Page 22 of Depraved Royals
My thumb feels damp as I push harder, finding her clit. Her juice soaks through the cotton, and I want to pull her panties aside and taste her.
Dani is still asleep or pretending to be, but her body betrays her. I gather the fabric in my hand and pull it into her slit, using it to tease her clit. My other hand is working my cock.
I have to stop. I have to. I won’t get away with this…
Dani’s eyes are open.
I freeze. As I watch, her eyes slowly close again, and her body relaxes.
That was way too fucking close.
I let go of her panties and tuck my raging erection into my waistband before stealing out of the room. I re-arm the door lock and return to my bed.
I lie on my back. The ceiling of my room looks the same as it did ten minutes ago, but it feels like the rest of the world has shifted.
She’s just a woman. A beautiful, feisty woman with foxy eyes and a body that drives me crazy. But still just a woman.
There will be time for games, but I need to keep hold of the reins. One clear chance to kill Fyodor Pushkin, and then all his treasures are mine, his pretty daughter included.
I close my eyes and wait for sleep.
9
Kal
Iget up early because I know Fyodor does the same.
Simeon is an excellent little sneak, and he’s watched the Pushkins for years. So I know Fyodor likes breakfast and newspapers in the lounge before he sees to business.
When I arrive downstairs, the only person around is Marta. She’s in the kitchen, filling a giant coffee pot.
“A lot of visitors this morning,” she says, “and all of them need caffeine. People ask Fyodor for favors every day, and it takes a while for him to get around to everybody.”
Damn. So the Pushkin patriarch is safe for now.
“What takes so long?” I ask, pouring myself a cup. “‘No’ is a complete sentence. What more is there to say?”
Marta cocks her head at me and frowns. “Kal, two things. First, Fyodor prefers to sayyesas much as possible because treating people well is how a Pakhan maintains the trust and respect of people around him. And second, who are you to criticize? Your stepfather allowed ambition to swallow his soul and squandered everything good in his life. Look where it got him. Cold in the ground.”
I sip my coffee while I think of a neutral response, but inside, I’m furious.
Erik was astrongman. He had the ruthless edge that a leader needs. None of this talking-it-out bullshit with subordinates. Erik took what he wanted and gave nothing, which is whyheshould be on the Bratva throne.
“I hoped to talk to Fyodor,” I say. “We got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to have his counsel, one-to-one.”
“He’s in meetings all morning.” Marta gives me a small smile. “Is it urgent?”
Not urgent, no. But a few minutes alone with him will be enough time for me to strangle the old bastard and take off before anyone realizes what happened.
They’ll figure it out quickly, but they will have aseriousproblem by then.
There will be only one legitimate claim to the Pushkin Bratva.
Me.
When a pretender murders a king, his subjects do not rise and crush the upstart. They know the kingdom’s interests would crumble like sandcastles without a leader to hold them together.
Marta Pushkin believes in loyalty. She thinks her precious husband has friends. But a Pakhan only has associates, people who benefit from maintaining a relationship with him. All human interaction works the same way. We pretend we love each other, but it’s all just a means to an end.