23. Chapter 23

23

Leonid

I shouldn’t be kissing her.

Blyat. My self-control, built over decades of running the Bratva? Gone the moment she parts those lips.

The rational part of my brain—the one that’s kept me alive through three wars and countless assassination attempts—is screaming to back away. To remember she’s probably plotting fifty different ways to kill me right now.

But my dick’s doing the thinking, and that treacherous bastard has always had a death wish when it comes to Clara Caldwell.

Yebat.

The things I want to do to this woman should be illegal in every country. Actually, they probably are.

Her body sinks into the king-sized medical bed—the same one I had specially installed in this private suite. Three cameras watch from discreet corners, their red lights blinking. Let my security team watch. Let them see who their Pakhan belongs to.

Sukin syn . I really need to stop thinking with my cock.

But her mouth opens under mine, and fuck—she tastes like fury and sin. Her tits press against my chest, soft and full against the Egyptian cotton sheets. My hands ache to rip that flimsy hospital gown off her.

“Don’t,” she whispers, but her thighs part wider on that massive bed, making room for me between them.

“Lies.” I suck hard on her pulse point, right where the hospital gown’s slipped down. Her whole body arches off the mattress. “Your cunt’s probably soaked through these sheets already.”

“Fuck you.” But her legs wrap around my waist, the bed’s hydraulics whirring as she grinds against me.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do to you.” My hands slide under her, gripping that perfect ass. “Right here, with every camera recording how well you take my cock.”

Her eyes flash with wicked amusement. “Oh, you like an audience?” she purrs, rolling her hips against my hardness. “Want your men to see how wet I am for you?”

Blyat . The thought of anyone else seeing her like this—spread out, desperate, mine —makes my vision go red.

“Never.” I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head. “No one sees this pussy but me.”

“Possessive, aren’t we?” She lifts her hips, rubbing herself shamelessly against my cock. “What if I want them to watch? What if I want them to see how their big, bad Pakhan loses control?”

A growl rips from my throat. “You’re playing with fire, myshka .”

“Maybe I like getting burned.” She arches, letting that damn gown slip further down. “Maybe I want everyone to see what you do to me.”

My free hand wraps around her throat—gentle, just enough pressure to make her pupils blow wide. “The only one who gets to see you come is me.”

“Prove it.” Her tongue darts out, wetting those fucking perfect lips. “Show me who I belong to.”

Chyert. The things this woman does to my self-control should be classified as chemical warfare.

I release her throat, pushing off the bed in one fluid motion. The hunter becoming the hunted. Let her feel what it’s like when the predator steps back.

“Where are you—?” She props herself up on her elbows, hospital gown slipping dangerously low.

“Nowhere.” I tug my wrinkled Henley back into place, not missing how her eyes track the movement of my muscles under the thin fabric. Standing at the foot of the bed, I drink in the sight of her—flushed, frustrated, legs still spread like an invitation to sin.

“You’re seriously walking away?” Her voice holds a note of disbelief.

“Not walking away.” I tap the nearest camera. “Just giving you what you want. An audience.”

Her eyes narrow. “Coward.”

“Patient.” I roll up my sleeves, exposing the tattoos she was tracing with her tongue moments ago. “I can wait until you admit that this—” I gesture to her body, splayed out on my sheets “—is for my eyes only.”

GRRRRROWWWWL

The sound echoes through the room like a pissed-off bear. Clara’s face goes from seductive to mortified in record time.

“Was that—?”

“Shut up.”

“Your stomach just cockblocked me.” I lean against the doorframe, lips twitching. “That’s a first.”

“Well, sorry my digestive system isn’t operating on your sexual schedule.” She yanks the sheet up to her chin. “At least it wasn’t a fart.”

Blyat . The laugh bursts out before I can stop it.

Then she starts laughing too, and fuck—her whole face transforms. A dimple appears on her left cheek, tiny and perfect, something I’ve never noticed before.

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and those killer’s hands clutch her stomach as she doubles over.

Dangerous. This is more dangerous than any weapon she’s ever pulled on me.

“Five car chases and two explosions later,” she wheezes between laughs, “and my stomach decides now is the time to demand breakfast?”

“Lunch,” I correct. “It’s past noon.”

“Whatever.” She wipes her eyes, still grinning. “My energy’s gone. Need food. And,” she plucks at the hospital gown, “real clothes would be nice.”

I grab my spare hoodie from the duffel by the door. Black. Well-worn. It’ll swallow her whole.

“Here.” I toss it at her face. “Only option.”

She catches it one-handed, then reaches for the ties of her hospital gown. Right here. In front of me. In front of the cameras.

Yob tvoyu mat .

Before she can flash my entire security team, I’m across the room. One arm under her knees, one behind her back, and she’s airborne.

“What the—?”

I kick the bathroom door open, deposit her inside, and throw the hoodie after her.

“Change.” I slam the door shut, leaning against it. “Unless you want my men starting a bidding war for that security footage.”

“Aw.” Her voice carries through the door. “Worried someone else might see what’s yours?”

My forehead thunks against the wood. “Just put on the fucking hoodie.”

Fabric rustles. “Or what? You’ll punish me?”

Christ. I need to stop imagining her naked on the other side of this door. But the images flood in, anyway— her bent over my desk, that smart mouth finally shut as I spank her ass red. Her wrists bound to my headboard while I edge her for hours until she’s begging for my cock. Her perfect throat wrapped in my favorite tie while I—

Blyat . When I finally punish her, it won’t be quick. Won’t be gentle.