always the realist, nods in agreement. “We have nothing to lose,” he says, his voice calm. “If she screws up, she’s dead. If she succeeds, we get our money back and more. It’s a win-win.”

Maxim pockets a ball, then looks up at me, his gaze sharp. “If she turns on us? If she’s playing a double game?”

“She won’t,” I reply, a finality in my voice that I don’t intend to question. “She’s too smart for that. Kace betrayed her, left her to die. She knows there’s no going back to him. The only way forward is with us.”

Sergei, sprawled out on the couch with a grin on his face, takes a sip of his drink. “She’s got fire, that one. Feisty. She’s easy on the eyes too.” He glances at me, smirking. “Maybe when you’re done with her, Boss, you could hand her over to me.”

The room goes quiet, the air thick with tension. I feel my grip tighten on the glass in my hand, a wave of anger rising unexpectedly. The thought of any of these men laying a hand on Sarah stirs something dark and possessive inside me. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, and it catches me off guard, but it’s there, and it’s real.

“She’s not some toy to be passed around,” I say coldly, my voice cutting through the silence. Sergei’s grin falters, realizing he’s overstepped.

“Of course, Boss,” Sergei mutters, raising his hands in mock surrender, but the mood in the room has shifted, my irritation clear to everyone.

Maxim, ever observant, watches me closely, but he knows better than to push the issue. Artem takes the cue from him, ready to play the next round, but I can’t shake the thoughts swirling in my mind. Sarah’s face flashes before me, the way she looked at me when she agreed to my terms, the way she carried herself despite the fear I could see behind her eyes.

She’s dangerous, no doubt about it. A woman capable of deception, manipulation—she’s been playing this game for a long time. There’s something about her that draws me in, something that makes me want to keep her close. It’s not just about getting back what’s ours. It’s about power, control, the thrill of owning something—or someone—that’s as dangerous as she is.

The idea of owning her, of having her under my control, excites me in a way I haven’t felt in years. Sarah isn’t just another asset. She’s something more, something I’ve claimed for myself. The thought of anyone else touching her, even looking at her the way Sergei did, makes my blood boil.

Artem breaks the silence, his voice steady as he lines up his shot. “If she succeeds, it’ll be a good blow to the Prestons. Kace won’t know what hit him.”

I nod, forcing my thoughts back to the business at hand. “She’ll succeed,” I say, more to myself than to them. “She knows what’s at stake.”

The game continues, the others chatting and laughing as the tension slowly eases, but I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted tonight. Sarah isn’t just a pawn in this game—she’s become something more in my mind, something I want to control, to own. The attraction I feel toward her is undeniable, and… I’m not used to feeling anything I can’t easily dismiss.

***

When I finally get home, the night is quiet, the mansion bathed in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. As I step inside, the maid is just about to leave. She looks up at me with a mixture of respect and nervousness, her eyes downcast as she speaks.

“Mr. Sharov,” she says quietly, “Miss Sarah hasn’t eaten anything all day.”

I nod, acknowledging her words. “Thank you,” I reply, my voice even. She dips her head slightly and then leaves, the soft click of the front door closing behind her echoing in the stillness.

I head upstairs, my thoughts heavy with the weight of the day. The meeting with the men earlier had gone well enough, but it’s Sarah who lingers in my mind. The image of her, the way she handled herself in front of those men, has stayed with me. There’s a vulnerability to her that I can’t quite shake, a fragility beneath the surface that I find myself drawn to, despite knowing better.

When I reach her room, I don’t bother knocking. I turn the handle and push the door open, stepping inside. The room is dimly lit, a small lamp on the bedside table casting a soft, warm glow over the space. Sarah is sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes are red and puffy, a telltale sign that she’s been crying. Even now, she’s trying to hold back the tears, but the pain is clear on her face.

She doesn’t say anything as I approach, her gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in her thoughts. I move closer, standing beside the bed, looking down at her. The sight of her like this stirs something in me, something protective and possessive all at once.

“Are you crying because of the situation with the Prestons?” I ask, my voice low, though I already have a feeling that’s not the only thing weighing on her.

She shakes her head slightly, her voice barely a whisper as she replies, “You think I feel bad about going against the American Mafia? They betrayed me.” Her tone hardens, but I can still hear the crack in it, the pain she’s trying to bury. “I don’t feel a tiny bit bad about that.”

She stands up, her movements slow, almost hesitant, until she’s standing in front of me. She’s close enough that I can see the tears welling up in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. When she looks up at me, I can see the sorrow etched into her features, the anguish that she’s been carrying with her.

“I can’t forget it,” she says, her voice trembling. “I killed a man. I have blood on my hands, and I can’t get it out of my head.”

Her tears start to fall, and before I can say anything, she reaches out, grabbing the fabric of my shirt in her fists, holding on as if she’s trying to anchor herself to something, anything. Her frustration is palpable, the raw emotion in her eyes tearing at whatever walls I’ve tried to build around myself.

“All I want to do right now is forget everything,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she clings to me, her tears soaking into the fabric of my shirt.

I can feel the weight of her pain, the desperation in her touch, and something inside me shifts. I reach up, wiping the tears from her face with the back of my fingers, my touch gentle, almost tender. Her skin is soft, warm beneath my fingertips, and I find myself wanting to take away the pain that’s etched so deeply into her expression.

“I can help you forget,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My hand moves down, brushing lightly over the zipper of her hoodie. I wait, watching her closely, my heart pounding in my chest as I give her the choice. This is her decision, one she needs to make on her own.

She looks up at me, her eyes still brimming with tears, but there’s something else there too—something raw and vulnerable. Slowly, she nods, giving me the permission I was waiting for.

I reach for the zipper, pulling it down slowly, the sound of it filling the quiet room. Her hoodie falls open, revealing the smooth skin beneath, and I gently slide it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. She stands there, her breath hitching slightly as I reach for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. My eyes roam over her, taking in the sight of her bare skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath.

I take a step back, my hands moving to my own shirt, pulling it over my head and discarding it. The air between us crackles with a tension that’s almost palpable, and I can see the shift in her expression—the way her sadness turns to something else, something more anxious, as she anticipates what’s coming next.

There’s something in her expression that gives me pause. “Sarah,” I say, “have you…?”

She shakes her head, eyes averted.

I smirk. “Then I’m happy to be your first.”

I reach out, my hands gliding over her shoulders, down her arms, feeling the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. She shivers slightly at my touch, her eyes fluttering shut as I pull her closer, letting our bodies press together. There’s a need in her touch, a desperation to forget, to lose herself in something, anything, that isn’t the pain she’s been carrying.

I lower my head, brushing my lips against her neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin as my hands explore her body, mapping out every curve. Her breath catches, a soft sound that sends a surge of desire through me, and I can feel her hands move to my chest, her touch tentative at first, then more certain as she lets herself give in to the moment.

Her fingers trail down my chest, her touch igniting a fire within me, and I respond by capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss. She melts into it, her body pressing against mine, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair. I deepen the kiss, pulling her closer still, until there’s no space left between us, nothing but the raw need that’s driving us both.

I guide her back onto the bed, lowering her gently as I follow, my body hovering over hers. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, filled with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation, and I pause for a moment, giving her the chance to stop, to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t. Instead, she reaches up, pulling me down to her, her lips finding mine again in a kiss that’s desperate and hungry.

I let myself get lost in her, in the feel of her beneath me, the way her body responds to my touch. Her skin is warm, her breath coming in shallow gasps as I trail kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, down to the curve of her breast. She arches into me, her hands gripping my shoulders, urging me on.

There’s a need in her that matches my own, a desire to forget, to lose ourselves in each other, if only for a little while. As I continue to touch her, to explore every inch of her, I can feel the tension in her body slowly easing, the pain in her eyes giving way to something else—something raw and primal.

She whispers my name, her voice trembling, and I respond by pressing her deeper into the mattress, our bodies moving together, each touch, each kiss, a promise of more. I want to make her forget, to take away the pain that’s haunted her for so long, and as I look down at her, seeing the trust in her eyes, I know I will.

My hands glide over her skin, exploring every curve and dip as I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Sarah’s breath hitches, and a soft, breathy moan escapes her lips as I trail kisses down her neck, letting my teeth graze her skin just enough to make her shiver. There’s something about the way she responds to my touch that ignites a fire deep within me, a need to see just how far I can push her.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her. “You’re mine tonight,” I whisper, my voice low and commanding, and I can see the flicker of desire in her gaze as she nods, her breath coming faster.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Good,” I murmur, my lips curving into a smirk as I lean down to capture her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin as she pulls me closer, and I respond by pressing her deeper into the mattress, my body pinning hers beneath me.

I move my hands to her hips, gripping them firmly as I slide down her body, my mouth following the path my fingers create. I take my time, letting my tongue trace the lines of her muscles, savoring every gasp, every moan that escapes her lips. She’s so responsive, so eager, and it only makes me want her more.

When I reach her waist, I pause, looking up at her. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted, and I can see the flush of arousal spreading across her chest. I smile, a wicked glint in my eyes as I lower my head and press a kiss just above the waistband of her underwear.

“Ivan,” she breathes, her voice filled with need, and I chuckle softly, enjoying the way she’s so completely at my mercy.

“Patience,” I whisper against her skin, my hands sliding beneath the fabric and pulling it down slowly, savoring the anticipation that builds with each passing second.

Once she’s completely exposed to me, I let my hands explore every inch of her, my fingers tracing patterns over her thighs, her stomach, making her writhe beneath my touch. She’s so sensitive, so responsive, and I’m determined to make her feel every ounce of pleasure I can give her.

I move back up her body, claiming her mouth in another deep, heated kiss, while my hand slides between her thighs, finding her wet and ready. The moan that escapes her as I touch her is pure music to my ears, and I grin against her lips as I start to tease her, letting my fingers stroke her slowly, deliberately, just enough to drive her wild.

She arches against me, her hands clutching at my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin. “Please,” she gasps, her voice filled with need, and I can’t help but give in.

I push into her, her back arching as she cries out, the sound of her pleasure filling the room. I start to move, slow at first, savoring the way she feels around me, the way she responds to every thrust, every touch. She’s everything I want, everything I need, and I’m determined to make her feel it all.

“Look at me,” I command, my voice low and rough, and she does, her gaze locking on mine as I quicken my pace, driving into her with a controlled, deliberate force. The intensity between us builds, the pleasure mounting with every movement, until all that exists is the heat, the raw desire that binds us together.

She’s close, I can feel it, and I push her just a little further, my hand finding hers, pinning them above her head as I take her completely, claiming her in a way that leaves no room for doubt—she’s mine. Her breath catches, her body tensing, and then she’s falling over the edge, her release washing over her as she cries out my name.

I follow her moments later, the intensity of my own climax shaking me to my core. When it’s over, I collapse beside her, pulling her into my arms, our breathing heavy, our bodies slick with sweat. We lie there in silence, the only sound the slowing rhythm of our hearts as we come down from the high.

For tonight, I’ve made her forget, and for now, that’s enough.