Page 36 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

But clearly, Konstantin isn’t worried about keeping this quiet.

I realize quickly that we aren’t going to the cute little country home where I now live. Instead, the driver delves deeper into the city, until we reach a stunning townhouse on a tree-lined street.

It doesn’tlooklike the leader of the Russian mob would live here, but I suppose that’s the whole point.

The townhouse is painted a dark, almost midnight blue, with wrought iron fencing and window bars. Plants spill from the windowsills and create a kind of walkway to the front door, like stepping into a forest, the large pots ornate and heavy.

I reach the door, turn to look—the car is already gone.

People are walking the street slowly and casually. They obviously live here; there’s no traffic at all, and the passersby are dressed so flawlessly that it feels like I stepped into a Vogue photoshoot.

The knocker is heavy, honey-colored wood, smooth under my already sweating palm. I knock and wait, feeling more nervous, possibly, than the day Konstantin told me in his office that he knew exactly what I had done.

The door opens and there’s a… butler?

Does Konstantin Martynov have a butler?

The man is impeccably dressed. And expecting me, apparently.

“Miss Wolfe.” He bows a little half-bow, and I feel suddenly out of place.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mr…?”

“You can call me Stanely, miss. Mr. Martynov is expecting you. This way, please.”

Stanley leads me into a beautifully paneled, dark wood hallway, and then asks me to wait. He disappearssomewhereinto the massive townhouse, which must be at least four stories high.

Turning in a slow circle, I take it all in.

It’s gorgeous. Dark. Woody. Smokey. It smells like aman,in a musky, spiced way that makes my blood pressure spike, but before I can peer into the next room he says my name from the top of the stairs.

“Audrey.”

The sight of him, waiting for me, leaves me breathless.

Konstantin stands with his legs spread, hands in his pockets. The dark trousers he wears pull tight against his hips and his tie is undone.

I haven’t seen him all day.

“Come.”

Oh, I almost do, right there, at those words.

Taking a steadying breath, I try to walk up to him gracefully. It takes everything in me not to crawl the last few steps and beg him touse me.I hate how badly I want him, especially knowing that he got all this—this beautiful home, these opulent surroundings—by killing. Stealing.

Threatening.

Instead, I reach him, and he takes my hand, leading me down a hallway to an almost ridiculously large bedroom. It’s the complete opposite of the bedroom inmyhome, or the home he made for me. Dark, brooding, elegant, but with little personality. I can’t seem to look away from the bed.

Konstantin strips his tie off.

“Take off your clothes.”

I practically jump to obey, toeing off my heels and lifting the simple pleated dress over my head. Icouldunbutton it, but there are at least fifteen buttons, and I can’t help how badly I want?—

What?

I want him to touch me.I want him to tell me what to do.