Page 48 of Bratva's Intern

Fucking hell.

I gripped the armrests so tightly my knuckles turned white, and I struggled to restrain the instinctive urge to adjust him. To still him. Or worse—to encourage him.

“Almost got it,” Wren murmured, shifting again.

A strangled noise caught in my throat.

He was killing me.

Every rock of his hips, every minute adjustment, was torture, his warmth pressing into my already-hard cock. And still—still—he didn’t notice.

Oblivious, he muttered something about file organization, scrolling through different tabs, unaware of the war raging inside me.

It would besoeasy to move my hands. To settle them on his hips. To pull him back against me and make him feel what he was doing.

The thought alone nearly undid me.

“Found it!” he said, triumphant with a little bounce of his ass in my lap.

I barely processed his words.

He twisted, looking over his shoulder at me, his smile wide and pleased. Finally, he seemed to realize the position we were in. Seemed to have felt my erection. The way his body was pressed against mine, the way my hands had curled into fists to keep from grabbing him.

His lips parted; his breath caught.

Slowly, deliberately, I met his gaze.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us spoke.

The air between us crackled.

Wren’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

And for the first time, I saw it.

The awareness.

The realization.

The slow, creeping heat of something neither of us should be feeling.

I exhaled, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Good. Now get out and don’t disturb me for the rest of the afternoon.”

Before I do something I regret.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WREN

Iwas trying to focus.

Really, I was. My monitor glowed with a spreadsheet I’d triple-checked already, a summary of property acquisition numbers from last quarter that I was cross-referencing with staff expenditure breakdowns. A week in, and I was still convinced that if I could do one thing flawlessly, Mr. Morozov might actually be… pleased. That he might not frown. Or saysomethingthat wasn’t a clipped command.

The rare moments he smiled at me or gave me his signature nod of approval, my heart would flutter with an exhilarating sense of accomplishment. It made me want to try harder, dig deeper, strive for more muted praise and approval from him.

In the week since I’d been working for Maxim, he’d quickly gone from the man I couldn’t stand to one I admired. He worked hard, never slacking off. Almost every evening when the workday ended and I dropped by his office to let him know I was leaving, he was still engrossed in work. Iwouldn’t be surprised if he was the last person to leave the building.

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