My Sweet Indulgence

Chapter 4: There's No Room for Feelings

Her whole body is so tense she doesn't even realize she's pressing her legs against mine.

She feels rigid, quite defensive, and I even find it endearing that she thinks she can take me on.

I can't stop staring into her green eyes. They're so full of hatred that I can't help but wonder if one day they'll stop looking at me that way. And it's not that it affects me or matters to me right now, but I find it too offensive that she blames me, that she points at me like that, that she lumps me in with them, when all I've done since having her by my side is taking care of her, protect her, and ensure she lacks nothing.

Not even a damn pistachio ice cream cone.

Because since that night, I had killed the woman for insulting her, just because she dared to burst into my office asking for that damn ice cream, I had a refrigerator brought to this mansion, stocked with boxes and boxes of the damn ice cream, just so my sweet fiancée could indulge her cravings whenever she wanted without me having to kill the women I seek to calm a need within me.

The same need she's been fueling ever since she started sleeping in my bed, without even realizing it. The same damn need that's awake right now, with an immense hunger, because her naked body beneath mine has me hard and wanting to...

"Don't you dare take your eyes off mine, Vlad Romanov." She hisses through clenched teeth, with flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, pulling me out of my darkest thoughts. "Now, you're going to get up and do it without looking away. You'll turn around and get out of my room."

"Our room," I corrected her without taking my eyes off her green ones. "I asked you a question. Is it so hard for you to answer me, Rebecca?"

"You didn't answer me a moment ago. You were just surprised to see that your fiancée was capable of bringing a knife to your face without the slightest effort. And, of course, without bad intentions." She gives me an innocent smile. "We're even, don't you think?"

"You're playing with fire, Becky..."

"To you, I'm Rebecca," she spits.

"To me, you're whatever I want you to be," I stated firmly, squeezing her wrists tighter, pressing myself more against her body with my teeth clenched so that what she makes me feel, at least, doesn't show on my face. It's enough that I'm hard between my legs. "You're Rebecca Reed. You're my sweet fiancée. You're mine. You'll be my wife, my Koroleva. My woman," I say firmly near her lips. "And as soon as you are by all the laws, you'll be all that and whatever else my little head imagines."

"You and your filthy imagination can go to hell..."

"Mind your tone, Rebecca..." My warning silences her. "I might indulge you in some things, accept others. But just as I give and indulge you, believe me, I can take away and turn your existence into hell."

"You took everything I had." She hisses with hatred, with that damn hatred she feels for me. "You have turned my life into hell since I learned of your damn existence, since I understood that no matter what happened, what I did... you were going to appear in my life to take me without caring a damn if I loved you or not."

"I appeared to help you," I retort with blood boiling in my veins.

"You showed up to be my burden. You appeared to control me. You appeared to lie to me. You appeared to lock me in this mansion." She moves a little closer, almost touching our noses, our lips. "You, Vlad Romanov, appeared in my life to take away what I love most, and I will never forgive you for that."

"Don't even think about blaming me for something I didn't start."

"But you ended it." Her face flushes red, and her eyes fill with tears. "You put an end to something that didn't need to end that way. You didn't consult me, you didn't…"

"Because I don't owe you any explanations! I don't have to consult you about my actions, Rebecca! I don't have to expose what I do within my organization to you! I don't have to ask for your permission or know your opinion!" I shouted, losing my patience.

I release her wrists and move away from her naked body, from the bed, from her presence. I rake my hands through my hair, cursing under my breath for losing my temper with her. It bothers me because I don't want her to see that side of me, but damn it! She makes it difficult, my sweet fiancée.

I rest my hands on my hips and close my eyes with my head bowed.

"I am the boss…" I say in a calmer voice, but still completely pissed off about all this. "And I must act as such."

"Like a heartless, cruel man?" Her question, uttered with pain, brings a rather cynical smile to my face. "Like a ruthless, insensitive, and bloodthirsty man?"

If only she knew.

I turn around with my hands still on my hips, not erasing the smile from my lips. This is ridiculous. That she blames me for something that, in the end, I did for her, for her brother, for the pact that binds us, bothers me. It bothers me and drives me crazy like she can't imagine.

She blames me for something I didn't do. And she hates me for not pleasing her this time.

I look into her eyes, those green eyes that somehow reflect my own. I don't avert my gaze, but that doesn't mean I don't notice she's naked. The damn woman sat there without bothering to cover herself. She's sitting there with her huge breasts fully exposed without any shame. And it's not that it bothers me, but it's definitely something that incites me to do things I don't want to.

Is she refusing to disguise herself as an act of rebellion? To appear unfazed in front of me? Or just to test me?

If it's the latter, I won't give her the satisfaction no matter how much the lust inside me screams to let my gaze slide and scrutinize her naked body without any scruples.

I can do it. I can do that and more, but with my lovely fiancée, I have to learn to play my cards right. Rebecca is not as foolish as she wants to appear, I know. I see it in her eyes filled with a darkness she keeps hidden. And whatever feeds and triggers that lethality in her, I know very well that my mere presence is one of those triggers.

She hates me, doesn't bother to hide it, but to hell with it. It's better to make things clear. I've been too lenient with her lately. Two dead women in less than a month is a record for someone who pays for pleasure.

"When you're in the place where I am and not in the perfect bubble you insist on staying in, you'll understand there's no room for stupid feelings, much less for showing weakness." I take a step forward, and I swear I love that she doesn't back down, that she doesn't cover herself, and that she keeps her chin up, challenging me, defying me.

"And if I have to be a cruel, ruthless man to protect what belongs to me, I will. I'll get my hands dirty, endure your unnecessary hatred. And above all, Rebecca Reed, I'll kill anyone who dares to lay a finger on what's mine."

"They're still alive." Her hatred grows with every word she utters.

"They're still out there, happy, alive. But, instead…"

"And who said I was talking about the bastards who attacked them?" I raised an eyebrow.

And I don't give her time to respond. I stop looking at her and head to the bathroom to take a long cold shower and somehow, under the artificial rain, calm the fire I feel in my veins.

If there's one thing Rebecca Reed has, something she's always had since I first saw her from afar, it's that she knows how to leave me breathless with her damn beauty. And she also tests my patience with her damn viper tongue. This situation makes me reconsider who she really is, because there are moments when she acts sweet, innocent, naive... and there are others like these where she shows a fierceness that arouses me.

Does she want to drive me crazy? Although, crazy, she already has me.

I don't know what the hell was awakened in me that day, that a primal possessiveness surfaced in such an overwhelming way that even I didn't know and that I find hard to control. For years, I've watched her from afar, I've taken care of her and made sure no one dared to have her beyond a few meaningless kisses. And with every kiss I witnessed, the more it drove me crazy.

Sometimes I wonder if I have psychological problems like Dimitri or if it's simply my own selfishness that doesn't allow me to let her go. Either way, she is mine, my property, and no one else will have her.

Later I'll deal with her hatred towards me, with her spoiled attitude and with the fact that she considers me guilty of something I'm not responsible for.

I know what I did hurt her, that she felt betrayed for not having consulted her, but as I told her: I am the boss and I don't have to ask her absolutely anything.

I turn on the tap and get under the water with my eyes closed. I know a couple of minutes here will help me pull myself together and return to being that unflappable Vlad that I am.

I leave our room dressed and ready to settle a score that I haven't yet addressed because of all this funeral business.

Not to mention the attack we faced when leaving the cemetery.

My sweet wife wasn't in the room when I came out of the bathroom, but in her absence, she left the scent of her damned perfume that drives me crazy, permeating the entire environment.

Entering our closet and having to dress with the torment of her perfume was a damn headache. The more I smelled it, the dirtier my thoughts became, the more my imagination soared, and the harder I got.

It's still hard, and I refuse to calm the desire in her honor.

And something else I've been refusing to do is to ask her to finally organize her clothes, because the lady insists on keeping the suitcases in a corner. At this point, I swear by the memory of my sacred mother, Nadia, that I will open each suitcase myself and arrange each garment where it belongs with my own hands.

I go down the stairs, checking the time on my watch. I silently curse to myself because there are still many hours until nightfall.

Before her, I was the kind of man who wasn't concerned with time, only with working and solving, engrossed in running an organization and the businesses. I used to hide what I was. Along with the s**t that happened that night, when we were supposed to meet to get married once and for all. But since Rebecca Reed arrived at my mansion, since she was sleeping in my bed, I silently counted the hours just to know when I should return.

Just to see her sleep.

Just to inhale the scent that emanates from her skin.

Just to get into our bed and enjoy her body a few centimeters from mine.

Just to be a damn-obsessed man who can't stop silently admiring the trophy he was given as a child.

Dimitri calls me insane for looking and not touching. I consider it an intelligent act on my part because trophies are not to be touched, not to be sullied. They are to be kept inside a very secure glass case, beautiful, protected, and clean to be displayed.

Besides, I know very well that if I touch it, it will lose its value. And I consider my sweet fiancée too beautiful to be devalued by my blood-stained hands.

She looks very pretty on the pedestal she's on.

When I'm about to reach the living room, the sound of her voice catches my attention. And along with hers, a rather grating voice that irritates me.

Why is my right-hand man's exclusive girl still here?

They both stop laughing as soon as they notice I'm there.

Gabrielita keeps her sensuality despite having stopped laughing, with a slight smile still on her lips. She bats her eyelashes and even adjusts her hair with elegance.

Honestly, I don't know how Christopher tolerates this woman.

I stop looking at her, regretting having wasted a few seconds on her. I shift my gaze to my fiancée, and she looks at me like I'm her worst enemy. A cruel monster who has destroyed her perfect spoiled-girl life.

Maybe in the end, I am what she thinks.

"Where is your brother?" My question is sharp; I have no intention of being polite.

I look her in the eyes impassively, and she doesn't respond. She doesn't even show signs of wanting to move, and I could even bet she's not breathing, because the ungrateful girl must be thinking of a thousand ways to screw up my existence, just because she insists on hating me with all her might.

"Chris is in the back house with—"

"Did I ask you that?" I glared at her, feeling the urge to silence her for thinking she had the right to speak to me. Gabrielita pales, shifts. "I'm talking to my fiancée, not to you, dear."

I slide my eyes back to where Rebecca is. And yes, she's still looking at me with hatred.

"Where is your brother, Rebecca?"

"He's in the back of the house with your brother and the others." Her gaze is as resentful as the tone with which she responds. "Any other questions, Vladimir? I can show you the way… Or do you know how to get there on your own?"

Keep up with your arrogance today, and you'll pay for it before you sleep, Rebecca Reed.

"No, thank you."

I move forward without looking at her, without waiting for her to reply, and I don't even know why I thank her. She doesn't deserve me to thank her for how she's been behaving.

She's been insolent, a complete brat. An ungrateful girl who only seeks to hate me because she can't deal with whatever is happening to her. She's been incredibly volatile, and I'm at the point where I want to spank her myself for how she's treating me.

Yes, that's what I want. Spank her until she moans my name.

I shake the thought from my head and curse under my breath at how she makes me feel like an animal, with her attitudes so… I don't even know how to describe them. For a moment, she's the sweet, seemingly naive, innocent Rebecca. And the next moment, she's a very venomous and biting Rebecca.

She confuses me. She has me confused, and something inside me keeps saying that what she wants is to drive me crazy.

I crack my neck and head toward the other property behind the mansion, leaving it behind with each step.

I'm not in Russia; I've lived here for years. I bought this property at twenty and started remodeling it to resemble the home where I grew up with my parents, siblings, and the rest of my family back in Russia.

I tried to replicate it as closely as possible to that home I remember as if it was just last night that I left it. A home where we went through so much as a family and that still remains a fortress and the center of operations for the Romanov family regarding the Brotherhood.

It wasn't easy for me to adapt to the change, but somehow, this mansion and its thousands of square meters of construction make me feel as if I'm in my true home.

Except for the property I'm about to enter. In Russia, it's still my parents' house, where they really have their space to be who they are. Two deranged souls, completely in love. Here, it's my slaughterhouse, though from the outside and even inside, it looks and feels like a very homely place.

The truth is, beneath the immense house, there's a spacious basement ready to hold the rats and make them pay. Or simply to invite them to have a pleasant conversation.

"And right now, I'm about to have a conversation with a man who's been testing my patience just by being here."

One of my men greets me with a slight bow. He opens the door for me, and I thank him with a neutral tone. I'm a damn mobster, but manners are always important.

I head down the stairs to my favorite spot, rolling up the sleeves of my black shirt. I smile when I hear my brother Dimitri's little chuckle.

I know what he wants, what he desires. When he laughs like that, it's because he's already come up with at least ten different ways to torture, purely for fun, not even to get information from our guests.

Dimitri wants some fun before asking the right questions, but I'll take care of this guest myself.

His eyes widen when they meet mine, and I smile with satisfaction because he knows why he's here. I approach him under his watchful gaze. Dimitri extended his hand to give me my black leather gloves, and without stopping, I put them on, curious about what he had to say.

He's a bit roughed up, but only because he resisted at first. He reeks because he's been here for days. They've only given him bread and water to keep him conscious and aware for this moment.

I squat down, keeping my eyes on him. I extend my hand and, with my index finger, touch the bruise on his cheekbone. He leans back, trying to avoid my touch, but I don't stop. Instead of continuing to touch the bruise, I give him a slap that echoes through the basement. I smiled because the satisfaction is immediate.

"Hello, Alex."