Chapter 17: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 17

I abstain for all of fifteen minutes after I get to my office. I check my email, pay a few invoices, fire off a reply to one of my accountants. Then, cursing under my breath, I turn up the sound on my laptop and bring up the camera feed from my son’s room.

As expected, Chloe is there, having finished her task in the laundry. Hungrily, I watch as she plays cars and trucks with Slava, speaking to him the entire time as if he can understand her. Every once in a while, she points at something like a wheel and makes Slava repeat the English word after her, but for the most part, she just talks—and Slava listens to her raptly, as fascinated by her facial expressions and gestures as I am.

At one point, he laughs at the way his truck overtakes her car, and she grins and ruffles his hair, her slender fingers casually sliding through his silky strands. My chest squeezes painfully, my lust for her mixing with intense jealousy. I don’t even know which of them I envy more—Slava, for experiencing her touch, or Chloe, for winning my son’s affections. All I know is I want to be there, basking in her sunny smile, hearing my son’s laugh in person instead of through the camera.

Fuck.

This is pathetic.

What am I doing?

I move to close down the feed but stop at the last second, hovering the cursor over the X. She’s opened a book and is reading to Slava now, her voice a soft, slightly husky croon that makes me want to burst into my son’s room, snatch her up, and carry her off to bed. I want to hear that voice moan my name as I drive into her tight, wet heat, to hear her plead and beg as I take her to the brink over and over before finally granting her the sweet mercy of release.

I want to torment her nearly as much as I want to fuck her, to make her pay for making me feel this way.

Clenching my teeth so hard I risk a toothache, I close the screen and propel myself to my feet. Despite the largely sleepless night I had, I’m brimming with restless energy. I need another hard run, or maybe a sparring session with Pavel.

I cast a glance at the clock above my office door.

Less than an hour before lunch.

Pavel is likely busy preparing food, and if I go for the kind of long, hard run I need, I won’t have a chance to shower and change before it’s time to join everyone at the table.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, I sit and open my inbox again. It’s too soon to expect anything from Konstantin—I only asked him to do a deep dive on Chloe’s missing month this morning—but I still check for his email.

Nothing.

Fucking hell. I really need a distraction. My fingers are itching to open up the camera feed again and watch her interact with my son. But if I do, this restlessness will only grow worse, my hunger for her more intense. Having held her this morning, I know how she feels pressed against me, how sweet and clean she smells, like wildflowers on a crisp spring morning. It took all of my strength to turn her loose, even with Alina there, and when I found her alone in the laundry room, every dark, primal instinct insisted that I take her, that I strip her naked and bend her over a washer, claiming her on the spot.

And I would’ve done exactly that if she’d leaned toward me.

If she’d done anything but back away, I’d be balls deep inside her instead of sitting here, wrestling with myself like a fool.

No, fuck this.

I launch to my feet.

I need a hard, bloody fight, and since Pavel’s unavailable, the guards will have to do.

Arkash and Burev are out patrolling the compound when I get to the guards’ bunker, but Ivanko, Kirilov, and Gurenko are sitting around a campfire out front with a few of our American hires. Like the barbarians they are, they’re roasting a whole deer on a spit and trading their usual insults.

Ivanko spots me first. “Boss.” Snatching up his M16, he jumps to his feet. “Something wrong?”

Kirilov and Gurenko are already on their feet as well, weapons ready, just like in our Crimea days.

“Easy, boys.” Smiling grimly, I strip off my shirt and drape it over a nearby tree branch. “Everything’s just right.” Or it will be soon.

Three against one is exactly the type of odds I was hoping for.