“I told you, they’re mine. You won’t come until I allow it.”
“Who do you think you are?” I spit at him. I try to turn around, but he holds me in place with one hand wrapped around my waist while working my jeans and underwear down over my hips with the other. I give up fighting and help, using my feet to pull them the rest of the way off. The need to have him inside of me is bigger than my ego at this point. I roll my hips against him, feeling his hard cock press against my ass. There’s the crinkle of foil as he opens a condom, and then he’s pressing me forward. Below me, people run for shelter as the rain starts falling harder in big drops that splatter against the building and the concrete below.
“Hold on to the railing. Don’t let go.”
Never one to obey, I reach one hand around to grab his hip, trying to coax him inside of me. But he takes my hand and wraps it back around the railing. Then, he lands a sharp smack against my ass cheek. I gasp at the sting, my mouth open in surprise.
“I told you not to let go.”
He positions himself against my entrance, but I stand and turn, slamming my fists down on his hard chest. “Don’t you ever fucking hit me,” I snarl.
He grabs my wrists and jerks me against him. “Can’t you do as you’re told just this once?” he growls through his teeth.
I lash out at him, and as my palms connect with his chest again, there’s a flash of lightning followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder, loud and close. Neither of us flinches as we stare the other down. He’s infuriating. Rude. Haughty.
But also strong. Unbreakable. Exactly the kind of man I need to be my partner.
And that’s terrifying.
Maybe that’s why I’m fighting him. Because I have always met fear with fury.
I need him to be strong now. I need him to withstand the storm, and I think he understands that.
Our bodies crash back together, our hands and mouths frantic to touch and taste. Facing him now, he boosts me with his hands on my ass, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His cock slides inside as I sink slowly down, stretching to take all of him in. Losev groans and his jaw twitches as he restrains himself. Wind blows the rain sideways onto the balcony. It soaks my back and my hair, cooling my warm skin.
Losev begins to move inside of me, thrusting upward as I grind against him. Our lips hover over one another, barely touching as we pant against each other’s mouths. Then he dips his head, his teeth scraping against my nipple.
“Oh,” I gasp. “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet,” he orders.
Stepping back, he carries us to one of the patio chairs where he sits, still sheathed inside of me. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with what I think is awe. Raindrops coat his eyelashes and drip down his cheeks.
“You’re mine,” he says, his hands roaming my soaked body. “You’re my queen.”
I start to move slowly, rising and falling in controlled, steady movements. I press my hands against his hard chest, keeping my eyes on his. His jaw clenches, and I can see the pulse throbbing in his throat. I lean forward and drag my teeth along his neck. His hands tighten around my hips, urging me faster. I oblige, rocking back and forth until he stills me with his hands, lifting me a few inches off of him and holding me there. He lifts his hips to thrust back into me and I cry out, again and again. I fall against him, biting his shoulder as he drives himself as deep as he can go.
“I’m coming,” he says hoarsely into my ear, and he lets go of me so I can finish the job.
His fingers find my clit as I rise and fall against him and we come together, our wordless cries drowning out the crashing thunder overhead.
Chapter Eight
Losev
“That’s not true!” Evangeline gasps from her spot on the other side of the couch. The woman lights up when she laughs. I’ll tell a hundred embarrassing stories if I get to see that smile on her face more often.
“Yes, it is,” I say around the last bite of my pizza. “We were nearly expelled.”
“Let me guess.” She wipes her fingers and the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin and leans forward to look at me. “Your daddy went and talked to the headmaster and now there’s a Turgenev Gym and you got to stay in school.”
“Actually, it was Theo’s dad, and it’s the Latsis Memorial Auditorium.”
She laughs again. “Memorial? Who died?”
I widen my eyes. “Theo almost did.”
We both dissolve into laughter, and I’m struck by the fact that I’ve never been this happy or this comfortable with a woman—not ever. I’m not trying to impress her or having to babysit her. We’re equals. Which has me questioning my conviction not to give her everything she wants. Maybe I should let her into the Oakwood Club. Give her the first floor of City Center. Why the hell not? Then I think of my dad’s disapproval, of Andrej’s ridicule, and I’m torn again.
She gets up and takes the empty pizza box to the kitchen, leaving it on the counter. We were lucky that the pizza was far enough back under the roof of the balcony that it wasn’t ruined by the storm, but the same can’t be said for our clothes. While we run our jeans and t-shirts through the dryer, she’s wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of my boxers. Her wet hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail and her makeup is completely washed away. But she has never looked more gorgeous.
“Who is this?” she asks, nodding to a framed portrait on the wall.
I join her to study it. It’s a black and white portrait of a regal and serious man. “My great grandfather, Count Turgenev. He emigrated during the Civil War after the Bolshevik coup.”
The corners of her lips turn down. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was. Here, look.” I lead her to my hallway that’s lined with old family portraits. Most of these would look better in my father’s mansion on River Street, but I enjoy having them here. Like Evangeline says—they’re a reminder.
I show her another black and white portrait, this one of a stern but handsome couple. The woman is sitting, wearing a floor-length gown, and the man stands in his military uniform, one hand on her shoulder. Behind them is a giant estate that can only be called a palace. “My grandmother,” I tell her, pointing to the woman. “She died not long after my father was born. I’m named after her. Losev is her maiden name.”
“Oh,” Evangeline says, laughter in her eyes. “I always thought it was a reference to Lucifer. You know…the devil?”
“That works, too,” I say playfully, pinching her luscious, round bottom.
Evangeline swats my hand away and points to the building behind them. “And that’s their…?”
“Home. They lost it in the coup, like most of the aristocracy. It was used as a children’s home during the war, but it’s abandoned now. My dad is trying to recover the property.”
I show her the picture of my dad and grandfather in front of their first home in Oakwood City, and the one of my grandfather behind a huge mahogany desk in Turgenev Holdings’ first office. Then there’s the one of my father at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the Oakwood Club, and him and Andrej’s father, Stannes, in the lounge, smoke wafting up from cigars by their sides. The decor hasn’t changed much through the years, and it’s easily recognizable today.