They say he’s a monster. A sadistic killer who feeds his enemies to pigs just for the thrill. But right now, he’s just a man with a hard dick, and I can use that to my every advantage.
I roll my hips, tone dripping with lust. “So, what would you like me to do?”
He leans back, a teasing pull on his lips. Even while he’s sitting, he towers over me. His frame is at least six-five, though I’m sure it’s more. Fingers drift over his neatly trimmed goatee, eyes dark as sin, fixed on me with unsettling focus, as though he’s trying to come up with the sickest thing he can make me do just to see how far I’ll go.
But I’m ready. He has no idea the lengths I’ll go to save my brother.
Slowly, he begins to unbutton his cuffs, dragging each sleeve up his forearms with deliberate ease, never taking his eyes off me. They roam over my skin like a touch, sparking goose bumps in their wake.
Every instinct screams at me to grab my clothes and bolt. But I’m frozen, held in place by the intensity of his gaze and the slow burn of his control.
As his sleeves roll up, ink is revealed—dark, brutal, beautiful. Thick veins of tattooed black snakes wind around his forearms, their jaws unhinged, fangs bared. They’re coiled in barbed wire, vicious and alive, like they might slither right off his skin. There’s no color. Only darkness, just like his soul.
I’ve never seen anything so dangerous. Or so mesmerizing.
“Touch yourself, malyshka. Show me how you do it when no one’s there to watch.”
Shit. I can’t do this.
When he catches my hesitation, he scoffs and starts to rise from his seat. “I don’t have time for childish games, Tessa. Sure, you’re nice to look at, but I have more pressing things to deal with than sitting here waiting for you to decide whether you’re actually cut out to work in a place like mine.” He gestures toward the door, dismissive and cold. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
No. I can’t let this slip through my fingers.
“Give me another chance.”
My blood pumps in my temples when the corner of his mouth lifts, full of dark satisfaction.
This bastard knows he’s won.
“If you want to work for me, moya dorogaya, you have to be willing to do anything and everything. Are you willing?”
No.
“Yes.”
“Then show me.”
When he leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on me, I want to kill him.
But I can’t. What a shame.
His gaze is relentless, hungry, and when his tongue drags across his lower lip, I nearly come undone.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How I’m supposed to touch myself with him watching. How I’m supposed to imagine it’s him inside me without hating myself for it. But that’s exactly what I’m thinking, and I despise how much I want it.
My fingers drift lower before I can talk myself out of it. My body’s tense, stiff with nerves, until his expression shifts.
His eyes darken, lids heavy with lust, and just like that, somethingclicks. That look—like he wants to devour me whole—is all it takes. It’s the knowledge that I have power over him that gets me off.
I roll my clit in slow, deliberate circles, breath hitching as pleasure blooms in my gut. A moan slips past my lips when his hands land on my knees, spreading me wider until my legs press against the cold surface of his desk.
I rub faster. Deeper. Dip a finger inside with a breathless gasp.
He growls something in Russian—low, rough. “Add another finger and go slow.”
I obey.
His tongue slides across his mouth, his fingertips digging into my thighs as his eyes follow every movement like a predator watching prey. Heat curls through me, sharp and dizzying, until my lashes flutter shut, overwhelmed by how badly I want to come for him.
