HIS RUSSIAN CLAIM | 18+

FIVE | ANYA INAVOVA

THE MAN SITTING BESIDE FATHER LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS TO SEE DIRECTLY THROUGH ME.

The Inavova mansion dining room smells of food and different expensive types of cologne mixed together, and I hold in the urge to gag and not throw up here. If I do, Father might as well make me lick my mess off the table and tiles. In front of his guests.

Everyone’s seating arrangements does seem okay, I guess. Father is seated on his spot, at the head of the table, and beside him, to his left, is the man staring into my soul, probably someone from my old fiancé’s family. The second seat on the other side of Father is empty, definitely reserved for Mother, the one beside it for me. The remaining seats down to the one at the other end of the table are filled up with both members of the Bratva, some unfamiliar faces also probably from my fiancé’s side.

Now, where’s my fiancé?

My eye contact with the man beside Father is broken as he stands up, walking up to meet me while Mother shifts to give him space. “I am sorry for the lateness, Mr. Inavova,” Father says, and when he places his clammy hands where Mother’s were, I try not to recoil. “This is my daughter and your soon-to-be wife, Anya Inavova. Isn’t she beautiful?”

My eyes almost widen when I realize Father is talking to the man whom he was seated beside.

Jesus, this man is my fiancé? That explains why he was staring at me like that. I can’t believe I thought I’d be marrying an old man.

“Anya, that’s Dmitry Orlov, Pakhan of the whole Russian mafia, and your soon-to-be husband.” Father leans in to whisper into my ear. “Say something, girl.” His grip on my shoulders tighten slightly when I don’t say anything, and he adds. “Greet him.”

I try to shove Father away, and when his grip on me doesn’t bulge, but tightens even further, I force a smile onto my face and bow my head slightly. “Good day, Pakhan. It’s nice having you here.” I make sure the distaste I’m feeling shines through my similarly sickeningly sweet voice. “I hope you’re enjoying your afternoon here?”

I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m bowing to a man. A man who has probably bought me from Father, no less.

This has to be a sick joke, and I don’t know who to hate more. The Pakhan? Father? Or even Mother who could do absolutely nothing to stop her daughter from being sold off.

Father taps my shoulders slightly, and I watch as my fiancé’s jaw clenches, his eyes betraying no emotion before he stands and adjusts his knee-length coat around his shoulders, the rings on his fingers and wristwatch catching the lights.

Then, he makes his way towards us slowly. When he’s standing just before me, Father finally pulls away and stands beside us, his face lit up with a very huge smile — the type he always wears whenever he’s gotten whatever he wants.

A familiar kind of scent from Dmitry Orlov wafts through my nostrils, and my brows pull into a confused frown as I try to think of where I may have perceived it from. But before I can, he holds my hand in his rough, calloused, and un-tattoed right hand, then brings it to his lips to peck the back slowly.

His lips are curved into a small smile when he says, “It’s nice meeting you too, Ms Inavova.” He drops my hand back beside me. “And yes, I’m enjoying my afternoon here. I hope you’re doing great?”

I blink and subtly rub the back of my hand on the back of my dress to stop the tingly sensation there in a way no one would see, my lips parting when it doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling this way, don’t know if it’s the way his words roll off his tongue in a somewhat familiar Russian accent, don’t know if it’s what he just did, or how he’s staring at me, his eyes a clear shade of green.

I just know that I feel hot. And I think I’ve met this man somewhere.

Father’s forced laugh startles me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and he looks at Mother. “Show her her seat.” He turns his attention back to Dmitry Orlov, his stance giving away his eagerness to please him. “Shall we?”

But I don’t wait for Mother to show me my seat. I walk there myself instead, trying my possible best to hide the subtle limp in my footsteps from the soreness between my legs.

***

This stupid engagement lunch is over, and I think it’s safe to say I’m officially engaged to the Pakhan of the whole Russian mafia.

Crazy.

When everyone begins to file out of the dining room, leaving Father, Dmitry, and some of his men still seated and discussing some paperwork that I don’t give a f**k about, I stand up.

Everyone’s attention is on me, but Dmitry’s is the one whose stare threatens to tear a hole through my face. I don’t look at him, and neither do I wait for Father to speak.

“I wish to leave now,” I say to no one in particular. “I believe I’m not needed here again.”

Father nods and glances at Mother, who is just seated there like an obedient wife, not even involved in their paperwork, then communicates only-god-knows-what with his eyes to her. With an obedient nod, she stands up and smiles.

“It was good having you all over here, but I have to leave with my daughter now.” She places a hand on my shoulders, and I resist the burning urge to roll my eyes. “See you all this weekend.”

Without another word, she guides me towards the door after Father waves a dismissive hand at her. Just when the guards have opened the double door, and we’re about to take our first step out, so I can finally recoil from her hold and go to my room or something. Dmitry Orlov’s voice cuts through the silence, hence stopping us. “I’d love to have a word with Ms. Inavova.”

My heart flies to my throat, and I turn in an instant, locking gazes with him. He breaks the eye contact, turns to Father, and says something that clearly annoys Father, though he doesn’t show it.

Father tries to argue, but Dmitry cuts him a sharp glare, says another thing low under his voice that makes Father blanch, before he stands up hesitantly.

He looks towards us, at Mother. “Let’s go, Elena.” He then looks at me. “Stay, Anya.”

When I look back at Dmitry, his eyes are gleaming with a strange look, but he turns to his men and ushers them all out together with Father, Mother, and our own guards by the door.

We are now alone.

Dmitry gets up from his seat and adjusts his coat again, before walking to the edge of the dining table, just a few feet away from me.

“Well, Ms. Inavova.” He drawls out, and my stomach flips, something drooping in my lower stomach. “Don’t you look better than the last time we met?”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

He tsks and pulls away from the table, then walks even closer, his hands now in his coat pocket. He’s in my space now, and I’m kind of struggling to breathe because of his cologne, but still somehow unable to push him away.

He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you pretending not to remember me?” He runs his gaze over my whole form, and my cheeks warm, goosebumps covering my skin when his eyes settle on my chest, before dragging to mine. “Because I hate liars. And while I may not torture the truth out of you, I’ll definitely f**k it out of you. What do you think?”

Wait — what?

“You sound insane.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I don’t bother filtering out the rest. “What do you mean you’ll f**k the truth out of me? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Dmitry’s jaw clenches, and he pulls out one of his hands from his pocket, wrapping it around my throat before I even have the time to avoid it. He then pulls me closer to him, his chest covering mine. “So fierce. I thought the little punishment I gave you tamed you.” Heat pools in the middle of my sore legs. “Turns out I was wrong. Very, very wrong.”

Jesus, why the f**k do I suddenly feel aroused? First, I get turned on from being manhandled by a Russian hotshot, and now my fiancé? A man who clearly looks older than me by more than how many years?

It’s said that after s*x, one can be very sensitive, so they tend to be aroused easily, right? It has to be the reason.

“L-let me go, you bastard,” I cuss out, not caring that he’s going to kill me for disrespecting him. “If you ask me, I’d say you just want to get into your fiancé’s pants before marriage. There’s no need to hide behind any ‘truth.’ I don’t know you from anywhere.”

“Oh you do, fiancé.” His grip on my throat tightens, I think my eyes roll to the back of my head at his rough tone. “You just need a little help remembering, no? I’ll be honored to do that.”

“Wha — ”

I am interrupted by the back of my head meeting the closed doors, and before I know it, he has used his free hand to raise up my dress, bunching it around my waist.

The cool breeze from the air conditioner bites my skin, and my hands fly to grip his wrist when his hold tightens around my neck again.

“Jesus.” His voice is rougher now, aroused even, and I clench my thighs together. “You’re not wearing any panties. Fuck.” He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine. “Did you do this on purpose? You knew I’d be the one here, hmm? You knew.”

“I didn’t — ”

“Hold your dress,” he orders, pulling away, eyes holding mine. “Hold your dress, and don’t release it. If you do, I won’t let you cum.”

Oh god. This isn’t —

“Ms. Inavova.”

I alternate between holding my dress with one hand, the other still gripping his wrist, and clenching my thighs. But with a rough jerk, he pulls my legs apart, exposing my bare mound to him, while I bite back a yelp.

God, I thought warm water helped soothe the soreness at least.

“Look how wet you are for a man you supposedly don’t remember.” The pad of his fingers rub my c**t, teasing my very wet entrance. I can feel the way my juices are trailing down my legs, but I spread my legs wider. “That’s it, good girl. Open up some more. Let me gain more access to my pretty pussy.”

I open my mouth to say something, I don’t know what. To cuss him for calling my p***y his, or compliment his dirty talks, I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it gets interrupted by the loud moan that tears out of my lips when he pushes three fingers inside me.

Fuck. I feel so full.

“Shhh, Inavova.” He says against my lips, his thumb rubbing small circles over my c**t. “We don’t want your father losing a few guards because they heard you moan, do we?”

The doors are soundproof, so the guards outside won’t hear, I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I buck my hips against the inside of his palms, willing him to move his fingers.

As if he can read my mind, he smirks, then pulls his fingers out in an agonizingly slow motion that has me biting back a moan before thrusting them back in.

I think I just scraped the back of my head against the doors, my hold on my dress tightening. “Mfffff.”

He dips his head into my chest and bites back one of my t**s through my dress before murmuring. “I’ve missed these tits.” He repeats the same action on my second tit, then pulls out his fingers before returning them back in.

He begins to alternate between finger-f*****g me fast and slowly, curling his fingers as they hit my g-spot as if he’s known my body before today, while I just take whatever he’s offering, hips bucking and getting more turned on by the musky smell of my juices and the squelching sound they’re making with each movement of his fingers.

I’m not even halfway prepared when Dmitry Orlov flicks my c**t with his thumb, closes his teeth on the flesh of my breasts, then says: “c*m, Inavova. c*m for daddy. Show me how much you’ve missed my ministrations on your body.”

Before I can even comprehend anything, I feel myself falling over an invisible cliff, crying out in a moan, and mirroring the sharp thrusts of his fingers in and out of me, as I orgasm, my juices pouring out of me.

A whine slips past my lips when Dmitry pulls out his fingers once I’m back to earth, the sides of my vision blurring, before he brings them to my lips.

He taps twice, then pushes them inside my mouth. “Suck.”

I hollow my cheeks around his digits and try not to roll my eyes in ecstasy at the musky and salty taste of my c*m, watching the way his pupils dilate while he watches me. Interrupting me, he pulls out his fingers, takes out some cash from the pockets of his trousers and presses them against my chest.

Then, he opens one of the double doors just slightly, looks me in the eye and says, “That’s your payment for giving only me the honor of watching you orgasm more than once, Zmeyka.”

And only when the door clicks behind him do I remember who the f**k Dmitry Orlov is and where I met him.