Page 31 of Sexting My Bratva Boss
“Oh, um, anything is fine. Tomatoes? Cheese?” I shrug and she laughs, turning on the gas stove. “Do you mind?” I ask after a few moments, sliding into one of the island chairs. “Working here, I mean. I’m sorry if it was a surprise.”
Kashmere shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t, he asked me about two weeks ago now.”
Two… weeks?
But he only proposed thisarrangementlast week.
I onlyagreedyesterday!
My mouth falls open in disbelief, but I don’t know whether to be angry or confused. Surely he couldn’t have planned all this…
No.
Ignoring my frustration, I get up and wander around the kitchen, peering into the living area and then strolling back toward the refrigerator.
Inside is an assortment of things I love strawberries,real ones,not perfectly shaped and huge but small and dark red; hazelnut creamer; a stash of brie; butter lettuce and full drawers that I don’t open, surprised.
It’s unnerving, and I’m not sure how to react. Everything is soperfect.I sit down and try to chat with Kashmere as she cooks,asking about her family, where she lives, and what she does when she’s not at work. I’m happy to find we both love reading and promise to trade books with her.
Once I have mine moved here.
As I eat Kashmere excuses herself; she needs to pick up the last of the linens from the dry cleaner and stop at the store.
I wash the dishes slowly, watching the soapy water slip down the drain. This is all so… strange. Just last night, Konstantin brought me here and made me his.
It was visceral, electric, layered. I haven’t been fucked like thatever,and it scares me how much I liked it.
“Maybe I’m actually crazy,” I whisper, making my way back upstairs to continue exploring. “Maybe he did punish me, and I’m in a coma somewhere, fantasizing all this.”
Because there’s no way Konstantin Martynov would pickme.Especially after I stole from him.
In the master bathroom, once again I find all of my essentials. Down to the very hairbrush I like to use, so I guess I won’t have to bother getting that from the apartment.
There’s a blue, orange, and white tube of hand cream on the counter and I pick it up, feeling both overwhelmed and deeply seen. It’s myfavorite,something I order directly from Italy at an absurd cost: Santa Maria Novella.
Popping the cap open, I squeeze a little in my palms and revel in the lemon scent as it opens up my senses.
And then I hear the click of heels.
“So,” Olena Belov, Konstantin’s right hand “man”, stands in the doorway with narrowed eyes. “Thisis what has had him so preoccupied.”
Chapter 10
Konstantin
Olena walks across the construction site like an angel of death.
The men stop what they’re doing in her wake, but none of them dare look at her.
There are many rumors about Olena Belov.
That she killed a man in Prague with a sugar spoon.
That she was trained by the Spetsnaz, the special forces, but was abused—and took her pound of flesh for it.
That she burned down a safehouse from the inside, and walked out of the smoke once the flames died out.
That she broke a man’s spine so precisely, he lived for two more days, convinced that she would come for him at any moment.