9. RADOMIR

Chapter 9

RADOMIR

I pour the clear liquid into two crystal glasses, the sharp scent of premium vodka filling the air between us. Leigh shifts in her seat, her emerald eyes darting to the door, then back to me. She’s trying to mask her nerves, but the slight tremble of her fingers as she adjusts her hair betrays her.

A knock at the door makes her flinch. I suppress a smile as Dolph enters, his towering frame filling the doorway. He hands me a pristine deck of cards, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Thank you, Dolph. That will be all for now.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Leigh and me alone again. I place the cards in her hands, feeling the faint tremor in her delicate fingers as they brush against my calloused skin.

As she shuffles the deck, I lean back in my chair, savoring the tension that hangs between us. My body responds instinctively, desire heating my blood because soon enough she will belong wholly unto me.

The cards glide across the table, Leigh’s nimble fingers dealing with a speed that almost matches the pounding of my heart. I study her intently—the way her teeth worry at her lower lip, the determined set of her jaw. She’s all fire and spirit with a touch of innocence at her core.

Leigh’s about to pick up her cards, but I stop her.

“First, the rules.” Her eyes widen slightly. “The winner of the hand gets to choose the items of clothing the loser takes off.”

“Okay,” Leigh’s voice comes out a little gruff, and she clears her throat.

“No cheating!” I raise my eyebrows.

“That goes for you too,” Leigh snaps back. I smile, nodding.

“If you win, Dolph will take you home.” I see the pulse at the base of her neck quicken as I lay down the last rule. “If I win, you’re mine, and I get to decide what we do for the rest of the night.”

Leigh nods and picks up her cards. I check my own hand, keeping my expression neutral. “Ladies first, milaya moya.”

Leigh lays down her cards, a full house staring up at me. Triumph flashes in her eyes—the irony is not lost on me. It’s the exact hand I won her with earlier this evening. “Unless you can somehow beat that,” she says, a hint of smugness in her tone. “I win this round.”

A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face. “So you have. And what would you like me to remove?”

Her eyes flicker to my chest, then snaps back to meet my eyes. A rosy hue blooms across her cheeks, a delicate contrast to the dim light enveloping us. She battles her evident shyness, her tough exterior wavering for a moment—and I smile.

“Your shirt,” she breathes, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the room’s ambiance. The words hang between us, charged with unspoken tension.

Rising slowly from my seat, I maintain eye contact as my fingers work the buttons of my shirt. The whisper of fabric against skin fills the silence as I shrug it off, revealing my bare chest. Shadows play across my torso, accentuating every contour, and my tattoos.

Leigh’s gaze remains fixed, but I catch the darkening of her pupils and the tremor in her hands as she reaches for her crystal glass. Her vulnerability, barely concealed beneath her determination, stokes the fire building within me. In this high-stakes game we’ve embarked upon, the real prize lies in the unspoken connection forming between us—fragile, electric, and utterly intoxicating.

"Do you like what you see, ptichka?"

She glances away, breaking our intense connection, and I settle back into my seat with a ghost of a smile. Leigh’s throat constricts as she swallows; her voice emerges softer than before.

“You have quite the physique. I like your tattoos.” Her eyes lower as she nudges the deck toward me. “Your move.”

Now it’s my turn. I collect the cards with deft fingers, feeling their familiar weight. Each shuffle echoes in the room like a pulse. I lay out my hand—straight flush—and watch Leigh’s expression shift from confidence to unease.

“Now it’s time for you to remove something,” I say, my voice tinged with promise. “Your sweater and T-shirt.”

Her brow furrows momentarily. “But... that’s two items,” she protests, her voice wavering just so.

I lean forward slightly, letting my words sink in. “The rule was set—you agreed that the victor chooses which items are lost.“ My gaze holds firm.

Leigh rises with measured grace despite her reluctance; her movements are deliberate, as if weighing each action. She eases off the sweater first, the fabric sliding down her arms until it falls at her feet. Then comes her T-shirt—drawn over her head, exposing skin kissed by soft light, revealing toned elegance framed by lace-edged pink lingerie.

The sight stirs heat within me. Every curve invites exploration. “Stunning,” breathes softly past my lips—my eyes trace every contour hungrily.

Despite visible goosebumps dotting Leigh’s skin under my scrutiny, she stands tall, an image of pride and vulnerability—a paradox fascinating in its complexity.

Leigh’s gaze flickers back to the table as she bridges the distance between us once more. Reluctance tempered by curiosity dares her to glance at my chest again, her eyes lingering where shadows dance teasingly over taut muscles and intricate ink.

She resumes her seat opposite me, shuffling the cards with nimble fingers. The hypnotic motion draws my attention back to the challenge at hand. Victory remains uncertain, but the outcome promises intrigue no matter how the next hand is dealt.

I watch her, admiring the way the soft light plays across her skin and the determined set of her jaw. She lays down her cards, a triumphant smile curving her lips. “Three of a kind. I believe it’s your turn to lose something.”

I incline my head, acknowledging her win. “Of course.”

Rising to my feet, I stand before her, enjoying how her gaze rakes my body and the soft intake of breath she can’t quite suppress. “What will it be?”

“Your pants,” Leigh breathes, her voice barely above a whisper as she averts her eyes.

I toe off my shoes, then reach for the button of my pants. Leigh’s eyes are back on me, widening as she watches me. I take my time, deliberately sliding the zipper down. The fabric falls to the floor, and I step out of it unhurriedly.

Standing before her in nothing but my boxer briefs, my arousal strains visibly against the fabric. Leigh’s gaze darts away, but not before I catch the flicker of interest in her eyes, the way her teeth catch her lower lip.

“Don’t be shy, milaya moya,” I murmur, my voice a rough caress. “I like your eyes on me. Look at what you do to me, beautiful Leigh.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine, the storm in her eyes a mix of defiance and intrigue. Her shoulders tense briefly, betraying her effort to maintain control. “Do you want to touch me, Leigh?” I coax, leaning in slightly.

A visible tremor runs through her shoulders, her eyes darting away as she pushes the deck of cards toward me. “I... it’s your turn,” she stammers, keeping her focus fixed on the table.

The next hand is mine, a full house. I savor the moment, watching Leigh’s expression shift from hope to disappointment.

“Your jeans, Leigh.” My command is soft but unyielding.

She stands, determination pushing through her nervousness. She kicks off her sneakers and then reaches for the button of her jeans. The denim slides down her long, toned legs, revealing the matching pink lace of her panties.

I take in the sight of her, my heart thundering against my ribs. Leigh stands before me, her chin raised proudly—an alluring vision that has me almost panting with lust making my cock harden and throb. My fingers twitch, aching to explore every inch of her creamy skin—untouched by any other man’s hand.

I down another shot, relishing the burn as Leigh lifts her chin a little higher, refusing to cower under my heated gaze. But I see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat and the way her nipples strain against delicate lace.

The final hand is dealt. Cards slide across polished wood as I watch Leigh’s face, drinking in every micro-expression. Her brow furrows slightly—disappointment. My own hand is strong, victory assured.

I lay down my cards, capturing her gaze as she reveals her own. Understanding dawns in her eyes.

“How about another two hands?” Leigh’s voice wavers, a hint of desperation creeping in.

I chuckle. “No, ptichka. We agreed—five games. Winner takes all.”

Leigh presses her lips together, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face as I clear away the cards.

Her lips part as if she’s about to argue while conflict wars in her eyes—stubborn pride battling undeniable attraction.

Leaning over the table, I trace her jawline, gentle yet possessive. “Say it, Leigh. Say you’re mine.”

Her eyes flutter closed, a shuddering sigh escaping her throat.

“Look at me,” I command, my tone low and firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

Emerald eyes lock onto mine. “I’m yours,” Leigh breathes, but defiance flashes beneath the surrender.

Lust surges through me, hot and heady. It’s time my little spitfire learns about consequences.

“Stand up, Leigh.” My voice drops, laced with seductive steel. I see rebellion brewing in her. “Do not try to run or disobey. I’ve humored you enough tonight, allowing liberties others would’ve died for.” Fear flickers in her gaze. “Now stand, little spitfire. I want to see you.”

Cheeks aflame, Leigh rises. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifting as she stands proud in pink lace, unaware of how her innocence and beauty are slowly unraveling me.

“Take off your underwear.” I lift my glass, maintaining a cool facade as I watch her—shock and uncertainty war across her features. My fierce minx is full of contradictions—fire and modesty.

Her eyes widen. “You… you can’t be serious.”

“Don’t make me ask twice.” My voice leaves no room for argument. “I want to see all of you.”

Her chest rises and falls, her breath quick and uneven. She’s frozen between hesitation and the magnetic pull of the moment. Her eyes meet mine, flickering with a storm of emotions—fear, defiance, and that unyielding spark that has gripped me from the start.

“I’m waiting, ptichka,” I say, letting impatience seep into my tone. “If you’d prefer to move this to the basement for your punishment...”

Her fists clench briefly at her sides, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to lash out at me the way she did in my VIP room. But then her gaze drops to the floor.

A shuddering breath escapes her lips, and trembling fingers reach behind her back. Her bra loosens, and with some reluctance, she lets it fall to the floor.

My eyes devour her small, pert breasts. Soft pink areolas crowned by rosy nipples tighten under my gaze, betraying the desire she’s trying so hard to hide.

“You’re beautiful, Leigh.” My voice drops, rough with raw hunger.

She flinches slightly at the compliment but doesn’t back away. Instead, her hands move to the waistband of her panties. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, she hooks her thumbs under the lace. The fabric slides down her legs, pooling at her feet.

Leigh stands before me, entirely bare. Vulnerable and proud. A goddess carved in fire and innocence, and utterly, breathtakingly mine. She’s more incredible than I could’ve imagined.

I rise from my chair, the distance between us shrinking with each step. Leigh looks up at me, her eyes wide, lips parted as if to protest, but no words come.

“You have no idea how perfect you are, ptichka,” I whisper, my hand cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing the soft curve of her jaw.

She shivers at my touch, her lashes lowering. My free hand traces the line of her collarbone, then lower, caressing the delicate curve of her breast. She gasps, her body responding even as her mind struggles to keep control.

I move my hands and cup the soft mounds, my thumb teasing her hard nipples. A little moan echoes in her throat, and my cock responds with a jolt as my lips tease hers.

“Radomir,” she whispers, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “I… I…” She swallows, her eyes glazed with desire. “I haven’t…”

“I know, baby.” I lower my head until our foreheads touch. “‘ll take care of you. Trust me.” My lips skim her ear as I speak, my breath hot against her skin. “Can you do that, ptichka?”

I kiss her—slowly, deeply, pouring every ounce of restraint into that connection as my desire is now almost painful. Her lips are soft and yielding. As she responds to me, I feel her walls begin to crumble. She nods, a single, hesitant movement, her body relaxing under my hands.

“Touch me, Leigh. I want to feel your hands on me.” My hands start to knead her breast, and my thumbs tease her nipples.

“Oh… uuh.” Leigh breathes.

Her eyes drop to watch me play with her breasts. They move to my chest. Her hands reach for me, tentative at first, then more assured as her fingers trace the lines of my shoulders and the muscles of my chest. I groan, the sound low and guttural, as her touch stokes the fire already raging inside me. My lips capture hers once again.

My hands leave her breasts, and without breaking the kiss, I lift her into my arms. She gasps, feeling my rock-hard erection press against her as it tries to escape the confines of my boxer briefs, reaching for her honey pot. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist. I carry her to the bed, laying her down, her auburn hair spilling across my pillow like a fiery halo.

I pause, drinking in the sight of her beneath me. Her chest heaves, emerald eyes locked on mine, torn between fear and trust. I stand up, holding her gaze, while I pull off my boxer brief and set my aching cock free.

“Oh…” Leigh gasps and reaches out toward my long, sensitive shaft. The moment her hands touch me, it takes everything I’ve got not to explode like a sixteen-year-old schoolboy having sex for the first time.

“Wait, little one,” I grab her hand and lie down beside her.