Anastasia | +18

Aleksandr

Her perfume. Her voice. Her hair. Everything about her consumes me. Absolutely everything. The rare moments I see her are when the door to my office swings open. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds where my grip on control seems to slip. Ten seconds where I feel that pull, that unbearable tension winding inside me like a noose. Maybe Matvei was right.

When I ordered him to take her, he warned me. Said it was dangerous. That it would complicate things. I didn't think he meant for me.

Rules were imposed for a reason. Strict, unwavering rules. Yet in just a few days, she's managed to break three of them. She tests the limits without even realizing it, pushes against the boundaries as if daring me to do something about it. And I should.

I told Matvei to take care of it, to handle the discipline. And yet, the thought of bending her over my lap, forcing her to accept her punishment, sets my blood on fire.

I can already feel my cock hardening at the idea of her bare skin against my palm. At the sound of her breath hitching, her body trembling.

Fuck.

Pull yourself together, Aleksandr.

After she fainted upon seeing Mother, I had to have that conversation with Mother. Not something I was dreading, but I would have preferred to wait.

Mother didn't hold back.

She didn't know what to say at first, then suddenly she knew exactly what to say, her voice rising into accusations and disappointment. She shouted at me, telling me I had crossed a line. That this was beyond reason. I didn't bother listening to the rest, but I know her well enough to understand what's coming next.

She'll want to see Anastasia. And if I don't take her, Mother will come herself.

And Anastasia? She's a fucking weakness.

I hate her for that. Hate the way she burrowed into my thoughts, into my skin. But I crave her all the same. I should fuck her. That's what I wanted the moment my hands curled around her jaw, that frustrated grip I couldn't release. I feel like a child, like some pathetic boy unable to control himself.

And yet, deep down, I have no desire to. I don't want control. I want her. I want to take her. Take what's mine.

Before I can dwell on it any further, the door opens, and Aka strides in. Her expression is tight, her breath uneven.

"Gandjino is dead. Burned alive," she announces.

The words sink into me, forcing me to pull away from my thoughts. My fist clenches, and all my previous frustrations melt into something colder.

Gandjino dead means Simon has finally taken action.

I knew from the moment I pressed my gun to Giovani's head that this would lead to war. This isn't entirely Anastasia's fault, but deep down, I hope she blames herself just as much as the first time.

"The Weisses?" I ask.

"They're gone," she says, shaking her head. "No trace of them."

I inhale slowly, my ribs expanding before releasing a breath through my nose. "When?"

"I don't know. Their homes are empty. No signs of struggle, no indications of where they went."

I glance up, and for the first time, I see something in her gaze, hesitation. Maybe even fear.

"Their son," I murmur. "He's on his honeymoon, isn't he?"

Aka nods, confirming.

"Find him," I order. "Kill his wife."

A beat of silence.

Then, my fist slams against the desk. "Kill her ! Make her suffer ! I don't care how ! But bring me that fucking family by any means necessary."

She takes a step back, nods, then leaves without another word.

The Weisses were an influential family in Russia, not because of their power but because of their wealth. They were born into money, dripping in privilege, but they lacked the spine to keep hold of it. I had to make allies of them. I promised them marriage, a distant cousin in exchange for their loyalty. After the wedding, business was sealed. We gave them protection from the police, from their enemies. In return, they gave us access to their men and weapons.

And now? Those cowardly bastards have run.

I glance at my desk before sweeping the papers onto the floor, the sound sharp in the silent room.

__________________________________________________________________________

Midnight.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring into the mirror. My back is lined with scars, remnants of a time I'd rather forget. The memory of the whip colliding with my skin resurfaces, and with it, Simon's voice. Five years. Five years I spent under his power to ensure Anastasia had a perfect life.

And now I find out she wasted it. A stripper. That's what she became. Not a wife. Not a mother. A fucking stripper.

I thought she'd belong to someone else by now. That she'd be engaged, pregnant, claimed by another man. But no.

When I saw her that night, I didn't see her. Not at first. That cheap red hair. That makeup. That outfit. I hated her for it.

But the moment she spoke, the moment her voice wrapped around my name like a ghost from the past, everything inside me turned sharp and possessive.

Killing her would have been easier.

But keeping her? Keeping her here, under my roof, within reach?

That's the real danger.

I stand and walk toward the window, reaching for my cigarette. But just as I'm about to light it, something catches my attention.

She's in the pool.

I lean against the frame, watching.

She moves carefully, stepping in inch by inch. The water must be cold, dark enough that she can't see the bottom. Isn't she afraid? I remember the way she screamed when Father took us to the sea when we children.

By the time the water reaches her thighs, I can see her more clearly. Her hair cascades down her back, reaching past her waist.

And her swimsuit, no. Not a swimsuit. White lace. My grip on the window tightens. My cock stirs, the tension in my body coiling unbearably tight.

That feeling again. That raw, primal need that has never left me.

If I didn't know better, if I didn't have an ounce of restraint, I'd be downstairs already. I'd be waiting for her to climb out, soaked and shivering, before pressing her against the wall and–...fuck.

My breath shudders out.

She swims now, her body cutting through the water with ease, completely unaware of the effect she has on me.

She's breaking another rule. And yet all I can think about is how fucking good she'd look with her ass red from my palm, her body shuddering under me as she takes every inch I give her.

My fingers brush against my belt, my restraint fraying at the edges.

Because if there's one woman who deserves to take me raw, who was meant to take me, it's her. Anastasia.

I still remember the way she clenched around my fingers the night she got engaged to Simon.

Father knew. He always knew. That's why he tried to keep her from me.

But that night, she wasn't kept from me. That night, she came apart under my touch, moaning my name like it was a prayer.

I sit back down, dragging my hands through my hair.

Anastasia has always been the only thing I wanted. Even with other women, it was her. And one day, soon, she'll be the only woman I ever moan inside.

But she doesn't need to know that. Not yet.