Chapter 4Nix

4

Nix

A s Nix slid into the town car, Ivan's driver's eyes widened comically in the rearview mirror.

Nix flicked his ponytail over his shoulder, treating the man to a sultry smile as Ivan joined him in the back seat. The driver was somewhere in his late sixties, perhaps, with deep lines etched into his sun-weathered skin. "Well, hello, handsome," Nix purred. "What's your name?"

Ivan's hand shot out, settling tightly on Nix's thigh.

A warning? Nix raised a brow. "I can't say hello?"

Mr. Grumpy Pants didn't answer him, addressing the driver instead. "Oleg. Eyes forward."

"Yes, sir." The driver—Oleg, apparently—dutifully shifted his gaze back to the road, gliding the car onto the busy street.

The slightly acrid scent of fear wafted back from the front and settled on the leather seats. Nix leaned in close to Ivan, murmuring in his ear, "What an intimidating master you are."

Ivan's grip on his thigh tightened. It might have been painful, if Nix were human. He might have been into it even if it were. Ivan seemed to think he was cowing Nix into submission, but the silly beast was just turning Nix on.

"This is my new assistant, Oleg," Ivan said coolly, as if he wasn't practically clawing into Nix. "You'll be seeing him around."

Nix leaned forward as far as Ivan's restricting grip would allow. "His new personal assistant," he amended. "Pleasure to meet you. Don't worry, I don't bite. Not like our boss man here."

Ivan pressed the button to raise the partition, separating them from the driver.

Nix turned to toss him a pout, only to pause as Ivan dropped his head back against the seat, his eyes closing with a deep sigh. It was a surprisingly vulnerable position, his neck stretched and bare. Nix had a feeling not many people saw him this way.

He wondered why he was allowed.

The answer came to him immediately. Because the contract keeps you from hurting him. He has a guarantee you're safe.

Ivan was clearly someone who'd been raised since birth to believe the other shoe would drop at any moment, and it would guide a knife into his back when it did. Nix had overheard enough of Ivan's conversation with his brother to know things were fraught there. What had Sascha called him? A controlling asshole. A lunatic.

But of course, if Ivan really did have a mole, then he'd only been proven right in his paranoia.

And then there was the whole mother thing. Murdered by the father? Big yikes. The whole situation made Nix happy to be a demon. Demon parents—if you could call them that—procreated, birthed, and scattered to the winds once their youngling was self-sufficient. Mated pairs would stay together, but they didn't keep their spawn with them.

So Nix didn't have any fraught family politics to mess with his head. Which made him the perfect person to help dear Vanya—he had no baggage of his own to get in the way.

He studied Ivan's face, cool and composed even at rest. The bruising under his eyes was still there. It wasn't dark enough to be wholly unattractive, but it definitely betrayed some fatigue. He had a few lines too, although not as deeply etched as Oleg's. Frown lines on his forehead. Not the telltale crow's-feet of the happy and well adjusted.

Ivy-poo wasn't doing much smiling, was he?

"How old are you?" Nix asked.

"I turned forty in January," Ivan answered without opening his eyes. He hadn't removed his hand from Nix's thigh, though his grip had loosened.

Did Ivan even notice it was still there?

Touch-starved. Majorly. Nix didn't need to be an incubus to diagnose that much.

Nix twisted to face him fully, careful to keep his leg where it was (he didn't want to risk dislodging that poor, searching hand), propping an elbow on the leather interior and resting his head on his fist. "And what did you do to celebrate?"

"Got very, very drunk."

Ivan would have done it alone, Nix realized immediately. He wouldn't have wanted to let himself be that undone in front of any other people.

And since Ivan was being so forthcoming…

"Why do you care if I flirt with your driver?"

Ivan's hand clenched. "You're supposed to be my assistant. Your actions reflect on me."

Nix clucked his tongue. "You're the boss. What do you care what your driver thinks about you?"

"Appearances are important," Ivan answered immediately, with the rehearsed tone of one repeating someone else's words .

"True power lies in not caring what anyone else thinks," Nix countered.

Ivan's eyes opened the tiniest crack. "Did you see that embroidered on a throw pillow somewhere?"

"No throw pillows in the Void." Nix pursed his lips in mock disappointment. "Or in your dreary office, for that matter. Is your apartment equally dreary?"

Ivan's eyes closed again. "Yes."

"Mm. Can't wait."

There it was again. At the very corner of Ivan's lips. A little twitch. Nix knew it—there was definitely a sense of humor hiding in there somewhere.

Deep, deep in there.

Traffic kept them in the town car for quite a while, even though they didn't seem to be covering much distance, but Nix let Ivan rest peacefully for the remainder of it. No doubt he was going to get straight to work once they got to their destination. He'd said as much, and Ivan didn't seem the type to make idle threats.

Nix was a bit sad to leave the car when they got to their destination, as it meant Ivan's hand finally slid off his leg. It wasn't like Ivan had even been doing anything fun with it, but the weight of it had been…nice.

Maybe Ivan wasn't the only one touch-starved.

They waltzed into the apartment building like they owned the place. (Ivan might actually own the place, for that matter.) The doorman nodded at Ivan respectfully, and Nix didn't miss the bulge of the gun holster under his jacket.

Ivan's gaze slid over to the man. "My assistant will be coming in and out," he said, presumably talking about Nix. "Don't give him any trouble."

"Yes, sir."

Nix gave the man a salute for good measure and was rewarded by Ivan grabbing his upper arm tightly, tugging him deeper inside .

Nix grinned at him. "You're very grabby, did you know that?"

Ivan dropped Nix's arm like it had burned him.

"I like it." Nix sidled up close, grabbing Ivan's arm instead. He was given a mighty glare, but if glares were enough to subdue him, Kai would have managed it centuries ago.

Ivan pressed the button for the top floor in the elevator. The penthouse. Of course. It was probably the only apartment on that level, wasn't it? Just like his lonely office.

Ivan's phone buzzed, and he slid it out of his suit jacket pocket, replacing it immediately without answering, but not before Nix saw the name.

"Who's Sergei?" he asked, shaking Ivan's arm lightly. "Is he ho—"

"My father's right-hand man," Ivan snapped. "Mine now."

There was that surge of bitterness again, strong enough to fill the entire elevator.

"You know who your mole is, don't you?" Nix asked softly.

"You're very perceptive," Ivan said coolly, his tone controlled once more. "Is that a sex worker thing?"

"You're awfully mean when you're cornered," Nix countered as the elevator dinged, announcing they'd reached the top. He shifted back into his demon form, arching a brow at Ivan. "Is that a trauma thing?"

Ivan shook Nix's arm off and stepped out of the elevator. Sure enough, it opened directly into a large apartment.

The place reminded Nix of Ivan's office. High ceilings, big windows, steel beams and concrete, and not a piece of unnecessary decoration to be found.

"I don't know," Ivan said after a moment, and it took Nix longer than it should have to realize he was answering Nix's earlier question. "I suspect it is."

Ivan was already turning away before Nix could say anything in response. "Explore as you like. I'll be in my office. Don't interrupt."

Once again Nix found himself exploring a large, luxurious, empty space.

Seriously, what did Ivan have against a little decor here and there? Had his father used an interior decorator as the hit man when he'd had the mother killed? Had her bludgeoned with a painting? Ordered her suffocated with a throw pillow?

Okay, well, those were dark musings. But that was Ivan's fault. If he'd had some fresh-cut flowers to lighten the place up, maybe Nix wouldn't be quite so affected by the doom and gloom of it all.

The apartment was spacious but all one level. The living room housed a large pure-white couch—and there was no greater sign that someone didn't use their couch than making it such an unforgiving color—across from a TV Nix couldn't figure out the remote to. The kitchen was a chrome nightmare with all the modern appliances but no ingredients to use them for. The larger of the two bedrooms had a king-size bed that clearly hadn't been slept in in days. And the presumed guest bedroom was perfectly made up, with guest toiletries that had never been opened.

It was like Ivan had paid top dollar for the best of the best and then never used any of it.

Nix could already guess the office Ivan had shut himself into was the most frequented room in the house.

Nix did have slightly better luck with the en suite bathroom attached to the larger bedroom. There was a shiny tub that had clearly rarely—if ever—been frequented, but the shower was where Nix found the source of Ivan's scent. It wasn't cologne, after all, but soap. A bar of soap with some Russian-sounding name and a peppery finish .

Nix sniffed at it, getting lost in a little fantasy of his handsome Vanya naked and soaped up in the shower.

But alas, Ivan was too hard at work for such things.

Nix returned the soap and wandered back over to the closed door of Ivan's office, walking back and forth in front of it while he waited for his contract to get over his hissy fit.

The human hadn't eaten any food, either, though he'd promised to. Naughty man.

Actually, Nix was feeling a bit peckish himself. The soul piece in his chest technically sustained him, but it had been an awfully long time since he'd had a proper dose of lust. Ivan's little repressed tendrils hardly cut it, tasty as they were.

Nix needed some full-blown desire to sate his appetite.

Or maybe not needed but wanted.

Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

His pacing in front of Ivan's office door was interrupted by Ivan's voice ringing out, clear even through the heavy wood. "Stop that."

Nix stuck his tongue out at the door. "I'm not doing anything."

"I can see the shadow of your feet moving in front of my door."

"Oh, I'm sorry, are my ‘foot shadows' bothering you?" Nix asked, as bitchy as could be.

But Ivan, impervious to sarcasm as well as hunger, only answered, in all apparent seriousness, "Yes."

"Then can I come in?"

There was a pause, then a terse, "Fine."

Nix didn't wait for a retraction. He threw open the door and sauntered in, finding Ivan seated at an exact replica of his desk in the office, right down to the office chair he was seated in. The only difference was a lack of big old ledgers in front of him.

Nix cocked a hip against the desk. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

Ivan leaned back in his chair, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Getting things in order for Sascha and Kai's rush on the Carusos tonight. I want men in place in case the remnants of the family try to retaliate. But my men can't know why they're in place yet."

"Because of your pesky mole," Nix surmised.

"Precisely."

It sounded like Ivan had things under control, so Nix changed the subject to where he wanted it. He gave Ivan an alluring pout. "I'm feeling peckish, master."

Ivan didn't react to Nix's "master." Maybe he was becoming immune to the teasing. "There's surely something in the kitchen."

Nix shook his head. "One: There surely isn't . And two: I don't eat human food."

A glint of real curiosity shone through Ivan's fatigue, there and gone in a flash. "What do you survive on, then?"

Nix leaned in closer. "Think about it, Vanya, baby," he purred. "I'm an incubus."

"You survive off sex?" Ivan asked, sounding skeptical.

"Desire," Nix corrected.

"And you need that," Ivan said flatly. "To live."

Always so suspicious. He was acting like Nix was lying.

Which Nix sort of was.

"Okay, technically your soul piece keeps me alive ," Nix told him with an eye roll. "But it's not the same. And I get terribly grumpy if I'm not satisfied." He widened his eyes. "You wouldn't want to leave me unsatisfied, would you?"

Ivan tapped his fingers on the desk. "What are you proposing?"

"Where do you go to get your rocks off?"

Since Nix was waiting for it, he caught the images right away. Dark clubs. Dingy gambling basements. Bleached blonde hair and tight, short dresses. And an especially intriguing little flash of Ivan in his town car, his hand up someone's skirt while the driver kept his eyes straight ahead .

Nix cocked a brow, fighting a smile. "Really, Ivan? Bottle blonde divorcées? Isn't that a bit cliché?"

The images shut off in an instant. "It's easy," Ivan said simply.

It was incredibly hard not to smirk. "I'm sure it is," Nix murmured. He straightened from the desk. "Take me to one of your clubs, then."

"No."

The refusal didn't exactly surprise Nix, but the speed of it did. "Why not?"

"You're my demon, aren't you?" Ivan asked, his voice possessive even as his expression stayed flat, giving nothing away. "So you stay with me. At my side. You're not fucking anyone else during our contract, no matter how…peckish you may get."

"Jealous, Vanyechka?"

Ivan's eyes narrowed. "Don't be dense."

Dense, was he?

"Fine," Nix snapped, losing a bit of his own temper. "Then I'll use you ."

He darted around the desk and slid onto Ivan's lap, straddling his thighs.

"What are you doing?" Ivan's surprise didn't show outwardly, but Nix could hear his heart rate pick up. It had been the same when Nix had surprised Ivan awake the day before—the human's raised heartbeat the only sign of his surprise. That was some ironclad self-control Ivan had going on.

Nix wanted to shatter it.

He put on his most plaintive voice, gazing into Ivan's icy eyes. "I'm hungry, master."

The slightest shudder went through Ivan's body. There , Nix thought with satisfaction. Not so immune after all.

"I'm not fucking you," Ivan told him, though he made no move to push Nix off his lap.

"I told you. It's about desire. It doesn't have to be sex." Nix leaned in close, whispering into Ivan's ear, "Think about your blondes."

"I can't think about them when you're on top of me."

Oh, Ivan. Baby. Did he even know how that sounded?

Nix's lips curled into a catlike grin. "Then think of me. Or think of nothing. Just feel, hm? Close your eyes. Let your demon do the heavy lifting."

He half expected to be tossed off—and not in the fun way—but Ivan surprised him, closing his eyes. Nix closed his as well—reluctant as he was to take his eyes off Ivan's handsome face—leaning back and focusing in on those little tendrils of desire pulsing from Ivan's core. A few more than usual had appeared when Ivan had been remembering his past dalliances, but they'd multiplied considerably when Nix had climbed on top of him.

Nix fed them with his own energy.

"What are you doing?" Ivan asked, his voice rough and low.

"Shh." Nix shifted in place, enough to feel that Ivan was hardening underneath him. It would have been so delicious to grind down on that bulge. But even Nix knew that would be pressing his luck. He'd be good.

Sort of.

Nix leaned in close again, breathing in the desire he'd stoked. Now that he'd coaxed a little more out, strengthened what was there, it was all feeding on itself, arousal begetting more arousal.

And fuck, did arousal smell good on Ivan.

Nix hummed, running his nose along Ivan's neck, drinking it all in. Ivan's hands landed on his hips, locking him in place.

Nix grinned at the touch. "Tell me, master, how long has it been since you've fucked?"

Ivan's answer was husky. "Too long."

"Poor baby." Nix nosed along Ivan's chin. "I bet you're vicious in bed. "

Ivan's eyes shot open, narrowing. "I'm not a monster. I don't hurt my partners."

Nix hummed. "You could hurt me a little. I wouldn't mind."

Nix's human definitely needed a healthier outlet for all that pent-up aggression, and Nix wasn't opposed to being the recipient.

Ivan's hands tightened on his hips, and Nix purred, "Just like that. As hard as you like. I won't break."

Images flashed at Nix again, but they weren't of the blondes this time. There was Ivan, fucking Nix over that horrid white couch in the living room. Nix on his knees, sucking Ivan off under his desk. Nix in Ivan's bed, stretched out on his stomach, ass tilted upward.

Nix breathed in deep, practically intoxicated by the rush of desire. He nuzzled even closer, until his lips were on Ivan's neck, his hands buried deep in Ivan's hair.

Ivan groaned.

Nix rocked gently in his lap, testing, beyond thrilled when Ivan rocked back up against him. That was it. That was it .

He moaned, latching onto Ivan's neck and sucking hard. Nix wanted to get in there. Inside Ivan's mind, inside his skin. To bathe in all the complex deliciousness of his soul. Forget subsisting on a mere little piece—Nix would take the whole fucking thing.

Ivan was growing even harder underneath him, forming a bulge that promised all kinds of goodness. Would he let Nix take him in hand, stroke him to completion right at this very desk? Ivan could use the release, and Nix wouldn't even ask for an orgasm of his own. He'd be good. He'd be so very, very good.

A buzzing sound broke through his fog.

Nix froze. Ivan froze.

There it was again. Ivan's phone.

Nix's tasty mouthful jerked away, Ivan leaning back and away from his touch. But Nix wasn't pushed off just yet. Ivan held him there, on his lap, staring at him while his chest heaved with haggard breaths. His pale hair was mussed, and a dark bruise was already forming on his neck.

Nix wanted to kiss him. He couldn't, could he?

Fuck. Fuck . He'd been so close to a real meal.

Still, it was a lot further than he would have expected. He'd need to take his victories where he could get them.

Ivan's breaths steadied faster than Nix would have liked. "I need to take this," he said, his hands finally releasing Nix's hips.

"Of course," Nix agreed, his voice throaty and low.

He shifted off Ivan's lap slowly, and Ivan's gaze dropped immediately to Nix's bulge—impressive in its own right, and incredibly obvious in his tight leather pants.

Nix grinned widely, patting Ivan's shoulder before he sauntered toward the door. "Thanks for the snack, boss. It was very, very tasty."