Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

15. Andrik

15

ANDRIK

I t took me offering a majority share to Brody’s, the bar inside the Broadbent Hotel, and a no-touch promise for Mikhail to agree to deliver Zoya to a location that would offer discretion so I could discuss my dilemma with her like the astute businessman I’m meant to be.

In under ten seconds, I blew my pledge to keep my hands to myself.

Her smell.

Her lusty eyes.

That fucking shirt… Christ.

I was torn between ripping it off her and leaving it on the floor of the elevator in shreds or smearing it with cum and forcing her to wear it every day of the week.

Even after calling me every name under the sun when I failed to deny my current marital status, Mikhail upheld his end of our agreement. That alone should announce he isn’t my competition, but one sniff of his cologne on Zoya’s skin sent my head into a tailspin.

It is still reeling now.

I want to bang my chest and tell every man to back the fuck up. I want to make her mine in every essence of the word. To do that, I must turn my back on a promise I made to myself many years ago.

That’s not an easy accomplishment.

I don’t know a single man who could give up everything he’s been working toward for over two decades for a woman he’s only known for twenty-four hours, much less a woman going by an alias.

I’m reasonably sure Zoya isn’t lying about her given name, but I’ve had my security team search high and low for a Zoya Galdean over the past several hours.

Their search has yet to yield a single result.

I’m sure I can extract the truth from her. I must keep a cool, calm head, however, if I want to have my cake and eat it too.

I can’t do that in a square box that smells of lust and depravity.

Trades on the black market the CIA would cream their pants to net is a walk in the park compared to the effort it takes me to slowly notch out of Zoya and place her back on her feet.

My pupils blow wide when the removal of my cock is quickly chased by a line of my semen dribbling down Zoya’s thigh. I’m not shocked. I am fucking stoked. There’s nothing more claiming than taking a woman bareback, and although this is the first time in twenty-two years that I’ve let go of the reins enough to unearth its brilliance, it won’t be the last.

No fucking chance.

“I… ah…” When Zoya peers down at the mess before scanning the floor of the elevator for something to clear away the goop, I pull a handkerchief out of the pocket of my trousers bunched halfway past my ass before placing it between her legs.

One touch and she’s burning up everywhere, ready for round two.

It was the same last night. Our chemistry is potent enough to fire through hours of exhaustion and numerous demands for sleep. It displays that one taste would never be enough. We require hit after hit, and even then my cravings won’t be satisfied.

My cock is thickening now just at the thought of taking her again.

But I need to take this elsewhere.

There are ears everywhere, but they’re worse when royalty is in town.

My father will be the next president of Russia, and I’m meant to be his successor. That makes the vultures of the media extra hungry. They dig through trash every morning with the hope they’ll find something they can use against my family, so imagine how rampant they’ll become if they learn the once deemed “head bachelor of the Dokovic realm” is still playing the field so soon after the federation removed his single status on all his social media sites.

They’d have a field day knocking down my family pegs more than the federation already has, but since I’d rather save the bloodshed for the true culprits of my family’s demise, I must play it safe.

After watching Zoya clean up the mess I suddenly want to stuff back inside her, I tug down her skirt before pushing the emergency stop button on the elevator panel.

As the car jerks back into action, I curl my hand around Zoya’s. I’m not usually a hand-holding guy, but the surge it causes to her pulse makes it another item I add to my ever-growing list of wants.

“I should probably get something since we forgot to use protection,” Zoya says at the same time I ask, “Are you in any pain?”

I mistook her grimace about how lax we were with protection as a hurtful expression.

I’m a soft cock.

What should sound like an assurance comes out shady since it is forced through clenched teeth. “I’m clean, but I can get tested again if you’re worried.”

My lips twitch when she replies, “I’m clean, too, but that isn’t the cause of my worry.”

I’m not struggling to hold back a grin. I am fighting not to go on a rampage since the four men she slept with before me are still breathing.

Their conquests were years ago, so I should be able to let it go, but I can’t. I want them dead as much as I plan to kill the man my mother struck. Then I’ll stop imagining their mocking grins when it dawns on them that they had her before me.

Their time is limited. They shouldn’t see that as a godsend. A delay in proceedings only awards me more time to work out exactly how painful their exits will be.

With my mood already injurious, I deepen my annoyance. “Have you ever had unprotected sex?”

“No,” Zoya answers after a beat, her tone a mix of confusion and deceit.

“Do I need to take you over my knee, милая ?”

I’ve never wanted to punish someone as much as I do now. My hands are itching to redden her ass with the same fiery burn racing through my veins.

Jealousy is hotter than hell. It is burning me from the inside out, making the small confines of the elevator scorchingly unbearable.

“I haven’t. I just…” The fiery hellion I wrangled at the start of our exchange is back bigger, stronger, and angrier than ever. “Did you not use protection because you had a lapse in judgment or because you knew it was pointless for someone like me?” She air quotes her last three words like she struggled as much as I did earlier to find the right word for her fertility issues. “Because condoms aren’t solely to lessen the chance of an unwanted pregnancy. They’re just as important for protecting the players who should have been benched from unwanted STIs.”

She isn’t angry at me.

She’s pissed at how quickly she caved when I fell to my knees.

“Don’t be mad, милая . You will never win in any game that has you slated against me.”

Zoya yanks her hand out of my grasp before fanning it across her cocked hip. “Why? Because you will annihilate my smarts with your stupidly perfect hair, sculptured face, and wickedly gifted mouth?” She whacks me on the chest two times, hardening me in an instant. “I’m not a lust-fueled idiot. I have a brain.”

“I know th?—”

“Then why do you assume you’ll always win?”

Her attitude slips back to manageable when I reply, “Because you will never be on a team opposite me long enough to consider defeat, much less experience it. Even if I’m playing in hell, I’ll drag you to the fiery depths right alongside me.”

Her mouth gapes as her brows stitch.

That was not what she expected me to say.

I use her distraction to my advantage. “But, in saying that, we need to play this game with the tenacity it demands.” She’s more subdued when confused, so I pile on terms I haven’t had time to properly assess. “We need to be discreet. We can’t?—”

“Fuck in an elevator with dozens of cameras and microphones only feet away?”

I clench and release my fists, fighting not to wash out her filthy mouth with my cum, before I jerk up my chin.

“Why?” she snaps out before I can utter a syllable.

A mask slips over my face. It is two seconds too late for a woman as shrewd as Zoya to miss. She learns the same brutal truth Mikhail is seconds from learning when the elevator arrives at the penthouse level.

I’m a liar in every meaning of the word.

“Mikhail said you were leaving your wife. That you had filed for an annulment.”

“I did.” Her relief is as short-lived as mine when I thought I could end an agreement with a sternly worded email. “But I withdrew the request an hour ago.”

Her slap shoots my head to the side and sends a crack rumbling through the elevator.

It also makes me as hard as stone, but since we’re being eyeballed by the very man I threatened to kill if he saw an inch of the skin hidden beneath her teeny-tiny skirt, I lick up the droplet of blood her strike caused to my top lip instead of smearing it across her scrumptious mouth.

It’s a fucking hard feat, one I only achieve when I realize Mikhail isn’t the only Dokovic watching the farce.

Our father is here as well.

Fuck it.