Page 20

Another late night. It’s half past one in the morning, and I’m exhausted after a full day at the office and now another five hours spent at my desk at home.

Anya’s talks with Anton have borne some fruit in the form of a tentative ceasefire between us and the Milov family, but that doesn’t rebuild the operations the Shevchenkos have burned.

It doesn’t bring back the thousands of dollars we’ve lost.

Since that day, she’s been at my side, continuing to surprise me with how capable she is.

Mostly because she refuses to stay home, and I’ve learned how fruitless it is to argue with her.

How wasted she was with the Milovs. As much as I understand the desire to protect her, I can’t condone the one to stifle her.

I still can’t believe she chose to stay here, with me, after all the shit I’ve put her through. Not only that, but she seems to genuinely want to help my family. Even Timofey is starting to come around. Slowly.

The glow of the computer screen is the only light in the room, and my eyes are burning.

No matter how many times I stare at the spreadsheet Oleg sent over, I can’t come up with a way to fix the gaping hole in our finances.

We lost two operations and that entire botched shipment of guns, not to mention the money spent hushing up the whole thing. It’s a fucking mess.

I loosen my tie and tap a cigarette from the pack. It’s a nasty habit, and I should definitely quit, but in my line of work, the chances are good that something else will kill me first. Before I can light up, there’s a small knock at the door, and Anya slips inside.

She’s wearing a few scraps of lace. Black garters encircle her thighs, holding up dark stockings. I fumble the cigarette from my lips, just catching it before it hits the ground. Her eyes are lined with black in a way that makes them look enormous.

“You didn’t come to bed,” she pouts, sticking out that puffy bottom lip in a way that makes me want to bite it.

I tear my eyes away from her before I can grow any harder, forcing them back to the spreadsheet and the answers I know are there. “There was work to do.”

She raises an eyebrow and comes around to my side of the desk. “And it will still be there to do tomorrow. You do need rest, you know. Especially at your age, overwork isn’t good for your heart.”

Anya moves right into my space, putting herself between me and the computer to block my view with a significantly better one. My eyes are level with her taut stomach, the curve of her hips enhanced by the garter belt, and I swallow. She’s never been this aggressive before.

“My age? We’re back to that?”

“You’re still an old man,” she teases, grabbing hold of my tie and tugging it off. “Even if you do look good for your age.”

She pops the buttons of my shirt one by one. I should stop her, get back to work, but I’m only human. Her bubblegum pink nails make quick work of the buttons, and she peels back my shirt. “I like you in a suit,” she adds. “You should wear one more often.”

“I could be persuaded,” I say, fingering the bit of lace on her thigh, “if you wear this more often.”

With a wicked smile, she kneels down in front of me and slides her hands up my legs, over my pants. My cock jumps when her fingers slide over it. I’m definitely not getting any more work done today.

She palms me a few times, then walks her fingers up to unbuckle my belt. “I knew it would take something drastic to pull you away from work.”

In a moment she has my pants undone and is freeing my cock, wrapping her fingers lightly around it. She pumps it twice, then licks a swirl around the tip. I spread my fingers through her hair and push it back from her face for a better view. I don’t want to miss a second of this.

She teases like that, licking long slow strokes up the entire length of my shaft, flicking her tongue against the head, before sucking me into her mouth. Her perfect lips wrap around it, and my fingers tighten in her hair. Fuck. Her mouth feels like heaven.

Part of me wants to close my eyes, lay my head back on the chair, and savor every sensation.

The other part of me can’t stop staring at the sight of her taking my length.

She looks up at me with a gaze that says she knows exactly what she’s doing and what effect it’s having, which only turns me on more.

God, she’s sucking it like she needs it more than air. Taking me to the back of her throat, filling every inch of her mouth with my cock. It’s all I can do to stay in the chair and not thrust deeper.

She pulls herself off me, pinning me with a look. “Stop holding back, Matvei. Fuck my mouth like you want to. I can take it.”

Holy fuck. Something about those filthy words out of that sweet little mouth makes my mind go blank.

This time when she wraps her lips around me, she sucks me harder and deeper, like she can’t get enough of it.

My body takes over, and I give her what she wants, thrusting to meet her darting tongue and the soft suction of her lips.

I fist my hands in her hair on both sides of her head and drive a little deeper, testing the limit of what she can take. “You look so good taking my cock, princess.”

She pins me with a heated look and swallows me deeper, running her nails across my stomach. I don’t know how she’s taking so much of it, but I need to know just how much she can take.

“Wait,” I say, guiding her off of my cock with reluctance.

She sits back on her heels, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a better sight than Anya Milov on her knees. The way she’s squeezing her thighs together tells me she’s turned on, too, probably soaked right through her panties and all over her upper thighs.

I press up to standing and she wastes no time taking me back into her mouth, sucking me deep. Slowly, I press my hips forward and hold her head in place. A little deeper. She inhales through her nose and brackets her hands on my hips, guiding me forward like she wants even more.

“Such a good girl.” I start a steady pace, sinking half my length into her before drawing back.

Her tongue presses against the bottom of my cock with every stroke and her eyes flick up to mine in a challenge, one eyebrow lifted. I drive deeper, faster, pulling her forward with every buck of my hips. She takes it all, eyes watering, mascara starting to stream down her cheeks.

My perfect, filthy wife.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth,” I tell her, pulling back so just the head is in her mouth, letting her breathe for a moment, that wicked tongue still swirling.

She’s the one who draws me back in. There’s no way I can fit it all, but what she takes is more than enough to make my knees shake. I’m past the point of holding back now, too close to the edge for reason. The pace I set is punishing.

“I’m close,” I warn her, tightening my grip on her hair to keep her from moving,” and I want to fuck you.”

She pops off, lips swollen and red and completely fucking hot. I drag her up to me and kiss her, parting her lips with my tongue. Her tongue strokes along mine, just as dexterous as it’d been on my dick.

“Bend over,” I say, spinning her around and pushing her toward my desk.

I spread her legs with one hand and yank her panties down. They’re just as soaked as I’d imagined.

“Don’t make me wait,” she keens, wiggling her ass at me.

It’s framed by the black lines of the garter belt, and I wish my brain had a camera. The view is sublime.

“Always so eager,” I murmur, pushing two fingers inside of her.

“Matvei,” she warns, pressing back into the pressure. “Fuck me right now or I’ll never suck your cock again. Please”

I laugh and curl my fingers inside of her, sinking into that spot that makes her gasp. She’s soaked but so tight, needing a stretch before she can take me in that tight little hole.

“That’s my girl,” I murmur, feeling her walls relax around my fingers as her legs begin to shake.

“Matvei,” she moans again, “Your cock. Now. Or else.”

Slowly, I pull my slick fingers out and pump them over my cock once before lining it up to take their place. It’s painfully hard and screaming at me to take her.

“An empty threat, I think,” I reply, sinking in with one thrust. “But who am I to deny my wife when she asks so nicely?”

She wraps around me and my mind goes blank, blocking out every thought that isn’t how good she feels and how perfect she looks.

***

I wake after too few hours of sleep. Sunlight beams onto the bed, painting Anya in a golden glow. Her face is angelic, long lashes fluttering over her cheeks, lips slightly parted. One of her legs is draped over my hip, and I stroke my fingers up along her thigh, lightly so as not to wake her.

Waking like this, I can’t quite believe it’s real.

She’s here with me when she could have left, could’ve gone home with her brother, if he’d really pushed it.

But she’d wanted to stay. Insisted on it.

Why? Part of me fears it’s for no reason other than the taste of freedom she has with me, limited thought it is.

It’s obvious her brothers are overprotective of their little sister, and their insistence on keeping her from the Bratva world has only made her more curious about it.

With me, she’s able to finally see what they’ve been keeping from her, and that glimpse seems to have intoxicated her.

She would rather stay here, a kidnapped bride, than return home.

But there’s another part of me, buried deep, that wonders if there might be something more. Something else that keeps her here. Me. Could the attraction between us, animalistic and powerful as it is, be something more than physical? Could she care for me? And more, could I care for her?

It’s an uncomfortable thought. I can’t let myself be distracted by affection, not when my family’s livelihood hangs in the balance.

Everything is so precarious right now, and nightmares of what I’ve built slipping through my fingers plague me nightly.

I’ll do anything to restore my family’s legacy, to spit in the face of my uncles and their doubts.

Falling for Anya is a distraction I can’t afford.

She stirs, shifting closer, and that buried part of me swells with something frighteningly warm and golden.

Deny it all I want, it won’t change the truth.

I already care for Anya. She’s already a distraction.

I extricate myself carefully from under her leg and climb out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before leaving the room.

I let the dogs in while the coffee brews and feed them before taking my mug into my office, where last night’s work lies abandoned.

No amount of moving funds around makes the numbers look any better, but hopefully, we’ll be able to survive until the Milov alliance pays off.

Kidnapping Anya was the riskiest move I’ve ever attempted, and it could’ve blown up in my face if the Milovs had decided to retaliate.

I have Anya to thank for that. Her careful handling of her brother is all that kept him from doing just that, and their force, combined with the Shevchenkos, would have wiped us out.

My phone rings, vibrating across my desk. I let it ring, considering the unknown number, then set my coffee down to answer.

“Think you’ve won now, Abashin?” The voice from the other line is heavily accented Russian. “Think your attempt to steal the Milov alliance to your side is enough to save your pathetic little family? You are nothing but bugs, crawling around our city.”

“Let me guess,” I say, deciding to humor them for a moment by staying on the line. “Shevchenko.”

The man on the other line grunts. “So you are not an idiot, despite your ignorant attempt to establish yourselves here. Consider this a polite warning, the last you’ll get. Remove your operations from this city within the week, or there won’t be any Abashins left alive.”

From the Shevchenko clan, I believe it. They would not hesitate to wipe out every last one of us if it meant total control over Miami. They’ve proven time and time again how ruthless they can be, and their goal of having a complete monopoly leaves no room for negotiation.

“Your grip is slipping, and you are growing desperate. Desperation leads to mistakes. When you make one, Shevchenko, the Abashins will be there.”

I hang up before he can respond, just as Anya pushes into the room with a quick knock. She looks pale and has one hand pressed to her stomach.

“Are you okay?” I ask, getting to my feet and going to her, the thought of the Shevchenko threats fading as concern for her rises.

She shakes her head and presses her lips together. “I think I have a stomach bug. I’m so nauseous. Do you have any medicine?”

“Here,” I say, guiding her to my chair and helping her down into it. “Sit. I’ll get you some.”

I leave to search the first-aid kit for something to help. Whatever she needs, I’ll get it for her. Abashin business can wait.