Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

29. Andrik

29

ANDRIK

I wake with a monstrous hard-on.

That isn’t unusual. I am in my peak sexual prime. But this one is different. It isn’t morning wood that will go down in a minute or two. It’s not even an erection inspired by the hope of sexual gratification. It is my body’s response to the closeness of his mate, and how making her orgasm over and over again was more satisfying than any release I’ve ever achieved.

I wanted to come last night. I wanted to fuck away the frustrations that have been bombarding me for the past month. Like all my greatest plans over the past four weeks, the urge flew out the window the instant I realized why Zoya couldn’t bring herself to climax.

She doesn’t want some random’s head between her legs.

She doesn’t even want my brother’s.

She only wants mine.

The knowledge had me banging my chest like an ape—and acting like one too.

I wanted to make Zoya scream my name so loud it would ring in my ears for a week. Mercifully, with barely a second to spare, I remembered that my needs aren’t the only ones I’m striving to answer.

There are ears everywhere. As stated previously, they more than triple when the king is in court.

My grandfather is in this region of Russia for a reason, and as much as I want to pretend that isn’t true for a few more hours so I can relish the taste coating my lips and fingers, I can’t.

The faster I play this game, the quicker I will win.

Zoya murmurs when I pull my arm out from underneath her before replacing my chest with a pillow. I’m still mostly clothed. I only removed my jacket when the image of Zoya with her eyes fluttered shut and her cheeks flushed made the conditions too stuffy to ignore. I toed off my shoes a second before climbing into bed with her. The rest of my clothes remained untouched.

It is cool this morning, but a nonoperational AC unit isn’t the reason I pull Zoya’s covers up tight. It is the beady watch of my little brother. His lower back is balanced on the wrought iron railing of Zoya’s shared balcony, and his sleeping pants are low enough to expose he’s still not a fan of underwear.

“You don’t think you should wake her before sneaking out?” Mikhail asks when I collect the shoes I left near the armchair in the corner of the room.

I join him on the emergency exit stairwell. “No.” My reply is curt. It can’t be helped. I hate having my authority questioned. It is worse when it comes to Zoya. “She needs sleep. She is exhausted.” And how the fuck am I meant to explain something to her that I don’t even understand? I tried last night, and I miserably failed to make sense of anything.

I usually strategize my games to the wire, but for the past four weeks, I’ve been flying blind. I went from caring about nothing but revenge to sheltering so many people I’m worried there won’t be enough space for everyone under my umbrella.

I won’t lose—it isn’t in my vocabulary—but it is near impossible to pull off a solo victory when you’re playing a team sport.

Zoya learned that the hard way last night.

I glare at Mikhail when he mutters, “She wouldn’t be so exhausted if you told her the truth.”

“And what exactly is that truth, Mikhail?” I snap out before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t answer me because he can’t. I’m sheltering him from the burden until I can ensure it won’t affect him how it is affecting me. That he won’t face the same level of liability he was forced to endure during his childhood. I need to make sure he isn’t burned time and time again like he was when he was Zakhar’s age.

Zak is sick. I don’t know if he will survive, so why subject Mikhail to the heartache of his existence until I know for sure? He’s lost so much already. First his mother and his sister, then any other sibling the federation deemed unsuitable for the Dokovic name. They were all pushed aside and downgraded. Some were killed. Mikhail only made the cut because he was my sole reason to obey.

When I rebelled against their rules, Mikhail was beaten as if he were disobedient.

When I refused to eat until someone told me where my mother went, Mikhail’s meals were served to the dogs guarding the prison-like mansion we were forced to call home.

When I begged for one of my numerous brothers to take my spot at the top of the pyramid, Mikhail was pushed further and further down the ladder of importance.

He was treated like shit so I would grow up years before I was close to being an adult. I refuse to do the same now that I am one.

The remembrance sees me offering a rare lenience. “She will know the truth soon.” When he attempts to interrupt me, I talk faster and with authority. “As will you. But not until I am ready, and not until I am sure you are both protected from any possible downfall it could inflict.”

There’s no dishonesty in my tone. No deceit. So Mikhail shockingly accepts my word. “All right.” He wets his lips like he’s preparing for them to be split before saying, “But I want to stay close until then. I want to make sure with my own two eyes that she’s okay.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I know,” he instantly replies, easing my rapidly surging fury. “But still, I want to stay nearby.”

My first thought is fuck no, that I have enough issues to deal with without adding my little brother cozying up to the woman who will be mine no matter what, but there’s a gleam in his eyes I can’t misplace. It is the same glint that formed in them every time he found me in my hiding spot when we were kids.

We sat in my closet some years for hours on end. We didn’t speak or play with the hundreds of toys our grandfather bribed us with. We mused over a possible life outside those walls.

It proves he’s looking at Zoya now as more of a sister than a prospective bed companion, and that alone eases my hesitation.

“All right,” I parrot.

Mikhail looks as shocked as I feel.

This is not how I envisioned our next meetup going.

“But not here. Not in this building.”

It drove me insane with jealousy when Konstantine announced Mikhail had kicked out the men Daniil had placed in the apartments bordering Zoya’s so he could lay down roots.

Just knowing he was under the same roof as Zoya longer than me last night had my arrogance at an all-time high.

“I’ll organize you another apartment?—”

“I can find somewhere else to stay. You don’t need to go out of your way to accommodate me.” For the first time ever, he gives me a bit of leeway on the numerous tasks I undertake each day. “I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate.”

I huff like his dart didn’t hit the board before putting on my shoes and tying the laces.

Once I’m ready to go, I commence climbing down the emergency fire exit stairwell. “Give her some space. She’ll forgive you when she’s ready, not because you try to force her to. She’s stubborn as fuck.” I could leave it there, but I’ll have to kill someone to maintain my reputation if Mikhail were to see my smile. “And buy some fucking underwear. You’re meant to garnish their appetite with a sneak peek of what is about to come, not bring out all three courses a second after they sit down.”

Mikhail’s laugh is still ringing in my ears when I slide into the back door of one of the many maintenance vans siding Zoya’s building.

With the amount of coin KADOK Industries has been throwing into this side of Myasnikov, a late-night inspection from a building supervisor was an easy cover. I just had to keep Zoya’s moans to a minimum.

That wasn’t easy, and the remembrance tightens the front of my pants.

I try to downplay it, though. The last thing I need is for my crew to think I am weak. We’re putting in steps for the biggest coup of the century. I can’t lose their faith now.

“Anything?”

Konstantine peers up from a laptop he is rarely without. He takes in my crumpled shirt and trousers before slowly shaking his head. “Not a peep.”

I sigh, relieved. I took a risk coming here last night. My grandfather is in town, which means the top-tiered members of the federation are only steps behind him, but it had been too long since I’d heard Zoya moan my name and had her heat wrapped around my cock. I couldn’t set aside my needs for a second longer.

I ticked off the first half of my wish list within minutes of arriving at her apartment. The latter will have to wait. I want Zoya floppy with sexual exhaustion, not alcohol. Last night, part of our exchange swayed toward the latter.

As I slot into the driver’s seat of the van, I say, “Keep ears close to the ground. If news of my visit to this part of town circulates, I’ll have Kolya organize a press release.”

My father’s pledge last election was more affordable housing for his less wealthy constituents. His promise got him elected, so it is only right his favorite son helps him uphold his pledge.

When I check the side mirror to make sure I can pull onto the street safely, a woman in a sparkly gold dress captures my attention. I’m not perving. What interest could I have in another woman when the arousal of the very definition of a goddess is still on my lips? It is recalling where I’ve seen her before, and how a refresher in my attitude could help me more than disadvantage me that secures my devotion.

“And reach out to Lilia. I need her help with something.”

Konstantine grunts in understanding as I pull onto an almost isolated street.