VLAD (The V Games #1)(23)
Would she gasp for breath? Claw at my vest and pop the buttons?
Or would she moan and squirm and spread her legs for me?
Would sweet Irina come, my name rasping from her lips that would no longer taste the air?
My cock is impossibly hard, and I don’t realize I’m struck simply staring at her until Oleg lets out a chuckle. He may be close to my father, and therefore an ally of mine, but what he just saw is grounds for termination. The permanent kind. I snap my gaze his way, and he raises his hands in surrender.
“I didn’t see nothin’, kid,” he says. “Meet you at the truck.” He hurries from my office and out of my sight. Wise man.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice low and deadly. My eyes are still on the doorway because I can’t look at her. She weakens me with her stares. So sweet and curious. I can’t deal with this right now.
“I came to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh?” I turn and regard her young face.
It wasn’t but a few months ago that she was nothing but a child. An untouchable, out of reach child. Still, I fantasized things no man ever should. Dreams of holding her down, spreading her creamy thighs, and shoving inside her tight, virgin heat. Sometimes I wish my world weren’t so complicated. I’d give up so much just to have one taste of what others take for granted. Something as simple as fucking a woman you’re addicted to, and I am addicted. She holds a power over me, and the pull is getting unbearable.
Her gaze travels to my mouth, then my Adam’s apple. She keeps skimming down until her eyes fixate on my vest pocket. Her hand lifts and her slender fingers brush against my pocket as she plucks away a stray fiber. When she goes to drop the fiber, I grip her dainty wrist. It’s naked. If she were mine, I’d decorate her delicate wrists with glistening gems.
“Don’t put that on my floor,” I murmur, my voice husky.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “You’ll let Uncle Oleg throw half-eaten apples in your office and drip juice all over your chair, but I can’t drop a loose thread?”
I would love nothing more than to continue this banter and flirt with the gorgeous girl. Unfortunately, I have a duty and it calls, goddammit. She is the sister of my fiancée. I can’t go there. Even if I selfishly wanted to fuck her and take that ripe cherry I know she has all for myself, I can’t. Father would have my head if I mess up this marriage arrangement.
“It’s high time the Volkovs see how the Vasilievs do business,” I bite out, my voice turning cold. I can’t bring myself to release her hand. “Tell me what it is you want, then I will make you pay for it by doing something for me.”
Her brows furl together as she realizes our moment has dissipated. I wish I could put the smile back on her face, but now is not the time. Possibly never. She tries to tug her wrist from my grip, but I tighten it. If I can’t adorn her wrist with jewels, she can wear my bruises instead.
“I need a studio.”
I blink at her. “There is an office and I was told Diana and you shared one before—”
“Not an office, a studio.” Her cheeks turn a rosy pink as she drops her gaze from mine. “Like the sunroom back home.”
To paint.
All fierce determination to stay focused falls to my feet and shatters into a million pieces as my mind whirs with possible studio spaces in my home. I want to keep her far from the south wing where Father resides. Perhaps the west wing instead. I know just the place.
“I’ll find you a place,” I vow, my voice husky once more.
Her blue eyes lift and glitter with excitement. My heart rattles in its cage. This woman—sweet little Irina—is so bad for me. She distracts me when I need to stay sharp and focused. “Thank you, Vlad.”
I stare at her for a beat longer, imagining just how beautiful she’ll look with the morning sun blanketing her as she paints in the greenhouse just off the sitting room beside my bedroom. I could watch her without her knowing. Like old times. My cock jolts against my thigh, eager for this notion.
“That’s settled,” I grit out, driving away all thoughts of Irina painting in my house. “Come with me.”
Oleg opens the back of the truck and many eyes peer from the darkness. Used, tired, worn out looking women stare back at us. Many are beautiful despite their dirty appearance. Father will be pleased.
I motion for them to follow me. They whisper quietly amongst themselves as they file out of the truck. Irina keeps shooting me death glares, which only serves to harden my resolve. She will do this because it is asked of her. If she expects protection on my part, and a damn studio, then she can do this for me. It makes more sense for a woman to handle it anyway. At least I don’t have to worry about any of them ending up pregnant, raped, or mysteriously dead.
Irina huffs, mumbling furious Russian curse words under her breath.
Okay, so maybe dead…only time will tell.
I walk them around the house to the back where a small shed sits. Inside is a stairwell that leads under the house. Beneath our home is where we train our fighters and whores. The ones who are worthless of manipulation will be sold to the likes of Ven Vetrov and his family. They’re always good to traffic a handful of worthless women.
I pull a set of keys from my pocket. The engine of the truck echoes off the snow-covered landscape as Oleg leaves. Stepan brings up the rear, making sure none of the women flee. I’m not sure whether Oleg took these women or lured them here under the guise of better working conditions, but either way, I’ve paid for them and they’re mine.