Page 33 of Imperfect Desires

I nod, trembling. “Yes.”

His mouth brushes my jaw. “Say it.”

I swallow hard. “I think about you every night.”

He groans against my skin and then his finger slips inside me, slow at first. Gentle. Testing. Then deeper.

I gasp, my head falling back as pleasure spikes through me. Lev watches me like he’s memorizing every reaction—every breath, every tremble. His thumb finds the sensitive spot at the apex of my thighs and circles slowly, in rhythm with his fingers.

My legs tighten around his waist.

“Lev,” I whisper, lost in the heat.

He kisses me again—rough and possessive—as his fingers work me toward the edge. And when I shatter, he holds me together. My moan is muffled against his chest, my body curling into him as waves of pleasure ripple through me. He pulls his hand away only when my body stops shaking.

Neither of us speaks.

There’s only the sound of our breathing. The rush of blood in my ears. The fading echo of what had just happened. Then he steps back. His expression unreadable.

His hand lifts to his nose, and he inhales deeply, as if committing my scent to his memory, his eyes still locked on mine. And then, just like that, he turns and walks out of the room. No words. No promises.

Just the ghost of his touch left behind.

Lev

Viktor is finally back from his honeymoon, and I have to say I have never seen anyone glow so much because of a woman. He, Zasha and I are out having a drink. The private lounge at the club is bathed in shadows, illuminated only by a muted amber glow from the bar behind us. Viktor leans forward, elbows resting casually on the polished wooden table. His expression is deceptively calm, but his eyes flash with controlled fury, hinting at the simmering storm beneath.

“Roman's become a problem,” Viktor says, voice low and edged with steel. He glances at Zasha, then locks eyes with me. "He's using his customs connections to skim from our shipments—guns, cash, product. It has to stop now."

I stretch my legs, leaning back into the plush leather sofa, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How loud do you want this message to be?"

Viktor's mouth curves slightly, a dangerous smile that never touches his eyes. "Make sure everyone hears it, Lev. I want them whispering his name as a cautionary tale. But do not kill him, he needs to warn others like himself."

Zasha shifts slightly. We risk drawing unwanted attention from the authorities if this becomes messy.

Viktor's gaze sharpens, pinning Zasha with cold authority. "Messy is exactly the point. Roman needs to understand—and so does everyone else—that betraying me is a fatal mistake."

I let out a soft chuckle, anticipation coiling in my chest. "Understood."

Viktor turns fully toward me, intensity radiating off him. "Handle it personally, Lev. No mistakes, no loose ends."

My lips twitch upward, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Have I ever let you down?"

His eyes soften briefly, the closest Viktor ever gets to warmth. "Never. That's why this assignment is yours."

I nod slowly, feeling the weight and trust of Viktor’s words. Zasha leans forward, still tense. "You need backup?"

"Come along if you like," I say lightly, smirking at Zasha. "Just remember, this isn’t your quiet, subtle type of operation."

Zasha shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "One of these days, Lev, your theatrics will get us all into trouble."

Viktor's lips curl slightly, the ghost of a dark smile. "Not today. Today, Lev's theatrics send a message."

Rising smoothly, I adjust my cuffs and meet Viktor’s gaze with quiet confidence. “Consider it delivered.”

The cigarette hangs lazily between my lips, smoke drifting upward in slow, spiraling wisps as I lean back comfortably against the plush leather seat. My dark shirt, sleeves casually rolled up to reveal the ink etched across my forearms, feels perfectly tailored—comfortable enough for casual brutality, stylish enough to blend into the shadows. The silver of my wristwatch glints briefly under the faint glow from the streetlamp outside, highlighting my relaxed grip on the gun resting lightly against my knee.

Zasha shifts restlessly in the driver’s seat, eyes locked on the warehouse across the street, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Viktor wanted this handled swiftly, Lev.”

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