Seducing the Badman (Russian Bratva #2)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Yes, he is,” he admits quietly. I feel a bit better that I am not the only person who sees this in Radimir. “I will be right here, waiting for you,” he offers with a nod. I give him a shy smile before stepping out into the sunshine.

  I will never be used to this much sun. I will never be used to the warmth that the sun radiates. I adore it. I can feel myself being happier and healthier with each passing day, and I know that the constant sunshine has done nothing but add to my mental recovery.

  A woman is sitting behind a reception desk, and as much as I want to ignore her, I do not know what floor Radimir’s office is on. The brick building is tall, too many floors to just guess at where Radimir might be hiding from me, so I walk over to her. I stand with my back straight, my shoulders squared, and pin my gaze on her. I am not above intimidation.

  “May I help you?” she asks, her blonde hair pulled back tightly to the nape of her neck.

  “Yes, I am here to see Radimir Zalesky. Can you tell me on which floor his office is?” I ask in my best English.

  “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Zalesky?” She arches her brow at me, as if she knows something I do not, or perhaps she is challenging me? Bring. It. On.

  “I do not need an appointment. I am his wife,” I state.

  I then watch as her eyes widen in surprise before she opens and closes her mouth like an out of water fish. She quickly hands me a piece of paper with the floor and office number where my husband should be located. He better be there. I have had enough of his hiding.

  I quickly walk to the elevator and am lucky when the doors open immediately. I press the number ten for Radimir’s floor and I wait, impatiently and nervously. The elevator stops on the fifth floor and a man I recognize steps in. He is tall and powerful in his suit. The last time I saw him, he was saving me. He saw me at my absolute worst, and now he is standing right next to me. I look over to him and am surprised to see his gaze on me—fixed.

  “Does he know you are here?” Kirill Baryshev, my husband’s boss for all intents and purposes, asks.

  “No,” I reply with a shrug. I am rewarded with a sneaky looking grin that appears on his lips.

  “You are a handful,” he murmurs. I grind my teeth together. Why on earth does he keep telling people this about me?

  “I wanted to thank you. I haven’t seen you since that night…” I let my words trail off, because they need no further explanation.

  “No need to thank me,” he sighs, turning to face me. I turn as well, though I’m unsure why. My body just moves as he moves, mimicking him.

  “I do. You didn’t have to help,” I whisper, tears shining in my eyes.

  “I would do it for any other woman in your situation.” His hand slides up my neck and cups my cheek. “You are the wife of one of my men. You are a soft woman who did not deserve any of that. You are completely innocent, and I would have done it over and over again, Emiliya.”

  My lips fall open slightly and I am caught in his gaze. It doesn’t feel sexual between us, but to anybody looking, it would appear to be so. Kirill feels like Yakov, like a brother, and he is being sincere in this moment.

  “I – I—” The sound of the elevator door opening startles me, and I jump away from Kirill’s sweet embrace.

  “This is your floor,” he murmurs. I step out, turning around to tell him thank you one more time.

  “Do not thank me again,” he says, his tone sharp and harsh. This is how I imagine he must sound as he commands these men, because it is slightly terrifying.

  I turn away from the elevator to find several eyes on me. I ignore them and search for the office labeled as Rad’s. A petite redhead in a too tight pencil skirt and too low cut top walks right up to me, her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips.

  “May I help you?” she practically barks. She reminds me of the little Chihuahua dogs I have seen in my neighborhood out on walks.

  “I am looking for Radimir Zalesky’s office,” I explain as I ignore her stare and continue to scan the closed office doors.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  I almost roll my eyes, as this is the second time I have been asked this question.

  “No,” I state, unwilling to give her anything else.

  “Well, as his secretary, I am sorry to inform you that he is very busy today. You will have to make an appointment and, honestly, whatever it is a woman like you wants, I highly doubt he will be willing to receive it,” she says. My head whips around to face her, my eyes locking in on hers.

  “Why would a woman like me be unable to see him?” I question, arching a brow.

  “It is obvious you are here as possibly, what? Jilted one-night stand? He doesn’t want you, honey. Never did and never will. He’s got me, and I’m not going anywhere,” she offers.

  I bite back the anger and fury in order to find out more information about this relationship she’s trying so hard to convince me she has with my husband.

  “You are with him then? The two of you?” I ask.

  I am trying to play the part of the confused female in search of a man she thought she could have, instead of the crazy, angry, Russian princess I want to become—pulling her hair and scratching her eyes out.

  “Well, not yet; but any moment I will wear him down, and he doesn’t need some desperate whore trying to weasel her hooks into him,” she announces. I notice more than one head turns our way.

  “Take me to him and let us see who he chooses,” I suggest. She actually rolls her eyes at me.

  It is true, I am not in Russia anymore. These people do not know who I am. Nobody has ever treated me the way these women have, in all of my life.

  The petite redhead does as I suggest and turns to walk toward an office at the end of the long hall. The door is closed, but apparently, she feels comfortable enough to walk right into the room. This is uncalled for. Never was a person allowed to waltz into an office of my father’s, home or business, while the door was closed. This woman needs to go. I’m not saying that because she’s trying to fuck my husband, either – well, for the most part, anyway.

  “Joslyn, what is it? I am busy,” my husband’s rich voice floats through the room. I stand far enough behind the woman, Joslyn, apparently, that he can’t see me in the shadows.

  “Someone is here to see you, Radimir. I tried to tell her to leave, to explain our situation to her, but she is adamant about seeing you,” she purrs—actually purrs.

  “Joslyn, I have told you, we cannot…” He doesn’t say he doesn’t want her, but that they cannot. The kick to my gut that his words bring is more pain than I anticipated.

  “Please, Radimir,” she shamelessly begs, seeming to have forgotten about my existence.

  I quietly walk into the middle of the room. He is focused on her, so he doesn’t notice me until I open my mouth to speak.

  “Yes, Radimir, why is it that you cannot fuck her? She wants it so very badly, she is begging you,” I say.

  My shoulders are square, my hand on my hip, and my eyes boring into his.

  “YES, RADIMIR, WHY IS it that you cannot fuck her? She wants it so very badly, she is begging you,” my wife’s voice floats through the air and straight to my fucking cock.

  I stand immediately.

  Joslyn is leaning over my desk, giving me an extremely perfect view of her petite, perky breasts. I will not lie and say that I haven’t been enjoying the views that she has offered the past few weeks. I have enjoyed, but I have not indulged.

  Emiliya is forever on the forefront of my mind, but I have not been able to fuck her since bringing her back from the house in South Africa. I want to fuck her. I want her pussy squeezing my cock. I want her tits in my hands, but I cannot bring myself to even attempt to touch her. She was violated, she was hurt, and it was all of my fault.

  I do not deserve her if I cannot protect her.

  The guilt has been eating away at me. Her eyes. Her fucking eyes still haunt me every time they look my way.

  Except for
this exact moment.

  My wife’s eyes are filled with fire and ice. The combination frightening and, in this moment, I have no doubt that she is indeed the daughter of Ivan Chekov. She is terrifying, sexy, and appears to be completely heartless.

  “Emiliya,” I murmur.

  “Radimir,” she huffs, crossing her arms under her delicious tits.

  Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have those in my mouth right now.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” I take my eyes away from her distracting tits and start peppering her with questions. She is not famous here, she is just a girl, and she isn’t safe here.

  “Anton drove me,” she says, her eyes still narrowed. She’s obviously still pissed off. I like it—too much.

  “Excuse me, is this some whore one-night stand? What is happening here?” Joslyn asks, pursing her lips together as her eyes bounce between us, reminding me that she is still in the room. Everything disappears when my Emiliya is present.

  “Yes, Radimir? Am I your whore one-night stand?” she asks. It goes straight to my cock, again.

  Whore.

  Blyad.

  My wife.

  My whore.

  Mine.

  “Joslyn, you may leave,” I say, never taking my eyes off of my sweet Emiliya.

  I want to get my fill of her before this comes crashing down between us. I don’t want that haunted look to float back, I like this fire she has, this anger toward me. I can forget how breakable she has looked these past weeks when she looks as if she’s about to rip my cock off with her bare hands.

  “We have something, Radimir,” Joslyn whines.

  I finally look at her. She has been something to look at, and she does her job well, but after only a month, I am annoyed with her. She thinks she is getting me as her man. I would ruin her and make her cry in about a minute if she saw anything other than my professional mask.

  The real me would terrify her.

  “I have nothing with you, Joslyn. This is my wife. You have made it very clear you cannot work near me in a professional manner. You are fired,” I announce, my cold gaze boring into hers.

  I watch as her bottom lip trembles and tears fill her eyes. Those tears of hers, they make me feel absolutely nothing. I do not feel sorry for her, nor do I feel my cock twitch. Emiliya’s tears however, just thinking about them makes me so fucking hard.

  Joslyn finally leaves when she realizes I don’t give a flying fuck about her. My eyes are trained solely on my wife, and she is so fucking angry. I should feel something other than horny about her angry gaze, but I can’t. Her eyes are so fucking bright, and her cheeks have a tint of pink. Fucking perfect.

  “You are here, what do you want?” I ask, sitting back down in my leather office chair, pretending to be apathetic to her presence.

  I watch as her knee jerks. She was going to stomp her foot. It takes everything inside of me not to chuckle as my printsessa behaves exactly as I expect her to, like a true princess. Then, suddenly, something changes in her demeanor. Gone is her anger and in front of me is a sexy goddess.

  My temptress.

  My seducer.

  I am in trouble.

  “Why do you not want me anymore, Radimir?” she asks coolly as she begins to step toward my desk. I gulp, watching her slim, sexy as fuck, legs step closer to me.

  “It is not that, Emiliya. It is complicated,” I explain with a heavy sigh.

  I want her. I want her so badly my heart and cock simultaneously ache. I have been staying here in my office, showering at my gym, and trying so hard to stay away—it hurts.

  “What is so complicated that you cannot come home to be with your wife? That you cannot fuck your blyad?” she asks.

  I cannot suppress my groan. My weakness—when she refers to herself as my whore. I should hate the reference, considering my occupation when I was younger. I don’t hate it, though. I fucking love it.

  “I could not protect you. I do not deserve you,” I practically moan when she is in front of me.

  I watch as she sinks to her knees. Her eyes are focused on mine as she slides her cool hands from my knees all the way up my thighs. I grind my teeth to keep from throwing her on the desk and fucking her until she’s screaming wildly.

  “So you think… my kidnapping means you do not deserve to fuck your own wife?” she asks as her slim fingers play with my belt buckle. My hips automatically thrust forward. I should regret it, but the small look of triumph in her eyes is worth it.

  “It means that I know that I do not deserve you. I have found alternate living arrangements, Emiliya. This is not like last time. This is not something I did to hurt you. This is about me not being capable enough to protect you properly,” I explain. My breathing has grown heavy and ragged, my eyes hooded, and I am completely focused on her fingers as she slowly unbuckles my belt.

  “I think that you are just overreacting, Radimir. I will not allow you to leave me or even contemplate it. I am not a little girl to be told what to do anymore. I will not be shuffled away, again. That safe house was bullshit, and I will not tolerate it again. You not coming home every night will also not be tolerated,” she explains, as if she has a say in anything that I do – which she does not.

  “Emiliya, it does not work this way,” I warn as her small hand slips beneath my boxers and pulls out my hard cock.

  I watch as she looks at it curiously and then wraps her fingers around it, slowly stroking me. I have never allowed her control over my body before, not really, so her movements are hesitant. It still feels amazing, and I drop my head back and close my eyes.

  “It doesn’t? I thought that I was to be your moy chernovolosyy koroleva. Explain to me how your Raven Haired Queen can rule without her king?” she asks. I pop an eye open and look down at her. She’s staring right at me, bold and proud, and so fucking beautiful.

  “You are moy chernovolosyy koroleva, kotik, and that is why I cannot put you in danger,” I try to explain before my breathing picks up along with her pace.

  Fuck, she feels good, I thrust into her hand and stifle a groan. It has been weeks since I have been anywhere near my woman, and my body knows who owns it. She does. Emiliya.

  Radimir is on the edge. He is close to relenting, and even closer to an orgasm. But my game is not over. He has not relented yet; therefore, I have not won him back. I will get him back. I will seduce him. I will do what I must. We belong together, he and I.

  He has had enough shit handed to him in his life.

  He needs me to make his future easy, bright, and beautiful.

  I aim to do just that.

  I release his cock from my hand and lean down, placing a kiss on the tip before I stand in front of him. With a growl he raises his head and opens his eyes, focusing on me in question. I smile and shake my head once.

  “You do not want me, Radimir, then I will not beg you.” I pause before continuing. “I want you. I have fallen in love with you, but I have lived my life so very alone. I do not wish to live this way any longer. I want you at my side. I want your babies inside of me. I want to take care of them, and of you. I cannot, however, run after you Every. Single. Time. something happens in our lives that is a tragedy, or traumatic in some way. If you no longer want me, please send me to New York so that I may spend my days with someone who loves me, with my brother.”

  I watch as he blinks in disbelief. I have not only left him hard and on the brink of an orgasm, but I have also announced that I will leave him. He is used to being in control. He is used to calling the shots and leaving me. Well – no more.

  Radimir stands, grabbing my waist and turning me so that my ass collides with the edge of the desk. Without a word, he wrenches my shorts and panties down my legs. I gasp in surprise, but find I cannot hide the smile that tugs at my lips.

  “No more talking, kotik,” he growls.

  Radimir sits and at the same time lifts me and brings me over his lap. I spread my thighs to straddle him and moan as I glide down on his har
d length. I rake my nails along his shirt covered biceps to the back of his neck, burying my fingers in his hair.

  “Rad,” I murmur as I slowly rise then fall down his cock.

  “You will not leave me,” he groans when I grind down.

  I feel his hands slide up my torso, taking my top with them, and then his fingers wrench my bra down. His lips gently suck on one of my exposed nipples. I haven’t had such gentility from this man before, and I find it feels fantastic.

  “I do not want to,” I freely admit.

  I rotate my hips and pull his mouth closer to my breast by placing pressure against the back of his neck. It feels so good—so wet, so hot, and so perfect.

  “You seduce me again, my wife, my kotik, moy chernovolosyy koroleva,” he murmurs against my skin as his lips move toward my other breast.

  I cannot control the movement of my hips. I am fucking him, using his cock for my pleasure, and I am loving it.

  “I am always yours, Rad,” I admit shamelessly. I will always come back for him, until there is nothing between us left to salvage.

  “I do not deserve you,” he says quietly. His hand moves to my pussy and his thumb presses against my clit.

  The sensations are too much. His lips brushing against my nipples. His cock, filling me, as I glide up and down. My thighs shake as I come, crying out his name. I feel his cock grow before it twitches inside of me and fills me with his release. I am loud when I unabashedly cry out a second time as he begins to lift his hips off of his chair and roughly bury himself inside of me.

  “Are you finished being stubborn?” I ask, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “Kotik,” he murmurs as his fingers trail up and down my spine.

  “No, I do not accept anything other than: I am sorry, my kotik. I will be home this evening to make passionate love to my gorgeous, intelligent printsessa,” I say, grinning at him.

  Radimir throws his head back in laughter and, like I always do, I watch, relishing in the beauty of his laugh.

  “Yes, okay. Though, I do not wish to wait until this evening. I come home now,” he mumbles. I smile triumphantly.