Page 120 of Ruthless Rustanovs

Oh, no she didn’t!

Cringing, she jumped to her feet and looked around helplessly.

Bair was still going at the punching bag like a maniac, studiously ignoring her.

Thank God, but she had to clean this up.

As someone who’d spent the last six years cleaning up messes, she simply wasn’t capable of leaving it to some poor housekeeper.

But she doubted a place this nice left cleaning products scattered around for guests to use. Spotting a phone on a nearby desk, she went to it and pushed the button labeled HOUSEKEEPING.

“Yes, what can we do for you, Mrs. Rustanov?”

Her stomach twisted, wondering if she’d ever be okay with being called by that title. “Um, I need an upholstery stain remover. Something like Resolve. It’s for…a stain.”

“Would you like us to send someone up? We’d be happy to take care of it.”

“No, I want to clean it myself.”

“Really, it’s not problem—”

“Um, Mr. Rustanov doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” she lied. “So if I could just have someone drop off the spray…”

“Yes, Mrs. Rustanov,” the voice answered, becoming even more deferential with the Mr. Rustanov name drop. “We’ll have some sent right up.”

“Thanks!” Thel hung up with a sigh of relief.

Only to yelp when she turned around to find Bair towering over her, nostrils flaring in an out.

She clutched at her naked chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“What are you doing?” he demanded, eyes sharp on her face. He seemed to be making a concentrated effort not to look down at her naked body.

“Calling housekeeping,” she answered.

“I told you to stay in the chair.”

Thel could feel one of her old smirks tugging on her lips. Yes, she’d blatantly disobeyed a direct order. What was he going to do about it? Fuck her? Obviously not.

But then the smile died on her lips. There used to be a time when she would have said that out loud. Bold as a Rihanna song. And then happily received her punishment with a husky laugh.

But that was then. This was now.

Now she cast her eyes downward and mumbled, “I made a mess and I wanted to clean it up.”

“That is job for maid.”

“No,” she answered, working hard to keep her voice level. “As someone who works in the cleaning services, I don’t believe in leaving things that need to be cleaned up now to be taken care of by housekeeping later. That only makes their job harder.”

He merely grunted, eyes scanning her face hard, like he was trying to catch her in a lie. But a knock on the door interrupted his suspicious assessment.

On the other side of the door, one of the guards said something in Russian.

To which Bair replied with a few terse words, before glaring at her. “Sit,” he told her, pointing at the chair she’d abandoned.

He headed to the door, without waiting for her reply.

The next thing she heard was a woman with a strong Vietnamese accent saying, “Here’s the spray Mrs. Rustanov asked for. Would you like me to come in take care of it?”

She braced herself for Bair to accept the offer, knowing how little he cared when it came to who saw her naked.

“No, we will take care of it.”

“Certainly, sir…” the woman said deferentially, still managing to sound somewhat nonplussed by his refusal. Probably not a lot of penthouse guests who insisted on cleaning up their own messes, Thel guessed.

Bair closed the door and was soon back in front of Thel. The cleaning spray held tight in his hand like a gun. Face even more thunderous than before.

“Why are you not sitting?” he asked.

Another command disobeyed. She could tell she was pushing him to the very end of his patience.

“Because the mess is on the couch and I wanted to clean it up before I sit back down,” she answered.

To her shock, he swung away from her, stalking over to the edge of the sectional couch farthest from his punching bag. Where she’d chosen to sit.

“Grease spot,” he grunted. “I will clean it. Then you will sit.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I’ll do it,” she said quickly.

“No, I will,” he growled back.

Not up for discussion. She didn’t try to argue with him. “Okay, then…”

She started to head for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Why?”

She cut her eyes to the side, wondering how she ever put up with his constant micro-managing the first time. Easy, she remembered. Because she’d been broken. And things that are broken don’t protest when you pin them under your thumb.

“To get a towel,” she answered, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“No towel,” he answered. “You have napkins.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You will be more careful with your pizza.”

“But it’s not a grease spot,” she muttered.

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not a grease spot.”

“What is it then?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him, willing him to connect the rest of the dots so she wouldn’t have to humiliate herself any further by trying to explain herself.

That was when his eyes finally dropped below her face….and took in her glistening pussy.

A curse—not in Russian, but in Buryat, the language Bair only used when he was really, really angry.

And then he was no longer in front of her but behind her. His fingers bit into her hips, yanking them back so she had no choice but to catch herself on the arm of the couch. Then he slid into her tight space with such force, her entire body rocked forward, her heels coming off the ground.

“Beast…” she gasped. Not because it hurt, but because it felt so good.

The same way it felt when she went too long without singing and finally let the song out.

But even better, because he was so hard inside her, giving her exactly what her body needed.

Fucking her in a way she had only dreamed of for months.