Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(40)

“Because of your father,” he agrees.

He isn’t the worst looking guy in the world. In fact, right now, he is superior to Nikolai in every way. Because he is here, and Nikolai is not. Even if he doesn’t have the same imposing build or the electric blue eyes, he is a man. And I suppose if I’m to be ruined, I should be able to choose which man will do the job.

Anyone but Nikolai.

Anyone but the traitor downstairs.

“I want you to do it,” I tell Mischa. “I’m ready now.”

He sighs as though he’s already tired of this game but comes to sit beside me on the bed regardless. Admittedly, I feel like I’m going to throw up all over again. But maybe if I close my eyes, it will be over quickly, and I will have the last word.

The bottle is still clutched in my hands when I implore him to do it. Mischa’s eyes rake over me, and I think that he wants to. But for some reason, he still hesitates.

“I should speak to Nikolai first.”

“I don’t care what Nikolai says,” I insist. “I want you to do it.”

Mischa is still conflicted, but he disrobes anyway. He pries the cognac from my fingers, and my heart pulses in my throat. I have nothing else to do with my hands when he kneels on the bed before me.

He’s naked, and I can’t bring myself to really look at him.

“I’m just going to rest my eyes,” I whisper. “But it’s okay. I want you to do it.”

I hope that if I keep repeating the lie, it will be easier. But it doesn’t get easier when he leans down and tries to kiss my neck.

His scent is all wrong. His body is all wrong. And I can’t keep pretending that I want this when I don’t. So I disconnect and try to go to another place.

Nothing can hurt me if I’m not present.

It seems to work for a while. I can’t feel Mischa. I can’t feel anything. But my mental sanctuary is not as impenetrable as I had hoped. The sudden commotion ruins everything, and when I blink, he’s there in my vision. The devil. A monster who thinks he can take Mischa away from me.

“Give him back!” I demand.

Nikolai turns, his eyes flaying me open. “What did you just say?”

“Give him back,” I repeat. “I want it to be him.”

His hands lock into fists at his sides, and his nostrils flare as he stalks toward me. A voice tells me to run. Maybe it’s Mischa. Maybe it’s my own sanity, unraveling. But I run. Around the bed and straight past Mischa, down the hall. Nikolai gives chase.

There are only two places for me to go. His bedroom, or his office. Fear, not logic, is dictating my direction, so I choose his office. Locking the door behind me, I dart beneath his desk and try to catch control of my breath.

The lock turns, and hope abandons me.

I’m curled into myself, gasping for breath when he bends down to meet my eyes. His are cold and possessive. Cruel and mocking.

“What now, zvezda? Where will you run to now?”

I don’t answer him, so he snatches me by the wrist and yanks me away from my hiding place.

“Please,” I whisper.

He drags me back down the hall without mercy. “Save your begging for all the men who will come after me.”

A sob heaves from my chest at the viciousness of his words. He can’t mean them. I don’t want to believe he means them. He is angry with me for choosing Mischa. I know that’s what it is.

“I never wanted him. I swear it. I just wanted to get it over with.”

“Tell him that,” Nikolai demands as he tosses me back onto the bed.

Mischa is almost fully dressed when he meets my gaze, and I implore him to forgive me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

He leaves the room, abandoning me to my monster and his rage. I try to curl into myself, but Nikolai is not done. He flips me onto my stomach and utilizes the restraints from the bed to secure my hands above my head.

I shake my head frantically, pleading into the pillow. “Please, not like this. I didn’t mean it.”

The metal clank of his belt buckle is all I hear, followed by the zipper of his jeans. He’s undressing. And I’m in this position because he’s going to take me face down, so he doesn’t have to look at me.

He moves behind me, prying my legs apart and pressing his fingers against my sex. Everything stills behind me, and the only sound in the room is that of his heavy breath.

“You aren’t wet,” he murmurs.

I strain my neck to look back at him, but his response is to push my hair into my face, obscuring my vision. His cock nudges against me, and I sob harder.

“Please,” I cry out. “Not like this, Nika.”

He freezes. I’ve never used such an intimate endearment with him, but I’m using it now. Time is suspended as I listen to his labored breaths, waiting to see what path he will take.

When his hands find the back of my thighs, they are unexpectedly soft and overwhelmingly large. He could easily pry me apart and never put me back together again, if he wanted to. But instead, his calloused thumbs press against my flesh in slow, shallow circles. A shiver charges up my spine, and Nikolai cups the globes of my ass in his hands, emitting a low, throaty groan.

“You are too obstinate for your own good,” he says. “You don’t deserve kindness from me.”