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1589 Words
He’d dwarf the little couch in my living room. My entire apartment would feel like a dollhouse with him inside. I’d seem so fragile in his hands.
“I push him down and climb on top of him, straddling him. I run my hands up and down his body. He might as well be carved out of marble.”
“I bet he’s ripped,” Hope interjects.
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” I confirm without opening my eyes. “The man’s got muscles that would put Hercules to shame. Once I’m done exploring, my hand drifts lower and grabs his cock.”
“It’s big?”
“Huge. I’m worried he won’t fit, but he grabs me by the hips and drags me down onto him. I take him whole.”
My body is warm and my breathing is labored. I should stop, but we’re so close to the finale.
“I ride him hard, and he encourages me, whispering everything we still have yet to try in my ear.”
“And do you cross the finish line?” Hope presses.
“Twice. No, three times, before he explodes inside me. We’re just getting started, though,” I decide, eyes fluttering open. “I’m not done with him yet.”
Hope is smiling down at her phone, typing up a storm. “I bet not.”
Something pings in my head. A vague realization that something is amiss. “What are you doing?”
“Just sending off a little message,” she says, all breezy and nonchalant.
That’s when my gaze drops to Samuil’s business card perched on her right thigh.
Oh.
My.
God.
“Hope…” My voice is strangled. “What did you just do?”
There’s a familiar little whoosh, the telltale sound of a message being sent, and then Hope flips her phone around so I can see the screen…
Including the audio file she just sent.
She gives me a guilt-free shrug. “When Samuil makes your fantasy a reality, you can thank me later. I accept cash or check.”
Chapter 3
SAMUIL
“I’ve got some bad news.”
When Myles utters those four little words, my first instinct is to imagine smashing his face with a hockey puck. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to shut him up. It’s becoming a familiar fantasy these days, because all my head of security seems to bring me lately is an endless parade of fuckery.
Myles has been more of a brother to me than my actual brother since our Dartmouth hockey days. But right now, all I see is another messenger I want to shoot.
He must sense my murderous thoughts, because he smooths a hand over his crew cut like he’s protecting his skull. “It’s about Lev Danovic.”
“Let me take a wild f*****g guess.” I lean back in my chair, leather creaking beneath my weight, preparing to play a fun little game I call What The f**k Else Can Go Wrong? “Since Danovic is the Litvinov Group’s biggest client, and you look like someone pissed in your protein shake, I’m betting those Andropov snakes are trying to steal my golden goose.”
“Ding ding ding.” Myles’s grimace tells me everything I need to know. “You win.”
Like f**k I do.
Lev Danovic isn’t just any client. He’s a Moscow oil titan with his fingers in every major pie from Russia to the States. The man single-handedly helped make me Chicago’s youngest billionaire. Losing him would be like losing a limb. A very profitable limb.
“According to my sources,” Myles continues, “he’s already taken two meetings with an Andropov rep. And...” He winces like the next words physically pain him. “... he’s accepted a third.”
Suddenly, the air in my top-floor office feels thin. If it were any other company trying to poach Danovic, I’d almost welcome the challenge.
But the Andropov Group isn’t just any rival.
They’re enemy number one.
These fuckers have been gunning for my destruction since before I had anything worth destroying. They fight dirty, they fight mean, and they never stop coming.
Fine by me. I wrote the book on fighting dirty.
But these motherfuckers are deluding themselves if they think they’ll take so much as a single scrap off my table.
“So he’s actually considering jumping ship.”
“We can’t be sure—”
“Cut the bullshit, Myles,” I snap, ice coating every syllable. “Nobody takes three meetings unless they’re shopping for a new sugar daddy. Who’s their rep?”
Myles drums his fingers against his bouncing knee, a surefire sign that he has more unpleasant news to impart.
“I guess I should’ve led with this part, because it’s the actual bad news. The Lev thing was more of a setup to the punchline.”
“Myles… get to the f*****g point.”
He sighs, reaching into his jacket. “Looks like they’ve got new talent on the payroll.” He slides a glossy photo across my desk.
I stare down at the grainy image.
And my blood curdles.
“Katerina.” Even her name on my tongue makes me sick to my f*****g stomach. “Of course. It figures the b***h would continue finding new ways to ruin my life even after the divorce. She couldn’t destroy me from within, so she’s taking the scenic route to stick the knife in my back.”
“About that...” Myles pulls more photos from his jacket, spreading them across my desk.
I pick up the photo closest to me, another fuzzy image of my ex-wife, but this time, she’s sprawled across the ugly, wrought iron table of her rooftop garden…
With her legs wrapped around my brother’s head.
“Charming.” I toss the image back to the desktop with a wrinkled sneer. “But I don’t know why you think I care. Their sordid little soap opera lost its shock value a long time ago. As far as I’m concerned, they deserve each other. I say we leave them to it.”
“Or,” Myles suggests, “we hang them by their own rope. This s**t is ammo, Sam. We can use it.”
I arch a brow. “Oh?”
He leans forward, his face flush with excitement. “We now have all the proof we need to bring to your father, Sam. Once we show him these pictures, he won’t be able to deny that not only is Katerina working for the enemy, but so is Ilya!”
I bark out a laugh that holds zero humor. “You don’t know Leonid Litvinov like I do. The only thing bigger than his ego is his blind spot when it comes to his precious youngest son.”
Myles gestures wildly at the pictures. “All you have to do is look—”
“All these prove is that my brother’s f*****g my ex-wife,” I cut him off. “Now that I’ve stripped Katerina of her shares in the Litvinov Group, she’s free to ride whatever carousel she wants—whether that’s the Andropov circus or my brother’s ugly face.”
“Yes, but—”
“Ilya is my father’s pride and joy,” I remind Myles. “His golden boy. His second chance at fatherhood without all the messy baggage of a junkie first wife. He’s not going to suddenly see the truth just because I bring him pretty pictures. In fact, coming from me, it will only make him dig his heels in deeper.”
Myles’s jaw clenches, his knuckles digging into his thighs. “Ilya can’t f*****g get away with this.”
“I don’t plan on letting Ilya get away with anything.” I sweep the photos into a neat stack and hand them back to Myles. “Add these to the growing collection of evidence against my dear baby brother. The time to strike is coming, but it’s not now.”
“And what about Danovic?”
I shrug, the gesture calculated and cold. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to win the game. I’m playing the long game here, Myles.”
Myles unfurls his fists with a weary exhale. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Rising from my chair, I plant my hands on the desk and lean forward. “I won’t be blindsided by those two again. When I take Ilya down, it’s going to be permanent.”
An hour later, sweat drips down my face as I tear across the ice. My breathing comes in heavy bursts, but it’s not enough. A workout isn’t worth s**t unless I’m teetering on the edge of cardiac arrest.
I cut across the ice for the closest puck, imagining it’s Ilya’s head as I wind up and rip a sizzling shot into the net. Every opposing player that dares to stand in my way is my father’s sour disapproval. I scorch the rink under my skates, picturing that it’s Katerina lying below me, being torn to shreds.
It was Myles’s idea to come to the rink, but I’m not even sure where he is until I hear someone applauding from the stands.
Myles is sitting behind the penalty box, free of gear and hair damp from a shower. I float across the rink towards him.
“When did you hit the showers?”
- Writer
