30. Andrey

30

ANDREY

"Jesus, Andrey!" They both whirl around, but only Natalia takes a step closer. "What are you doing here?"

Byron clears his throat. "Mr. Kuznetsov, I—we, uh… weren't expecting you."

"That was the point." I step further into his pathetic little office, noticing the sad collection of employee awards displayed like big game animals on the wall opposite the window. "Tell me, Byron: is it a common practice of yours to sexually harass your female employees? Or is Natalia special?"

Natalia's flushed cheeks burn even brighter. Byron just opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish.

It's Natalia who recovers first. "You shouldn't be here."

I ignore her, keeping my gaze fixed on Byron. "I'm waiting for a response, Byron."

He swallows hard and tries to smile, but the corners of his lips don't seem to want to obey. The effect makes him look constipated. "I was only j-j-joking. Just a joke… no harm done… Natalia and I—" My fists are squeezed so hard now, I can practically feel the tendons threatening to snap. "—have a rap-p-port."

"What you call ‘rapport,' I would call ‘a very viable lawsuit.'"

"That's enough!" Natalia snaps, striding forward and putting her hand on my chest. Only then do I realize I've been slowly advancing on them. "Andrey, you have no right to barge into my workplace and cause trouble with my coworkers."

My blood is heating to a boil. It's a wonder I haven't set off the damn fire alarms in this shithole.

Her defense of him has given Byron some false confidence, because he draws himself up to full height and looks me dead in the eye. "I think it's clear that Ms. Boone would like you to leave."

I brush Natalia aside and take a step towards him. Every inch I get closer to him steals another inch from his posture, until he's slumped and cowering in my shadow.

"Oh, and you know what Ms. Boone wants, do you?"

I can smell his sweat. Can see it trickling past his temples. But he's either much braver or much dumber than I realized—my money's on the latter—because he turns his back on the safe route and decides to stand his ground instead.

His chin juts out stubbornly. "More so than you, apparently."

"No, Andrey!" Natalia clings uselessly to my elbow as I take another step forward. "Stop!"

It's something in her voice that does the trick. A tiny crack—almost unnoticeable, really—but a crack that opens just wide enough for me to glimpse inside…

And see darkness that goes a long, long way down.

I remember reeling her out of that catatonia after the shootout at the doctor's office. It's clear that the prospect of violence turns Natalia's blood to ice. Even now, the bright pink embarrassment on her cheeks is completely gone, replaced by a ghostly white fear.

I hate that look on her.

I hate that I put it there.

So, as satisfying as it would be to punch a hole through this moron's vapid face, I decide—for her sake; not his—that there are better ways to remind him what I'm capable of.

"Byron," I growl in a low voice. I keep my eyes on Natalia. "Would you excuse us? Natalia and I have things to discuss."

He gapes at me open-mouthed. "This… this is my office." He turns to Natalia, clearly expecting her to back him up and kick me out.

But Natalia's chewing her lip and avoiding his eyes. "Byron, would you mind… please?" she asks. "We won't be long."

He looks like he certainly does mind. But in the face of Natalia's hushed plea and my scowl, he has no choice but to nod and retreat.

"O-okay." He eyes me apprehensively as he backs his way to the door. "Nat, if… if you need me…"

"I'll be fine, Byron."

The door shuts, but the walls are still glass. He can see us.

I could use that, I think.

"What the actual fuck do you think you're doing?!" Natalia cries. "How dare you?—"

Her angry words fade off as my eyes rove up and down her body. She's wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a powder blue blouse that hugs every curve to perfection.

"Hey!" She snaps her fingers in my face. "I'm up here."

"You look good, lastochka. "

That puts some color back in her cheeks. But there's still a muscle twitching in her jaw that says, Beware. Unfortunately for her, I have no intention of doing that.

"Don't," she warns. "Don't even start."

I look around. "He calls this an office, does he?"

Natalia glances back over her shoulder. Byron has slunk off into the far corner of the hallway, but I can still spy him, peeking around the corner like a nosy child. "You've got balls," she seethes when she turns to face me again.

Smirking, I reach for her. "You would know best."

She slaps my hand away. "Don't! What do you think you're doing?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I'm at work."

"Certainly didn't look like much work was getting done."

Her face contorts into rage. "You have no right to?—"

Before she can finish her sentence, I've grabbed her around the waist and walked her backwards into Byron's rickety desk.

"‘Right'?" I snarl so vehemently that she falls silent. "You want to talk to me about rights? What makes you think you have the right to stand here flirting with sniveling mudaks when you're carrying my child?"

"I wasn't… That wasn't…" Those perfect green eyes of hers are star-bright, sparking with a mixture of confusion and anger.

And maybe something else.

The first flickers of a wildfire.

"I thought I made myself clear, lastochka ." I hoist her onto the table and knock her legs apart with my knee. "You're mine." She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off at the pass. "And if you need any more proof of that—" My hand slips up her sexy pencil skirt and grazes along her inner thigh. "—I'm only too happy to provide it."

"No, Andrey," she protests, squirming against me in a way that doesn't do a damn bit of good to convince me she means what she's saying. "Stop…"

She tugs on my arms again and again, but each is weaker than the last.

I push aside her panties and slip my fingers into her warm slit. To nobody's surprise, she's dripping wet.

Her eyes pop open. For a moment, she's lost in the feeling. Then her gaze flickers to the glass walls behind us.

"No, we can't! Byron will… Fuck, he'll see."

"Good." I growl. "He needs to understand how pointless it is to pursue you."

She opens her mouth to say something, but I never discover what, because her words are lost to a moan.

I lean in and catch that moan with my lips, sliding my fingers deeper inside her while my thumb strokes her clit. The closer she gets to orgasm, the more desperate and panicky she becomes. "Andrey… please… please…"

But I'm about as capable of stopping as I am of inducting Byron into the Bratva. Natalia shudders, biting her bottom lip so hard that she draws a thin line of blood.

I lick it away.

Then I unbuckle my pants.

"No!" she gasps, trying to push me away. "No, Andrey… not here… not on Byron's desk."

My fingers curl around her throat as I lick the side of her neck. Her breaths are coming hot and fast. "Don't worry, lastochka ," I assure her. "He's not watching."

It's a lie, of course. I can see him, peering around the corner every few seconds to try to see what we're doing.

Let him watch.

No one can say Andrey Kuznetsov isn't generous.

Pulling my cock free, I shove her skirt higher around her thighs. Natalia doesn't try to stop me. I thrust myself inside her and?—

Fuck.

My mind goes blank.

It's like all the noise, all the worries and doubts that have been rolling around in my head since I became the fucking pakhan … It all fades away.

Nothing and no one exists.

Except for her .

Except for me .

She bites down on my shoulder, one hand scraping across my chest as we start rocking back and forth. "You see?" I murmur in her ear. "You see now who you belong to?"

She doesn't reply apart from a breathy moan here, a hitched gasp there.

"And if you're ever in doubt again, just come to me—" Thrust. "—and I'll remind you all over again." Thrust. "I'll remind you as many—fucking—times—as—it—takes!"

She falls apart again just as my hot cum fills her up.

I stay there until I have nothing left to give, fully sealed hip-to-hip with her. Natalia's eyes are still hazy when I pull out and zip myself up.

When she reaches for a tissue, I stop her. "No, lastochka . You're not allowed to wipe it away. You're going to spend the rest of the day walking around with my cum dripping down your thighs. And you're going to fucking love it."

She pushes herself off the desk onto wobbly legs and, for a moment, I think she's going to defy me. But she leaves the tissue where it is and pulls her skirt down.

Despite her compliance, the post-orgasm euphoria has drained off her face almost instantly. She's back to looking pissed.

"Satisfied now?" she demands icily.

"I believe I made my point."

Her eyes flicker savagely. "That's all I am to you. That's all I've ever been: a point. You can have me whenever you want. But I can only have you on your terms, when you want."

She walks around Byron's desk, leaving behind a faint, sweaty imprint of her ass on the wood. It's disappearing already. Pity—someone should frame that and hang it in the Louvre.

"You make a huge deal about meeting my needs and wants, but the truth is, they don't matter at all. I don't matter to you at all." Her eyes have gone misty again. "I'm nothing more than a plaything to you."

There are a dozen or more snide jabs I could think of to lob at her feet and walk out of here victorious. But strangely, the need to come out on top feels much less important than the pain in her eyes.

On instinct, I reach forward, moving to cup her face with my palm.

But she flinches back like I might hurt her.

I drop my hand with the sudden realization that, quite apart from not trusting me, Natalia doesn't feel safe with me. It sends a jolt of something very much like regret coursing through my gut.

"This is what you agreed to, Natalia," I remind her softly.

She whips away from me to face the far wall. If she's crying, she doesn't want me to see it.

"I know exactly what I agreed to," she whispers back, so quietly that I almost miss it.

The words she's left unspoken come through loud and clear. But maybe I shouldn't have.

Resisting the urge to touch her, I sweep out of the office, leaving behind the mingling scents of sex and sadness. I'm so deeply preoccupied by that hurt look in her eyes that I don't even notice Byron until he's slipping around the corner to face me.

Before he can so much as open his mouth, I grab him by the front of his shirt and slam him hard against the same wall he was hiding behind this whole time.

"This is your first and last warning," I snarl. "Go near my woman again and you will regret it."

I shove him against the wall once more for good measure, just to make sure the message sinks in. Then I stalk away, happy at least that I can put some distance between me and that sniveling rat.

I ignore the curious looks Anatoly and Olaf toss my way as I storm through the lobby. Outside, I throw myself into my car, the memory of Natalia's dejected face burning itself into my retinas.

The last time a woman looked at me with that kind of disappointment, I lied and promised her everything would be okay.

Which makes me realize with an uncomfortable jolt?—

Maybe that woman is due for a visit.