15. Kat

Chapter 15

Kat

I head toward the door Nik exited through, surprised to find it unlocked. It would be just like him to lock me in again, just to mess with me.

The hallway is quiet—too quiet. Like the bedroom, it’s sleek and minimalist, bathed in soft off-white with cool marble floors beneath my bare feet. I hesitate, standing in the doorway for a moment. The idea of wandering around Nik’s penthouse completely naked has my stomach in knots, but I have no choice.

I take a deep breath and step out into the hallway, every sound I make amplified in the silence. My pulse races with every step, my skin prickling as if someone might catch me at any moment.

The hallway seems to stretch endlessly, doors lining either side. I try the first one, hoping for some kind of miracle. It’s just a bathroom—pristine and intimidatingly large. No help there.

I move to the next door, heart pounding, and push it open. Relief washes over me when I realize it’s a bedroom—his.

Dark wood paneling and deep, masculine tones dominate the space, the rich leather of a chair in the corner gleaming faintly in the low light. It’s not what I expected. The room feels... unpretentious, yet indulgent, like everything in it was chosen with comfort and pleasure in mind. A dark part of me wonders if he’s like this about everything.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a mix of spice and something darker. I can’t help but inhale it, begrudgingly intrigued by how effortlessly it fits him. My gaze sweeps the room, taking in the neat stacks of books on the nightstand, the expensive-looking watch left casually on the dresser.

And the bed.

It’s massive, almost absurdly so—the dark blue sheets perfectly smooth, the pillows arranged with military precision. It dominates the room, a sharp yet lush contrast to the tidy, practical minimalism around it. Something about it—its sheer size, its dark, inviting presence—makes my cheeks heat. I can’t stop myself from picturing him there, sprawled out and perfectly at ease, lounging like he’s the ruler of his own kingdom.

I force myself to look away, crossing the room quickly. The open closet catches my eye immediately. It feels oddly personal, stepping into his space like this, but what choice do I have? The rows of tailored suits and crisp button-downs stand like soldiers, perfectly pressed and prepared for action. I grab the first thing I can reach—a crisp white shirt—and slip it on, the soft cotton cool against my skin.

The oversized shirt falls to mid-thigh, barely decent but enough to make do. I roll up the sleeves, cinching the fabric around my arms. A part of me hates how good it feels, his scent clinging to me like a second skin.

My nerves are still on edge as I step back into the hallway, glancing over my shoulder as if someone might appear. I can’t help but wonder who else might be lurking in this sprawling penthouse. Nik’s men? A housekeeper? A girlfriend?

I pick up the faint smell of coffee and spices, and my stomach growls, reminding me of my hunger. Following the scent, I make my way through the penthouse, the marble floors growing colder beneath my feet.

Finally, I reach the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, spotting him immediately. Nik’s back is to me as he reaches for a wine glass on a high shelf, his broad shoulders flexing beneath the fresh black cashmere sweater he’s changed into. His jeans hang low on his hips, the denim hugging him in all the right places.

I hesitate, torn between entering the room and turning back. Against my better judgment, I stay, watching him silently for a moment.

Then he turns, catching me mid-stare.

Nik freezes, his gaze locking on me. His eyes sweep over me, lingering on the oversized shirt barely covering me. For the first time, he looks… rattled. His usual smirk falters, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Oh,” he says finally, his voice thick. “There you are. Took you long enough.”

I tug at the hem of the shirt, suddenly hyper-aware of how little I’m wearing. “I got lost,” I mutter, trying to sound casual.

“Found my closet, though,” he says, his voice dipping lower. His smirk is back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nice shirt.”

“It was the only thing I could find,” I reply, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingers.

“Looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he says smoothly, turning back to the counter. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I admit, stepping into the room.

“Good,” he says, gesturing toward the kitchen island. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I warmed up everything—minus the sushi.”

My jaw drops at the sight. He’s laid out a lavish spread, enough food to feed half the city. Everything looks incredible, from unfamiliar dishes to comforting classics like fettuccine Alfredo.

“Did you make all this?” I ask, incredulous as I step closer, drawn by the mouthwatering aroma.

He scoffs, grinning. “Hell no. I can’t cook to save my life. Irina is the mastermind here.”

“Who’s Irina?” I ask, perhaps a little too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking but letting it go. “My chef. She’s worked for me for over a decade.” He brushes past me, his hand barely touching the small of my back as he reaches for the oven. “Excuse me, let me get the lasagna.”

A delicious shiver runs up my spine from the slight touch, though I pretend not to notice it.

He sets the lasagna down, filling the room with a rich, mouthwatering scent. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. No wonder—I haven’t eaten today. I’d planned to grab a bite with A.J. after our meeting with Camilla.

He shrugs off the oven mitts, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard when I realize he’s barefoot. There’s a bottle of wine on the counter, and after rolling up his sleeves, he reaches for it. Out of the blue, he looks so… domestic—approachable, even. I can't wrap my head around the guy in front of me being the same mysterious man from the gala or the all-powerful mobster who had me abducted.

And God help me… I kind of like it.

“Why are you doing all this?” I ask, unable to mask my suspicion.

He pauses, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Well… We need to eat.” His forearms, flexing as he uses the corkscrew, are impossible to ignore.

“No, I mean, why are you doing this yourself?”

“Ah.” He smiles, looking amused. “You mean why not have someone else do this. I gave the staff the day off when I decided to have you over for dinner tonight.” He winks.

“You mean when you kidnapped me.”

“Thought we were done arguing semantics,” he says, handing me a glass of red wine without even asking if I want it. I guess Simon says I’ll have a glass of wine, and that’s the end of it.

“So we’re all alone?” I ask, taking a sip. The wine is rich and smooth, and I hate that it’s delicious.

He raises a brow. “Why do you ask? Planning to have your way with me, Kat?”

“ Ha-ha . Hilarious. Nice try. You’re the one trying to wine and dine me, buddy.”

“Just trying to feed us. Everyone’s better company with a warm meal in their stomach.” He shrugs. “And before you get any ideas, no, we’re not completely alone. Some of my men are still here. They're going to hang around for a while. I’ll introduce you later.”

“Scared you can’t handle me?”

His eyes twinkle with amusement. “They’re not here for backup. So if you’re feeling good about your chances of subduing me with a butter knife, think again. I don't think you'd want me to give you another spanking. Or do you?” He edges toward me, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.

“Maybe in your dreams. And thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot I owe you payback.”

“Aw, Kat. Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he says. I vaguely remember saying something similar the night we met.

“If they're not here as backup—just in case I overtake you with my mad ninja skills—then what are they here for? I thought you said I'd be safe here, but if you need all these guards around…”

“It’s not that. They're here for the same reason as you. I don't want to waste my time hunting for them if I need them.”

“You know, Nik, you should check out these new gadgets they have nowadays, they're pretty cool. You can use them to get in touch with anyone, whenever. People call them cell phones. You might want to check that out.”

“Cute.” He pulls out a stool and motions for me to sit. “Sit. Eat. I saw you eyeing the lasagna.”

I can’t deny it—the lasagna looks divine, and I’m too hungry to put up a fight. I plop down on the stool while he piles his plate, grabbing a bit of everything before sitting across from me.

“Speaking of cellphones,” he says, reaching into his pocket and handing me mine. “Figured you’d want to let people know you’re alive.”

I’m caught off guard, but then I remember—he knows I can’t escape him. I take the phone, my fingers brushing his. My life’s turned into a stupid teenager flick, so, obviously, sparks fly at the slight contact. I try to hide my embarrassing response, but then I see the same reaction flicker in his gaze.

“Thank you,” I say. He nods. I glance at the screen: over twenty missed calls from A.J. and a flood of messages. I quickly text her back.

Sorry I missed our meeting. I’m fine, can’t talk right now. Will explain later tonight.

She replies immediately with a wall of text. I can't read it right now—not with Nik looking over my shoulder. I send another quick message.

I’ll explain everything later. I promise.

She replies with a single message:

You better.

I set the phone down, feeling Nik’s gaze still on me.

“So,” I say, turning to him. “Tell me about the job.”

He studies me for a long moment, then finally says, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. You need rest.”

“I feel fine. Besides, thanks to your goons, I already got plenty of rest today.”

Nik grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. But they had to drug you—it’s not like you’d have come willingly.” His eyes spark with humor. “I heard you gave Boris quite a fight.”

I stiffen at the memory. “Which one is Boris?”

“The one with the scar.”

“Ah, that one. Well, nasty little fellows such as himself always get their comeuppance, trust me.”

“Easy, tiger,” he chuckles. “The guy was just doing his job.”

“Like that makes it okay.”

“Considering you got in trouble for doing your job, I'd expect you to have some sympathy for Boris.”

“I don’t hurt people.”

He snorts. “Debatable.”

“No, it isn’t,” I retort. “I may be a thief—allegedly—but my hands are clean of blood. Can you say the same?” I find immense satisfaction in rubbing this in his face.

He pauses, clearly unfazed. “I won’t apologize for doing what I have to, Kat.” Another pause. “But let’s discuss business tomorrow. You need a break.”

“What else would we talk about?”

A grin spreads across his face. “ Us , of course.”

“There’s no us.”

He leans in, his voice low. “I don’t think you believe that.”

“We had sex. Once. It was a one-time thing. Two ships passing in the night. That’s all. Our relationship is strictly professional now.”

“So you admit we have a relationship.” He smirks. “Let me ask you this: do you see what happened between us earlier today as professional behavior? Damn, I should’ve hired you ages ago.”

“That was a momentary lapse of judgment. Nothing more.”

His smile grows wider. “Tell me, did you touch yourself after I left?”

The urge to throw my wine at him is strong, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I surprise us both by playing along.

With a casual shrug, I set my glass down. “Actually, I didn’t. I decided to save it for later. You probably don’t know this, but I’m into delayed gratification. You should try it.”

He stares at me silently, his gaze both playful and calculating. “You don’t seem the type.”

“Just thought I'd wait until later—feel free to join me.”

His eyes darken as I lift my leg, stretching it under the island until my foot brushes his calf. He grabs my ankle, his grip firm. Inch by inch, I run my foot up his calf, before placing it on his stool seat, right between his thighs.

A dangerous spark flickers in his gaze as it meets mine. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I know.” I slowly slide my foot up his thigh. As I'm about to reach his crotch, he grabs my foot and keeps it still.

“You don’t want to go down this road with me again,” he warns, but a hint of uncertainty slips through his words.

“Oh, but I do.”

He has no clue how much. It's never a chore to flirt with him. But maybe, just maybe, getting him to like me is the answer to all my problems. Perhaps he’ll think twice about hurting me or A.J. if he starts to care about me.

Plus, he might be exactly what I’ve been looking for—a powerful ally to fight the stronzo . Maybe a little sweet talk will convince the big, bad bratva boss to protect me.

Nik won't release my foot, so I play with the top button of my blouse.

"Don't even think about it."

“Too late," I say, unbuttoning my shirt.

“Kat—”

I disregard him. The feeling of power is almost intoxicating. I’ve got him. Even if he can manipulate me into working for him, it doesn't matter. He wants me—badly. I can exploit his desire for me.

I slowly releasing another button, revealing the swell of my breast. He mumbles something in a language I don't understand, and I pause. Time to put my theory to the test. “What are you saying?”

He looks at me, puzzled.

“What you just said… Is that Russian?”

"Yeah," he says, staring at my boobs.

“What does it mean? Was it a curse word?” I twirl a button near my belly button, teasing him.

His eyes narrow. “What if I don't want to tell you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“I'll stop.” I button up his shirt, smiling.

In one swift motion, he stands, releasing my foot. Then he scoops me up from my chair, lifting me into his arms. He doesn't say anything, just goes to the counter and plops me down.

He roughly pushes my legs apart and stands between them. With a sharp tug, he pulls me forward until his hard cock presses against my bare pussy. Grabbing my neck, he yanks me close. Our foreheads touch, breaths mingling.

“I warned you not to toy with me . I’m starting to think you want me to punish you.”

“Turnabout is fair play.”

He gives his head a shake. "You're the one who started this."

“It doesn't matter who started it. You took it to a whole new level when you spanked me.”

“And you loved it. You can't deny it. You were soaking wet—I felt it. I can still hear you moaning for more.”

“That’s irrelevant. You intended to leave me hanging. I'm not letting you get away with that!”

He flashes a smile. He’s so hot, I want to claw the clothes off his body so I can see all of it at last. “Is that what this is all about, then? If you’re sexually frustrated, then may I once again suggest you avoid starting something you can’t finish?”

“All right, I'm finishing this. We’re done here. Let me go,” I mutter, pushing against him.

“We’re done when I say we’re done. This back-and-forth, one-upping the other, has to stop,” he says in a placating tone, running a hand through his beautiful black hair.

“Funny you should say that now that I'm in control. Guess what? You can’t control me. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want. And there's nothing you can do about it,” I say, poking him in the chest.

He snatches my hand before I can poke him again, then grabs the other one and holds them both behind my back.

“You sure about that? I think you wouldn't believe what I can do about it. This battle of wills isn't one you want to fight.”

“I’m so tired of you telling me what I do or do not want. You think I won’t stand up to you? Try me , Nik. Just fucking try me.”

Silence hangs heavy between us as we glare at each other, both burning with anger. His hand, still holding me captive, draws me closer to his body.

“Fuck my life,” he mutters under his breath, so quietly I almost miss it. “Fuck me .”

“What?” I snap, jerking against his grip, but his hands tighten, refusing to let go.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice dark and unsteady. “God, I hate you so fucking much.”

“Good,” I bite back. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He ignores me, shaking his head with a bitter laugh, his gaze locked on mine, burning with something I can’t quite place. “I hate your hair. That ridiculous, chocolate-brown hair. And those annoyingly blue eyes. I hate your mouth—and every damn word that comes out of it—with a vengeance. And your body. God, I hate that I know exactly how it feels under my hands, like it’s seared into my brain. I hate your stupid games, and the way you push my buttons for sport, with a fucking passion.”

His grip tightens, pulling me just a fraction closer as his voice drops lower, sharp and edged with something I don’t want to name. “But you wanna know what I hate the most?”

I grit my teeth, glaring up at him, heat crawling up my spine. “Go ahead. Lay it on me. I can take it ,” I sneer, throwing his own words back in his face.

He leans in, his breath brushing my cheek, his words a quiet, lethal confession. “I hate that even after everything you’ve done to me, all I can think about is you're standing in my kitchen, wearing my fucking shirt... and nothing else under it.”

I don’t know who makes the first move, but next thing I know, we’re kissing. His mouth crashes against mine, hard, demanding, and furious, like he’s punishing me for everything I’ve done. I meet him head-on. His hands twist in the shirt I’m wearing, yanking me closer until there’s no space between us.

When his hand slides under the fabric, gripping my waist with bruising force, I moan against his lips. His fingers trace higher, brushing the curve of my ribs, and I arch into him, gasping into his mouth. He seizes the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine with a low, guttural groan that vibrates through my whole body.

I don’t stop. My legs wrap around his hips, pulling him as close as I can get him, as I grind against his cock, hard and desperate. I don’t care how it looks. I just want— need —the pressure.

He stiffens against me, his grip tightening, and his breath hitches. A raw sound escapes his lips, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to my thighs, pulling me against him as if he can’t stand even an inch of space between us.

“Kat,” he growls, his voice low and ragged, before his lips move to my neck. His teeth graze my skin, sending shockwaves through me, and I throw my head back, giving him full access. He takes it greedily, his mouth hot and insistent as he marks a trail along my throat.

“ Kat ,” he rasps, his voice thick with warning, but I don’t stop.

I tilt my hips and grind harder, mercilessly rubbing against the hard length of him. His grip tightens on my hips, almost bruising, as he tries to pull away.

“Okay, enough,” he growls, breaking the kiss, his voice low and strained. “Stop.”

But I don’t. I can’t. The friction is everything, and I’m so close I can taste it. “Please,” I whisper, grinding harder, angling myself just right to feel the full length of his cock pressing against me through his jeans.

His breath hitches, and his fingers dig into my skin. “Fucking stop,” he snaps, his grip tightening as if he’s about to throw me off.

“No,” I cry, barely able to form the words. “Please, Nik. No. Let me come. Make me come.”

He groans, his head dropping to my shoulder as I move against him again, faster, harder. “I'm insane,” he mutters, his breath hot and uneven. “Completely fucking insane.”

“ Fuck ,” he rasps, his breath hot against my neck as his hands grip my waist, as though he’s trying to steady me—or himself.

I tilt my hips, rubbing against him just right, and he lets out a sharp, guttural groan that vibrates through me. His resistance is crumbling.

I keep going, and after a moment, his control shatters. His hips snap forward, grinding against me with rough, jerky movements. His hands grip my thighs so tightly I’m sure I’ll bruise, and his breathing grows erratic, every sound he makes raw and guttural. I can tell he’s trying to hold back, trying not to lose control, but his breathing is uneven, ragged, and I know he’s hanging by a thread.

“Fuck you,” he growls, his voice raw, but his movements only grow more frantic. “You don’t— fuck —you don’t know when to stop, do you?”

I don’t hold back. The pressure builds and builds until I come apart, the pleasure hitting me like a wave. My thighs tighten around him as I cry out, my whole body trembling.

That’s all it takes to break him.

“Goddamn it,” he growls, his movements faltering as I come undone around him. " God. Fucking. Damn. It. " Then it happens. His body shudders, stiffening against me. He groans—a low, frustrated sound that vibrates through my chest—and I feel him lose it completely. His hips jerk once, twice, and then he stills, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

For a moment, he’s utterly rigid, his hands gripping my thighs with bruising force, and there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, harsh and uneven.

Then it’s over.

He pulls away abruptly, his hands dropping as if my skin burns him. His face is stone-cold, his dark eyes blazing with something that makes my stomach drop.

“Shit,” he mutters, his voice tight and furious. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing a step away before turning back to glare at me. His words are tinged with irritation, and I can see the flicker of embarrassment in his dark eyes. But I don’t see why he should feel embarrassed. Not even a little.

"Oh my gosh, you're so into me." I’m still catching my breath, watching him. My heart is pounding, my body still humming with the aftershocks. “That was…” I pause, my lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He scowls, running a hand through his already-messy hair, his lips pressing into a thin line.

I open my mouth to say something, but the words catch in my throat.

“You,” he spits, his voice venomous. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

Then his expression darkens, his lips curling into a sneer. “You’ve ruined me.”

“What?” I whisper, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

“You heard me.” His lip curls as he steps closer, towering over me, his voice like ice. “You’ve fucking ruined me.”

“Nik, I—” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Don’t,” he snaps, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to hear a goddamn word from you.”

I shrink back, my pulse hammering in my ears. This isn’t the usual hate-laced banter. This feels… different. Colder. Darker.

He moves closer, his gaze cutting into me. “I don’t know why I let things get this far, but it ends now.”

I blink, the weight of his words sinking in, and for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty stirs in my chest. “Okay, listen?—”

“No. You don’t get to talk. You’ve pushed every button I have. Lied to me. Stolen from me. And still, I let it slide. Still, I wanted you.” He exhales heavily, his eyes darting away like he can’t bear to look at me. “Not anymore. This is how it’s going to be now. You work for me. You follow my rules. My orders. No more games. You do what I say, when I say it, without question. Do you understand me?”

The room feels smaller, suffocating, his words pressing down on me like a physical weight. My lips part, but no sound comes out, as my shock evaporates and anger starts to fester inside me. I just nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Say it,” he demands, his tone cold and final. “Say you understand.”

“I understand,” I bite out, barely able to force the words out.

He steps back, his smirk curling into something more sinister. “Good.”

I stare at him, my chest tight, my throat dry. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say.

Before I can try, a sudden noise at the kitchen door cuts through the tension, startling me. Nik grabs me just as I'm about to leap from the counter, shielding me with his body.

A split second later, I realize it was just someone clearing their throat. One of his men . It totally slipped my mind that we aren’t completely alone. It’s only then that I realize just how exposed I am, still perched on the counter in nothing but Nik’s shirt.

Nik doesn’t even look at his man. His eyes stay locked on mine, cold and unyielding, until the silence becomes unbearable.

“What is it?” he barks without turning around. He's blocking my view, so I can't see who’s interrupted us.

A male voice says, “Nikolai. Lucien’s here to see you.”

Nik briefly shuts his eyes. He takes a deep breath and opens them again. A cold, hard look flickers in his eyes as he studies me.

“I'll be with him in a minute," Nik tells the man.

“Sir," the man says respectfully. His footsteps echo as he leaves the kitchen.

Nik shuts his eyes again, muttering something in Russian. A moment passes, followed by a sigh from him. He lifts me off the counter and sets me down gently.

Before I can say anything, he walks away.