Chapter 8

"This is brilliant," I say, sipping my coffee as Mila sits at her desk, clicking through the options of all the Bratva we've narrowed down. "Mila, I'm impressed."

She looks at me over her shoulder, giving me savage thoughts as she clicks through the guards, their profiles appearing. It's been a day since we set up our rig, and already Mila is doing slick work.

"Do you want me to show my workings?" she says with a sexy-as-hell hint of irony.

I smirk, nodding. "Yes, ma'am."

"I deployed custom-built web crawlers and scrapers to scour the deep web and less savory corners of the internet."

"Excellent," I tell her, unable to wipe the grin off my face.

"These men all have some connection with my family. This one, for example …" She clicks through to the next profile. "He went to the same school in the same county as several of my father's men. This came from a data leak from a sports insurance company that covered all of them for football."

"Let's see them again," I say, and she clicks through them.

I pause when she comes to Denis.

"I highly doubt it's him," I tell her. "He's been with our family for as long as I can remember. I've been in several meetings when he tried to talk my father down from some scheme. Look at this connection. The same cell phone provider?"

Mila frowns, then nods. "Yeah, you're right. My program made a mistake."

"Hey …" I say as I kneel beside her, placing my coffee on the desk and kissing her softly. "I'm not criticizing. You've helped so damn much."

"It's because I haven't spent the last several years working on video games."

"My hacking …"

"Don't say hussy," she says, laughing.

I chuckle, then turn when I hear somebody clear their throat. It's Ania, standing with her hands clasped, her cheeks red as she watches us.

"Hey, sis," I say, smiling widely, wondering how much she saw. Did she see the kiss?

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Great, thanks to Mila," I reply. "I'm going to shoot Dimitri a text."

Maybe this is a way to distract myself so I don't have to stand here as Ania picks me apart with her gaze in that searching way she has. It's a mean thought, but sometimes, my baby sister unnerves me with her penetrating stare. I'm done with that sort of thinking. After shooting off the text, Ania says, "Shall we get lunch? I can make us something?"

I smile again, then say, "Sure, Ania, that sounds great."

She tilts her head at me, almost like she's suspicious. I can practically read her thoughts. Why's he suddenly being so nice?

Ania makes some sandwiches—even when Yuri insists multiple times that he can do it—and then we eat on the back porch. Water glistens off the pool, reminding me of a few days ago, watching my big brother and Mila talk awkwardly out here.

Mila and Ania talk about ballet and programming. I'm happy to sit here and listen, watching as they bond. Mila is so animated, beautiful, and talented. There's always a hint of sadness in her, though, as though the impending wedding, the disaster, is on her mind constantly.

"Excuse me," I say when my cell phone rings.

"He's way more polite since you came along," Ania tells Mila, and they laugh.

I wander over to the pool and answer the phone. Dimitri sounds on edge. I'd almost think anxious if I didn't know him better. "Any news?"

"It'll be hunting time soon. I've narrowed it down to six." Right away, I feel guilty. I should've said we. I really should've said Mila, but I'm trying to hide how badly I want her. "A couple days of tailing and data gathering, and we'll have our marks. Then you don't need to marry Mila."

Dimitri pauses, then says, "I hope it doesn't come to that."

I must be messed up in the head because I want to shout and roar at him, saying that he should feel lucky for even having the chance to marry Mila. It's an insane thing to think, considering it's the last thing I want.

"What if we hit the deadline?" I ask. "Will you do it?"

"I know what you're going to say. I have to put the family and the business first. I get it."

He's talking to me like I'm the old Mikhail, the pre-Mila Mikhail. It's like she's changed something in me just by being herself. "No, actually," I grunt. "I was going to say … fuck Nikolai. Why should we let him dictate what the Sokolovs do?"

"That will mean a war," he says. "We need to catch this early. We need to learn who Nikolai has turned against us. A war won't be good for anyone, and why the sudden change of heart?"

I turn when Mila laughs at something Ania has said. They look like they fit together; they're the friend the other person has been waiting to meet. In a twisted, insane moment, I see Mila in a wedding dress and Ania in a bridesmaid dress, and they're not in the garden. They're at the wedding reception, and I'm so happy I could cheer like an idiot as the groom.

Dimitri wants a response. I almost tell him the truth. Because she belongs with me, and if you try to take her from me, it won't be war with the Petrovs you have to worry about.

Instead, I snap, "Is it so bad that I'm looking out for my big brother?"

"Is everything okay?" Ania asks when I return to the table.

"It's fine," I tell her. "Just …"

"Everything?" Ania asks quietly.

"Yeah, pretty much." I take a big bite from my sandwich. "Dee-lish-us."

"Ew, Mikhail!" Ania says, giggling. "You're gross."

"She's not wrong," Mila says, grinning at me.

Maybe this could be my life one day, bantering with my sister and Mila. No war. No marriage arrangements. No fear hanging over us every single second.

After the sandwiches, Ania tells us she's going to practice her ballet. We're outside, so I've got to be careful about how I behave toward Mila. I can't help but notice the nervousness in her gaze as she looks around. Her hands are busy with each other as she looks over the pool, to the estate, the desert beyond, and the horizon shimmering in the sun.

"Feeling trapped?" I ask.

"How could you tell?" she replies.

"I must be a mind reader," I say, then lean forward, knowing this could be a huge mistake. I want—need—to make Mila happy. "If we could get out of here for a while, would you want to?"

"I thought we had to stay here. If the guards see us leaving together …"

"Nobody will see anything," I say. "There's a way we can do it. We can't be out for long, and it's not like we can go anywhere public. It would mean getting away for a bit. It would mean forgetting for a little while …"

She doesn't have to ask what I mean when I say forgetting. She knows what I'm talking about. When one of the staff members walks past the pool, a bag of garden waste slung over his shoulder, Mila leans back as though she's conscious of not being seen too close to me. It hurts, but I get it. It's smart.

"Just getting out would be good. A break from the ones and zeroes."

"Okay, go pack a bag: water, comfortable walking sneakers. Maybe we can take a hike and enjoy this yellow, dusty landscape some, eh?"

I feel much more excited than I should be about taking a walk. I'll take her anywhere if it means being alone with her.

"How are we going to leave?" she asks.

"Let me worry about that."

"Okay."

When she stands up, my gaze flits to her hips, her legs, her ass. We haven't been intimate since after the funeral, but the temptation has been roaring at me, howling to claim her, grab her, kiss her, own her. Own her, and she called me progressive. Ha, ha, ha.

I go to the computer room and write a note. Important work. Please do not disturb. Call my cell phone if you need me. Mikhail. Putting the note on the outside of the door, I head to my room to get changed. If anybody asks what I'm doing, I'll tell them I'm heading to the gym.

Knocking on Mila's door, she calls, "Yeah?"

"It's me."

"Uh …" A pause, and then she says, "Come in."

I push the door open and then quickly shut it behind me. She's standing with her back to me, looking down at the bed—at the clothes she's about to put on. Right now, she stands there in her underwear, her ass on full display, her thick thighs waiting for me to grab them, kiss them, own them.

"Come in?" I say, stalking across the room to her, my manhood flooding with tension, my pre-come-wet tip grinding against my underwear. "Did you want me to see you like this?"

"This is all new to me," she murmurs, still not turning around.

Walking up behind her, I press forward with my hips so she can feel my manhood against her ass. The fabric of my shorts is thin, and with Mila not wearing any pants, my dick gets even harder as I grind against her. With one hand, I smooth around her body, slipping my hand into her bra and groaning when I feel her nipple responding to me. With my other hand, I slide down her belly, down toward her sex.

She touches my wrist as if she's going to stop me again, but when I keep pushing, she whimpers and lets her hand fall away. Then she pushes her ass back, and my dick feels like it could explode.

"Fuck, you're wet," I say, my body trembling, my heart pounding hard. I stroke my fingers over her folds, down toward her hole.

"Mik," she whispers. "I'm …"

When she trails off, I gently massage her clit, loving the way her body responds as though she's experiencing the most intense pleasure of her life. It's the way she twitches against me, falling forward, pushing her ass out even more as she grabs big handfuls of the sheets.

"What?" I growl, rubbing her clit a little faster, my balls so damn full.

"Debug me," she says, and I almost laugh, but she sounds deadly serious. "You can tell I'm nervous about … about …"

She moans when I slip my hand even closer to her core, feeling her heat like she wants to melt right now, bend over, and take my dick. The shape of her round, plump ass against my rod is almost enough to make me bend her over even more and slide my rock-hard dick deep into her slit.

"Debug you?" I say.

"Yeah, troubleshoot. Why doesn't she want to go all the way? Do you really not know what I'm getting at?"

Her voice hitches when I circle her soaking hole with my finger.

"Do you want me to guess?" I ask.

"It's better than saying it myself."

"You don't have to be ashamed of anything, Mila. Never. Not with me."

She's still half bent over, at a forty-five-degree angle, as if her instincts are trying to get her to climb onto all fours and show me her perfect ass.

"You've done nothing like this before," I say.

"No," she murmurs, a moan nestled in there as I continue to circle and tease her clit.

"You've lived the life of a Bratva princess, meaning no men and no dating."

"Yuh-yes," she whispers.

I push my finger into her, my lust almost erupting when I feel the way her core grips me, the tightness, the heat.

"Mila, are you a virgin?"

She looks at me over her shoulder, her curly hair messy from where she's tied it up in a ponytail and now let it loose. "Yeah," she whispers, as though she's ashamed. "So just, you know … You need to ruh-remember that, o-okay?"

The way she interrupts herself with moans is enough to turn me feral.

"Your young, perfect, virgin hole wants this," I groan, slipping even deeper into her. "Fuck, a virgin. A virgin." My voice is trembling. I want to roar. "You know what that means, Mila? Nobody else ever gets to taste you."

"Taste me?" she whimpers, then gasps when I remove my finger and grab her underwear.

I pull it down, falling to my knees, feeling like I'm worshipping at an altar when the scent of her tangy, soaked slit takes hold of me. Sunlight glows through the closed curtains, making her pussy glisten in the sexiest way.

"I didn't stutter," I growl, then grab her thick ass and stare in awe and extreme heat at her pussy, her full lips, her sensitive-looking clit, just her. "Oh, fuck, your virgin pussy smells so good."

Sinking my hands deeper into the thickness of her ass, I push my face against her pussy. Her moan of near release is enough to send me into a frenzy. Maybe I should take my time and slowly build up to the whole feast, but I can't. The second I feel her juices washing over my tongue, I almost bring out my dick and slide it into her, knowing, after a few strokes, she'd start bouncing against me, her ass shaking.

Fuck, fuck. Her hips are twitching, meaning she's grinding her horny young pussy against my face. I greedily claim big handfuls of her ass as I keep licking. When I slide my finger into her, it slips in easier this time, as if all the licking has gotten her ready for me. I finger fuck her tight, warm hole, loving the sound her body makes, the wetness talking to me.

"You taste so fucking good," I growl. "Oh fuck."

I suck on her clit, pushing my tongue against it. Every time she moans or shifts against me, it drives me on with more lust, more heat. I fuck her faster with my finger when she bites down on something, the sheets or a pillow, to stop people from hearing. Her muffled moans of desire are enough to turn me into a beast.

I devour her pussy now. I don't think about her folds or her clit or her sopping wet hole. I think about all of her. I kiss and lick and suck, losing myself, pushing my face into her heat, her scent, her everything.

When the orgasm grips her perfect curviness, I feel it before I hear it—the tension in her body. The way she tightens around my finger, the way her warmth pulses. Her hips buck wildly as she grinds against me, the pleasure bursting out of her.

I stand up when I feel her climax slowly abate, staring down at her thick ass and the wetness of her thighs. I can't help it. I grab my shorts and pull them down. When my cock springs free, Mila gasps, turning around and sitting on the bed. She stares up at me, giving me the best view of her cleavage.

"Mikhail," she whispers. "We can't …"

"You don't have to be nervous," I growl, my dick so hot. "I'll try to take it slow with you."

I didn't even mean to put the try in there, but it just came out. It's the most honest thing I could've said.

"It's not that," she murmurs. "What if we do this, and then I have to marry?—"

I cut her off by gently pushing her onto the bed and then climbing on top of her. When I bring my lips to hers, she turns her face away, laughing softly. "Sorry," she murmurs.

I take a moment to realize why she did it. I smirk as I reach down and grip my shaft, trailing my dick up her inner thigh, getting closer and closer to her slit. "You don't want to taste yourself?"

"Uh, duh," she says.

I smirk, then lean up, letting me get a better look at her. Her body twitches when I bring my tip to her entrance, pushing just a bit, feeling her widen for me.

"Will it … you know?"

"Say it," I groan, my head swimming.

"Will it fit?"

"Say all of it," I tell her.

"Will your …" She pauses, her cheeks flushing, but then she pushes on. "… dick fit in my pussy?"

"Oh, fuck …" I keep pushing, knowing she's going to take every inch of my dick, knowing I'm going to fuck her hard and she's going to cream down my dick and?—

Suddenly, the door bursts open. "Mila, where's Mikhail? Something has … Oh God!"

It's Ania's voice, I realize. She suddenly leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. Mila rolls away from me, and I leap back. The moment is shattered. I still want her, even as Mila begins frantically to get dressed. We've been caught, but I want to hammer her hard even now.

"You better go and speak to her," Mila says urgently. "What if she tells someone? What if my dad finds out? What if he hurts my brother? Please, Mikhail."

It takes a lot of effort to pull up my pants and tuck my manhood away. I take a moment at the door, breathing slowly, waiting for my dick to calm the hell down.

I find Ania waiting at the end of the hallway, her eyes vast pits.

"Ania—"

"I don't care about that," she says. "You and Mila are grown adults."

"Keep your voice down, Ania, please."

She winces, then nods. "Okay, fine. Whatever."

"What happened?" I ask. "Why were you looking for me?"

She swallows. "Dimitri and his girlfriend were attacked. They're on their way here now."

"His … girlfriend?" I say.

Ania shrugs. "I'm guessing that's who she is. I don't know why else Dimitri would be alone with a woman."

The idea of Dimitri having a girlfriend seems alien to me, but then again, the idea of me finding a woman would've seemed the same not long ago.

"But he's okay?"

"It's Dimitri," Ania says. "Of course, he's okay."