Page 45 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

Victoria

Three more days go by without mention of the laptop, and I don’t know how to feel about the situation anymore.

Maybe he’s forgotten about it. Maybe he just assumed that there was some kind of mix-up and the laptop must’ve been taken to be cleaned or something. Yeah, that might be it. A maid came in to dust it off or maybe spilled a little water on it by accident, carried it out of the room to tidy up, and couldn’t get back in, so she left it for him right outside his door.

But he doesn’t seem like the type to be very merciful. If someone was in his office, wouldn’t he be pissed at them? Wouldn’t he want their head on a platter for touching the computer he uses for all his work?

I can imagine him hurting one of the maids and it makes my stomach twist in guilt. I can’t let that happen. It’s not right to let one of those innocent women be punished for something that I did. I involved Nikolas when I shouldn’t have, and I should be the one paying the price.

At least, if he brings it up. Thankfully, I’m still in the clear.

After a quick shower, I try to calm myself down by changing into my pajamas and lying in bed. It feels nice to relax after everything that I had to do today. Sleep is going to feel so good; I can already tell.

When I put my head down on my pillow, instead of counting sheep, my mind flashes back to the look of hunger in Matvei’s eyes down in the kitchen earlier in the week. It wasn’t the same apathy that he’s aimed at me every other day.

He stared at me like I had something he wanted.

Like I was something he wanted.

Am I fucked in the head? Am I seriously lying in bed imagining this mob boss wanting me? Pursuing me? Claiming me as his and his alone? I should be terrified of him. I should remind myself that he’s the one that kidnapped me, that made countless threats to me and my father.

But I can’t stop thinking about what he would look like stripping out of that suit, approaching me with those dark, dangerous eyes. Only, this time he wouldn’t be upset with me. He’d want more of me. He’d want to strip my clothes off in a flurry and lay me back, spreading my legs and revealing parts of myself that I haven’t shown in months—no, years.

I know in my heart that he must do a good job in bed. You can tell by the way a man holds himself, and someone like Matvei has a certain kind of pride that I know would translate well with his head between my legs.

He’d split me with his fingers and command me with his tongue, flicking over every sensitive place he could reach. I’d look down between my legs to see him eagerly and hungrily working me over, tongue flat against me as he rolled circles over the nub just above my center.

And when he was satisfied with that, with making me come from just his mouth, I know that he’d want to conquer me with even more. He’d fill me and fuck me like he owned every part of my body. Those eyes would practically glow with pride, with the joy of taking something and taming it.

Thinking these thoughts, I can’t help myself. My fingers slip between my legs and I run them over the center of my panties, hissing as I feel myself growing wetter. I imagine more of him, the way his body would move on top of me, the speed and power with which he’d thrust. I can feel every sensation, every connection of our skin and brushing of our lips in my mind’s eye as he finally kisses me.

But just like before, he’d dominate my mouth as well, battling my tongue for power. I’d put up a fight, but in the end, I’d concede, climaxing around him as he sucked on my bottom lip and snapped his hips forward, burying himself into me—deeper, deeper, deeper.

There is no choice but to concede.

“Fuck,” I whimper, pulling my panties to the side and pressing my fingers at my center. I grind down on them, back arching as I bite down on my lip. I can’t be too loud, but it’s hard when I imagine that dark, deadly man making me feel nothing but utter and insatiable pleasure.

I hook my fingertips inside of me and find the spot craving release. Stroking in and out, gnawing my cheek to stop from gasping, as I get closer and closer, until …

Until there’s a knock at the door.

Shit. Flushed with embarrassment, I pull my hands out from under the covers and sit upright. Matvei steps into the room, the light from the hallway spilling inside as well.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” I admit, trying not to sound out of breath. “I just laid down to sleep. Do you need something?”

“I want to hear how Nikolas is doing.”

I swallow past my suddenly dry mouth. “He’s, uh… he’s doing good. Sometimes he gets really upset and doesn’t know how to use his words. Sometimes he thinks about his parents and cries again. But all in all, he’s not as shut down as he used to be. I think.”

I’ve noticed a real change in Nikolas’ behavior, thank God. I was afraid that he was never going to stop crying, but in the past few weeks that I’ve worked at Matvei’s house, he’s starting to open up. Just tiny bits—a smile here, a flash in his eyes there—but it’s progress. Tiny, incremental progress.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Matvei doesn’t say anything for a brief second, and I worry that he’s upset. He approaches my bed, and all my intense fantasies from earlier come flooding back. What is he doing? Rather than reaching for me, he grabs my agenda from my desk and writes something down.

“What’s that?” I ask.

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