Page 8 of Claimed By The Russian

“Yeah, right.” I’m still not at all convinced.

“You know what I’d give for a real woman? One I can take to dinner and not embarrass me, and the host, by pecking at her food like a bird? What I’d give for a woman with a brain? How it would make me feel to be able to switch to English with her whenever I want and all those ears that are constantly listening just immediately get shut out of the conversation, not to mention knocking them down a peg because we all know the most attractive quality is intelligence. And you’ve got intelligence, and looks, in spades.”

“Oh do I?”

“I did some research on those men who abducted you. They’re low level thugs, but apparently growing quickly, which is why I never heard of them. You know how many women have escaped from there?”

He waits, forcing me to answer. “I don’t know.”

“No one does, because no one ever has, until you. And no one knows you’ve escaped either. They haven’t reached out to any other organized crime outfits to find you. They’re probably embarrassed, and scared.”

“Good, because that’s how they made me feel.”

I can physically see him getting enraged, a vein in his neck throbbing and his jaw so hardened you could cut glass with his jawline or chin. “And I’m going to get the revenge you deserve, and set however many women they have under their thumb right now, free.” He pauses. “But back to the point at hand. You were clever enough, and tough enough, to escape. Add that to the fact that you’re young, beautiful, and incredibly resilient. Hell, you’re beautiful without even trying and you don’t even know it. What’s that American song?” he ponders. “She don’t know she’s beautiful? It’s been made and remade more times than I can remember, and why? Because that’s every man’s fantasy, no matter their origin, nationality, color, what have you. A beautiful woman without attitude is as rare as they come these days.”

“Well, I may not have attitude, but I’m far from beautiful.”

“Is that what you think?” he asks, closing the distance between us even more.

I nod my head, unsure of what he’s planning on doing next.

“I’m the boss around here and what I say goes without question. I say you’re beautiful, so you’re beautiful.”

I feel my cheeks heat and a big part of me wants to believe his words. When I look into his eyes, and scan his face he seems genuine at all times, including now.

“But saying is one thing,” he resumes. “Proving it with action is another.”

“How can you prove it with action?”

“Just like this,” he says, and he pulls me into him, his lips crashing down on mine.

CHAPTER 5

Kirill

“Make sure everyone in the casino knows she’s mine, that I’m taken. I don’t need anymore incidents like the one that happened an hour ago.”

“Yes, sir,” comes through the phone and I click the end button.

Looking up over my computer I see Kennedy enter my office in her maid outfit. Every ounce of me tightens, a shooting sensation coursing through my veins. My cock instantly goes hard looking at her in that curve-hugging outfit, and fantasies immediately fill my brain.

“We,” I begin, but my mouth is too dry. I swallow, trying to get some saliva in my mouth so I can even speak. “We need to order you some clothes for when you’re not working.”

“It’s fine. I can just wash what I have.”

“You only have one outfit, plus your work outfit. That’s not going to cut it.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

Everything that she is and low maintenance too? How is this woman not getting marriage proposals by the hour, by the minute?

“Listen sweetheart, that’s not how things work around here. What I say goes,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

A moment passes and I expect to see fear in her eyes but suddenly she bursts out laughing. She laughs at me in my own office. The same office where I’ve made grown men wet themselves and even spilled blood on occasion. I’m not sure if I’m absolutely appalled by this, finding it incredibly reckless and callous, or I find it incredibly refreshing and a huge turn on. In all honesty, more of the latter.

“Come here,” I demand, putting the back of my hand to her and motioning her over with four fingers.

She stands still for a second and then moves closer. “Closer,” I urge her, and she moves around behind my desk, looking at me as if the air back here is different, if by crossing the threshold of my desk she’s entering the bear’s lair.

But she comes.

“Pick out whatever you like,” I say proudly, letting her know I can provide for her in all ways.

“I don’t need much,” she says, adding just a few T-shirts and pants to the cart, and then a jacket.

---