HIS RUSSIAN CLAIM | 18+

04 | DMITRY ORLOV

IT’S NOT EVERY DAY YOUR ONE-NIGHT STAND RUNS OFF ON YOU ONCE IT’S MORNING.

As a man who’s basically grown up shouldering the family’s dark and dangerous business, I’d say I’ve never gotten myself involved in a one-night stand, especially at a s*x club.

Unless the random hookers Father’s lieutenant throws my way almost every night count as something.

And even then, I’ve never woken up to an empty bed. And a 5, 000-ruble note.

What an insult.

I drag a puff from the cigar between my lips and fingers, staring into the distance through the ceiling-to-floor window of my father mansion as the the single currency note burns a hole through my pocket. I should’ve given it out to any of the workers at the club, or better yet, one of the homeless people roaming around the streets — it’s definitely going to help them, but I didn’t instead, I’d kept it, and still taken it with me after preparing to visit my father after his call.

My empty hand fists and I clench my jaw.

Watching as a bird perched on the chimney of a building flies off into the sky, my mind somehow finds its way to remind me of how I was dumped off by a fiery, little one-night stand when the reverse is my own role.

Was.

Yet none of that helps to soften my c**k twitching in my pants and straining against the zipper as the image of her ass raised in the air for me last night while I f****d her raw into the mattress like I’ve never done to other women flashes in my mind.

Fuck.

My fisted hand goes to my crotch and I adjust the hard-on there, biting back a groan when I remember just how soft and smooth her flesh had been last night, her eyes filled with defiance and fire mixed with lust and desire. All for me.

I’ve never met a virgin like that one.

As absurd as that sounds, finding my d**k stained with blood after my first thrust should’ve placated me — should’ve made me throw her out because I do not deal with virgins — but it only kindled a raw, animalistic urge in me to keep going. To keep f*****g her raw as she cried out in pleasure. To keep marking her, scraping my teeth all over her flushed skin, as I punished her for being such a brat with a defiant attitude. And her surprising me by taking it all and leaning onto me for more, instead of running on her heels, tipped me off the edge. It sent a raw, carnal desire coursing through my veins that made me keep her up all night, giving her both pain and pleasure, and the same for me.

Whatever this is that’s making me still think of her unlike the others, I don’t like it. It only proves just how different from the rest I’ve subconsciously made her — and that’s not how s**t is meant to be.

Because, one, I’ll never be seeing her again. And two, I’ll be getting married soon.

In fact, that’s why Father has summoned me. And despite being the current Pakhan, with him being the retired one, I have to answer to his call — as a way to show respect to him.

“Your father wishes to see you now, Pakhan.”

[ Boss ]

I wave the guard off and press the tip of my cigar against the ashtray beside me, then slip my hands into my pockets before heading towards Father’s sitting room.

“Leave us.”

At the order from me, the men positioned in the sitting room all march out, their faces devoid of emotions just as they’ve been trained. I avert my gaze to my Father who is seated on a couch, his legs sprawled out before him while he drinks from a wine cup.

“I always knew you’d be a great Pakhan, Son.” His voice is rough, worn by age as he drawls out. Then, he cranes his neck to face me. “Come and sit.”

I don’t wait before I pull off my knee-length coat and hang it on the rack at the entrance. Once I’ve done that, I move closer to him and bow slightly just as he drops the glass on the table to stretch his hands to me. Taking them, I brush my lips — the same ones that’d devoured a nameless woman’s p***y last night — over his fingers and find myself a seat across from Father, blocking my mind from thinking of her.

“It’s good to see you, Father.” My voice sounds robotic to my own ears, devoid of any warmth in it. “How’s your health?”

He waves off his hand in the air and places one of his ankles against his other knee. “Better now that you’ve made a decision to get married and produce an heir. I would like to meet my grandchild before I die.”

I don’t say anything.

His lips curve into a smile, revealing his old teeth before he asks. “How’d you find the bride?”

I lean into the couch and let the silence linger between us for a while, our eyes locked on each other. Finally, I reply. “Viktor Inavova owed me money, and couldn’t pay. The bastard sacrificed his daughter to clear his name. And seeing how desperately you wanted an heir, I agreed to the deal. I wouldn’t be getting any younger anyway.”

I watch as my Father’s eyes sparkle with pride, as if he’s content I considered him before making the decision even though no one in the business has been trained to make decisions while thinking with their emotions. But this is my Father, and as much as I despise how he’s made me grow up, I’ve come to realize that’s how our lives are, and we care about each other in our own dark, twisted way.

At least, I owe this to the old man.

“When is the wedding?”

“By the end of the week.” I glance down at my wristwatch and sit up. “I have to leave, Father. The engagement lunch is today.”

He stands up just as I do, his movements slow. “Don’t forget to bring the bride to me, Son.”

Reluctantly, I nod. “Yes, Father.”

***

Viktor Inavova is a talkative.

I’ve been seated for almost an hour in the dinning room of his mansion, but there’s no sign of his daughter, Anya Inavova. He’s been talking my ears off since I arrived about how excited he and his family are to forge the alliance and move forward with it, how he knows the Inavova and Orlov families would be stronger and more independent, as if he isn’t the one planning to get all those qualities off us.

Delusional i***t.

I tighten my grip around the wine glass in my hand and clench my jaw, weighing how much of an advantage it would be to me if I buried a bullet between his eyes. While I would have a chance to escape from this wedding s**t by killing the bastard off just so he can shut the f**k up, I would be inviting war on our heads if I do so. I am not a fool to underestimate Viktor Inavova, even in death, knowing he might have allies.

“...has been over the moon since she heard about the wedding.” Viktor’s stupid, hoarse voice brings my attention back to him. “She couldn’t stop telling her friends about how she couldn’t wait to get married to you. She even went shopping this morning — very early in the morning — just to get things to impress you, as she said.”Of course she would — like father, like daughter. The Inavovas are clearly the type of people to seek attention from everyone just to fit in. “She also got some beautiful-looking lingerie sets. Said it was for the wedding night, so you could — ”

“I’m beginning to doubt if this wedding would ever take place, Inavova.” I interrupt him before he scars me with the mental image of his daughter going as far as getting f*****g lingerie sets to seduce me.

Before me, Viktor looks around the few members on the table, his gaze scathing over the empty seat of his wife beside me who’d gone to fetch the daughter, before coming to mine. He frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your wife and daughter aren’t here, and it’s getting late.” I clench my jaw. “Do you think I have time for all these?”

His face blanches, and he suddenly breaks out in sweat, blabbering. “M-my apologies, P-pakhan. I’ll send one of my men to go over and check.” He turns to one of his family members seated across from us. “Hey, you, go and — ”

The double doors open before he finishes, and two ladies walk in, one who I recognize as Viktor’s wife, Elena Inavova. She has her hands on the shoulder of a younger version of her, her gaze cast downcast.

She’s wearing a deep emerald silk dress that hugs her frame elegantly, highlighting the slope of her torso from her bosom, to waist, and then, the curve of her hips before falling down her long legs to stop directly on her ankle.

Dragging my eyes from the heels on her legs, I take in the curve of her body again, the thin gold chain with a diamond pendant, small earrings she has on, and stare at her face now that she has her head up. Her lashes are dark, deep brown eyes now staring back at me, lined faintly with only-lord-knows-what, and her lips are coated in a deep red lipstick.

My eyes fall on the small, dotted birthmark just above her exposed shoulder since the dress is off-shouldered, travel back to the eyes staring directly at me, and the now wavy chest-nut brown hair spilling over her shoulder that I clearly remember fisting in my hand as she took my c**k down her throat last night.

Jesus. Anya Inavova is the same woman who’d left me a 5, 000-ruble note as payment for our one-night stand.