Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)
: Chapter 9

Yeah, okay, I dressed up for him.

But it’s for me, too.

The silk red blouse I’m wearing is the injection of confidence I need to feel like I can do this. So are the black heels that are an inch taller than what I would normally wear to the office. Of course I’d gone with a red lip today and, for the first time in my professional life, I kept my hair down.

I stare at my hazy reflection in the elevator doors, nervous butterflies flapping around in the pit of my belly. I expected that. What I didn’t expect was to be as excited as I am. I’ve been distracted with fantasies all morning.

Will he take me right there on his desk? Will he put me on my knees? Or maybe he’ll go down on me. That mouth of his has to be good for something other than making people question their life choices.

I stride to Ruslan’s office, the contract burning a hole in my purse. It feels so much heavier since I signed it late last night, clutching one of Ben’s beer cans. I didn’t actually drink the whole thing; I just needed a little liquid courage before I scribbled my signature on the dotted line.

I pass Katie Miller in the hallway. She does a double-take when she sees me. “Dang, girl! You look like a different person with your hair down.”

I smile self-consciously. “Wanted to try something new today.”

“Well, it’s working for you.”

I smile gratefully at Katie, then turn to face Ruslan’s door. I don’t pause outside his door this time. If I do, I may never walk in.

He’s standing at his desk, his body angled towards the view of the city while he talks to someone on the phone. “… get more test subjects. Up the price per hour if you need to. I want a few more trials done just to be safe… Okay. Yes. Let me know.”

He’s wearing one of his Tom Ford suits. His dark brown hair curls boyishly over the rich blue collar. His shoulders look intimidatingly large, as do his arms.

All the better to pick me up and throw me around.

“Ms. Carson.”

I flinch when he turns to me. His gaze flicks over my outfit and heat rises to my cheeks. His eyes darken. And they linger.

Is he thinking about what it will feel like to slide his cock between my lips? Maybe he’s wondering what I’m wearing underneath my skirt… Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I pull the contract out of my purse. “I signed it.”

Way to bury the lede, Emma.

He nods as though he’s not in the least bit surprised. Then he sits at his desk and focuses on his laptop.

He’s probably just gonna finish up an email before he ravishes me on the desk. Or maybe I’ll have to climb aboard and fuck him in his chair. What if he wants to take me up against the window? To give the whole of Manhattan a good show?

My thoughts are so out of control that I’m already hot and ready where it counts. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been this turned on. All I know is, however he decides to start this, it’s gonna be good. I’m so damn ready for—

“Leave it on my desk.”

Um… what?

He starts typing, his fingers flying over the keyboard with impressive speed. It makes me wonder how much damage those fingers could do inside me.

“Leave it… here?”

He doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. “On the desk, yes.”

“Uh, okay. Should I, uh… should I leave?”

Again, he doesn’t spare me a peek. “My schedule is not going to arrange itself, Ms. Carson.”

I swallow my disappointment—at this point, it’s more confusion-based than anything else—and slink back to my desk.

What the hell?

It’s a mindfuck to find myself sitting behind a desk instead of being spread out on top of it. It’s even more difficult to put myself back in the headspace of a personal assistant when I had mentally, spiritually, and emotionally prepared myself for sugar baby duties.

I keep staring at his door, waiting for him to call me back into his office. Or maybe even send me to the copy room, or the restroom, so he can trap me there and fuck the living hell out of me.

The little green light on my intercom flashes. Ruslan’s direct line.

It’s happening. Be cool.

I count to five Mississippis and pick up. “Yes, Mr. Oryolov?” It feels weird to call him anything else, regardless of the contract I’d just left on his desk.

“Push my three o’clock meeting to four.”

He hangs up immediately and I’m left with dead air. On the bright side? My pussy has finally stopped distracting me with its constant throbbing.

On the not-so-bright side?

I wore this lingerie for nothing.

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