Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,31

bad enough that they were screaming loud enough in his ears that he couldn’t even hear his own blood rushing?

Damn, he could feel that, though.

It didn’t help that every word she spoke was soft and almost demure. That she had stopped meeting his gaze, but he could still see the pink climbing in her cheeks to warm them. Maybe he hadn’t tried to hide his staring very much, but the sight of her like that said she was just as affected by him as he was of her.

And he liked it.

Too much, maybe.

“What good is any of this, anyway?” Maya asked, flicking a hand at the satin and lace delicates next to the dresses. “It’s only made for a woman to look good for a man.”

Kolya hadn’t realized it until he was right beside Maya, but he’d closed that distance between them in a fucking breath. Each word she spoke drew him closer like a magnet he couldn’t control. He couldn’t decide if he cared, or not.

“The better question is do you, Maya.”

Her gaze darted to his in the mirror again. “Do I what?”

“Want to look good for a man?”

Maya’s tongue peeked out to wet her lips as her stare darted down to his mouth, and any and all control Kolya had maintained in those few seconds were gone. It snapped with the lowering of her lashes, and the sexy little smile curving her lips.

Shit, he bet that smile would look good wrapped around his cock.

Later.

Oh, that would be coming later.

Like him.

And her.

He barely thought about what it might mean when he fisted his hand into the back of her lavender lace bralette and pulled hard enough to bring her into his chest. Her spine and ass melded against his hard lines, and she turned her head just enough for him to catch her lips with his own.

His first thoughts weren’t soft, or slow, or sweet.

No, he just wanted to taste.

His kiss was bruising—rough. And yet, she didn’t shy away. Her lips parted for him at the first stroke of his tongue, and he found a teasing wet heat inside her mouth that only made his cock pound harder against his pants to be released.

To find relief.

His phone rang instead.

Just like that, Kolya’s daze was shattered. He stepped back away from Maya with two larges paces as he fished the phone from his pocket. He didn’t miss the way her brow furrowed and her gaze darkened.

A silent question stared back at him, asking, Why?

He had to answer that call.

He always had to answer that call.

“Vadim,” Kolya said coolly when he finally put the ringing phone to his ear. “What can I do for you?”

“The Kozlov issue,” his father barked, not even waiting a second before he was spitting his rage into the phone, “why haven’t you updated me or brought me what I asked for? Time is running out for me to make amends here, Kolya.”

Vadim didn’t even give him time to make up an excuse. “Tomorrow morning—be at the Compound. And have everything. Do you understand?”

“I could bring it tonight,” Kolya returned.

“No. Vasily Markovic is making his presence known tonight, and you know how I feel about that bastard when he’s in my city.”

The call promptly hung up.

That was that.

Kolya glanced back at Maya, but she was already slipping the purple dress down over her head. Covering her skin and curves from his view. Their moment was over, and damn, he’d been so close. Not that it mattered, now.

There was nothing quite like his father to make his dick go soft.

“I heard what you said to your brother after I came upstairs,” she said quietly.

Kolya’s brow dipped. “Pardon?”

“That it was your right to take me—for me to be passed on or kept by you.”

He swallowed hard. It was impossible to miss the heat in her words. “What about it, Maya?”

“Why won’t you just say what I am—property?”

“Because you don’t want me to.”

She’d asked, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing as wanting it. Who would want something like that?

Maya blinked.

Kolya stayed stone-still, too.

“But I’m not free, Kolya. Not now. Maybe I don’t want that, either.”

“You’re free as long as you’re with me.”

It was the best he could offer.

It was all he could offer.

6.

THE COMPOUND, as the Boykovs had affectionately dubbed the section of warehouses they’d connected by small, portable buildings was just a well-guarded section of storage facilities. And one old factory. Located in the lower portion of Chicago’s shipping district, it was in the perfect spot for business.

So

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