Page 45 of Bratva's Intern

Wren sat to my right, his posture straight, a picture of quiet diligence as he scanned the presentation. The subtle crease between his brows deepened as he concentrated, tapping his fingers in a silent rhythm against the glossy surface of the table.

Absentmindedly, he reached for his water bottle.

The rustle of fabric as his sleeve shifted. The soft scrape of his thumb against the plastic cap. The faintclickas he unscrewed it.

I stopped breathing.

The room was cool, the air conditioning humming in the background, but I felt fever-hot. The slide on luxury development projections flickered on the screen, but my focus narrowed to the flex of his throat as he swallowed. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The slow parting of his damp lips ashe exhaled softly before setting the bottle down with a mutedthunk.

A sharp spike of need crawled up my spine. For the past week, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to rip those expensive suits off him. Since he started dressing the part of a personal assistant—tailored slacks, crisp button-downs that fit too well—it had become a problem. A dangerous one.

For the first time in over a decade, I’d woken up in the middle of the night, sweating, cum stains in my boxers from my dream of him. Of Wren bent over my desk, those pants I’d bought him down his thighs as I fucked him. I wanted to use him and make him screamMr. Morozovwhen I was buried to the hilt inside him.

I was losing the battle of not touching him. Laying a hand on Wren went against my principles. He was off-limits, and that would never change.

Across the table, Donald was still speaking, gesturing toward a spreadsheet projected.

“…anticipated returns from the Marina Heights deal indicate a fifteen percent increase in equity over the next two quarters, assuming we green-light the revised bid package…”

I nodded absently, my eyes locked on Wren, who stood and distributed the printed reports.

His movements were precise, efficient. The faint scent of cedar and citrus clung to the air as he passed me, a clean, masculine fragrance that teased my senses. As he leaned over and set a document in front of our legal counsel, his slacks stretched taut over his round ass.

Good god, did he have no idea what he did to me?

I curled my hand into a fist, the nail biting into my skin. A pen rolled off the table, knocked over by Wren. Not surprising, given he sometimes was still clumsy.

It landed on the polished floor with a soft clatter. Hestared at me, biting his bottom lip, his eyes full of worry as though he expected me to berate him for the faux pas.

In private, I would have, but not in front of the others. I hadn’t been joking when I told him I’d given him more authority than anyone else in the building. If I treated him poorly in front of others, they would never take him seriously.

I gave him a small, encouraging nod. His cheeks turned a delicate shade of strawberry, and he quickly ducked his head.

“Excuse me.” He bent to retrieve the fallen pen.

Damn, that ass.

Full and perfect, made to be held—two generous mounds that would fit just right in my hands. Not gym-hardened or overly toned. No, this was the kind I could grip, knead, sink my fingers into. The kind that left me hypnotized when a guy like that dropped to his knees, all that soft flesh bouncing with every thrust, every slap of my pelvis against him.

Across from me, Stepanov’s gaze lingered a second too long on Wren’s bent form. Wren straightened and returned to his seat.

I clenched my jaw, restraining the urge to fire him on the spot. Wren was off-limits. If I couldn’t have him, and I really couldn’t, no one else in the office could.

The faintest curl of heat licked at the edges of my patience. I picked up my water bottle, more for distraction than thirst, only to find it empty. I clenched the plastic and pulled my phone from my pocket.

Maxim: Get me another bottle of water.

Wren checked his phone screen. He was on his feet immediately, slipping out of the conference room. His obedience only made me hotter, especially since I’d seen the potential in him to be stubborn.

Finding a man who knew how to balance obedience with passion was such a fucking rare thing.

Wren returned promptly, clutching a bottle of water.

The conference room chatter gave way to the ambient hum as he weaved his way toward me, avoiding eye contact with anyone else.

“Here you go, Mr. Morozov.” His voice was quiet as he placed the bottle before me on the table.

“Thank you.”

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