Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

I feel ridiculously well-rested as I walk the special artisanal coffee blend in my hand towards Ruslan’s office.

I was tempted to wear his shirt into work today. The whole oversized-shirt-plus-pencil-skirt combo was really doing it for me. Well, that, and the fact that it was very exciting to imagine myself walking around Bane wrapped in Ruslan’s oaky-scented button-down.

It just felt… I dunno. Kind of like I’d be broadcasting the obvious. Flaunting it. In the end, I decided not to push my luck.

Ruslan doesn’t look up from his paperwork until I’ve put the coffee down in front of him. When he does look at me, his expression is impassive—and that throws me for a loop.

Last night, we broke one of his rules. A big one, in my opinion. Are we just supposed to pretend like it never happened? Am I supposed to back out of the room without addressing the giant elephant in it?

“I used the coffee voucher you left for me.”

God, I sound awkward.

He raises one eyebrow and nods. I keep twisting one of my beige heels into the dark laminate floors. There’ll be a scuff here if he keeps up this stony silence. A testament to me being so cringey it hurts.

“I just… I know you’re uncomfortable with gratitude, but I have to say thank you. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well. Or so long.”

He clears his throat. “Don’t mention it.”

I know he’s not being polite. He means that literally. Do not mention it.

“And as for the kids’ shoes… you have no idea how much it means to me. Or how much it’ll mean to them.”

“They’re good kids,” he says gruffly. “They deserve a decent pair of shoes.”

“I’ll reimburse you for them.”

His eyes snap to mine. “Don’t you dare. They’re gifts.”

“But—”

“They’re gifts, Ms. Carson. End of discussion.”

My mouth clamps shut. There’s this weird, piercing sensation in the center of my heart and I don’t like it one bit.

Why? Why does he have to go all inhuman on me now?

“If you insist,” I concede. “Anyway, yeah, they’ll be over the moon. Almost as over the moon as I was to actually get a decent night’s sleep.”

I give him a self-conscious smile that he doesn’t return. Welp, seems like my time here is done. I’m about to turn towards the door when he speaks. “I’m glad you got some sleep. You’ve been running on fumes lately.”

I’m not sure if that’s meant to be a reprimand or a peace offering, but he looks neither pissed nor annoyed. His signature eyebrow furrow is absent, too.

“Is it that obvious?” He arches his brow again and I let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s not so easy to juggle everything all the time. I do have help. Amelia’s a godsend, but she’s been getting restless lately and I just know that, at some point, it doesn’t matter how much more I agree to pay her; she’s going to want to leave.”

I have no idea why I’m telling him all this. Maybe it’s the fact that, for once, he’s actually listening.

He folds his hands in front of him. “Why do you think she’s getting restless?”

That answer is easy and obvious. “Ben.” I start digging my heel into the floor again. “It’s hard enough dealing with three young, confused, grieving kids. Add a lazy, selfish drunk to the mix and the job gets ten times as hard.”

“Does he contribute at all?”

Wait… are we having an actual conversation?

“He took my sister’s death really hard.”

“Is that a no?”

I sigh. “No. He doesn’t contribute at all.”

There it is: the Oryolov scowl. But for once, it’s not directed at me. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. But just in case I’m wrong, I decide to quit while I’m ahead and excuse myself from the premises.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go fine-tune the guest list for next week’s cocktail—”

“Emma.”

I have no idea why goosebumps erupt over my arms. It may possibly be because he just slipped and used my first name. I’m always “Ms. Carson” and, as cold as that sounds, at least it’s safe. But “Emma”? Whoo boy, that’s dangerous.

“Yes?” I squeak.

“70-33-40.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the access code to my penthouse. You can use it whenever you need.”

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. What he’s saying is not computing. “Your… penthouse?”

He nods. “You have twenty-four-seven access. I want to make sure you have a place to go if you ever need to get away from your deadbeat brother-in-law or any other slimy reporters that may come your way. The kids are welcome, too, obviously. You can change the access code once you’re inside for added privacy and protection.”

At this point, my eyes feel like they’re about to burst out of their sockets. I subtly pinch the inside of my elbow to make sure I’m awake. It hurts.

Yeah, this is real.

“But then you’ll be locked out.”

He shrugs. “If that’s what it takes to make you and the children feel safe, I’m fine with that.”

Pinch or no pinch, I’m definitely hallucinating. That’s what’s happening here. Nothing else makes sense.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just accept what I’m offering you.”

But that’s just it. What he’s offering me is so much more than a gesture. It’s safety. Security. Peace of mind.

And I’m pretty sure it’s an egregious breach of our contract.

Which is why, when I step toward him, it doesn’t feel quite so crazy. My heart is beating so hard that the vibrations run down my hands and make my fingers tremble.

I round his desk and stop at his knees. He glances up at me and I realize that I have maybe two seconds to either back out—or commit.

“I want to show you how grateful I am, sir,” I whisper, trembling as I sink down to my knees in front of him.

His expression remains intimidatingly aloof, but I notice the way his hands tighten around the edge of the armrests.

“Emma…”

I reach for the front of his pants, but I only manage to undo the buckle before his hands come down on top of mine. I’m caught between panic and desire. I’m nervous from the waist up and an utter dripping mess from the waist down.

“Yes, Mr. Oryolov?” I ask innocently.

Those amber eyes scorch my face, but I refuse to drop my gaze. If he wants to turn me down, I’ll take it like a grown woman with some semblance of dignity.

His jaw clenches and his fingers tighten over mine. “This is not a good idea.”

My disappointment is cushioned by the knowledge that turning me down is not easy for him. That’s made obvious by the extremely noticeable bulge pushing up through the crotch of his pants.

As generous as he’s being to me, I am not about to make this easy on him. “Should I leave then?”

His eyes run over my face and dip down to my cleavage. “You should fucking run,” he hisses.

I nod, ready to get back to my feet, but his hand grabs my wrist just before I rise. I descend back onto my knees and freeze, waiting for him to decide what he wants.

His jaw is clenched tight. So is the rest of him. “You dirty little kiska.”

I can’t help but grin shyly. The bright light streaming through the windows offers me a clear view of the way his pupils are dilating, blown wide with lust.

“Go on then. Show me how grateful you are.”

Biting my lower lip with satisfaction, I unbuckle his pants and ease his cock free. He’s so fucking hard, his tip already smeared with a little pre-cum. The plan is to take it slow, but the moment I taste him, I forget the plan entirely. I suck him into my mouth, swirling my tongue while my hand massages his shaft.

His fingers clamp down hard around my forearm. “For fuck’s sake, kiska,” he growls. “I know you’re hungry for my cock, but you’re gonna have to take it slow.”

I lift my head and hold his gaze for a moment. But I don’t stop fisting his thick shaft.

“Gentler,” he instructs me softly. His voice is much less gruff, much silkier. I’m all too happy to obey, taking him back into my mouth and savoring the way he throbs along my tongue. “Yes, like that… Mmm, fuck…”

His eyes close and he leans back against the black leather chair. “Now, glide your tongue from the bottom to the tip.”

I bend my head back down and obey. I start at the base of him, nuzzling the weight of his balls on my cheek, and apply more pressure with my tongue as I glide up toward his head.

“Fuck. Yes. Just like that.”

I repeat the motion a few times, adding a gentle suckle over that sweet spot that makes him hiss a deep gasp.

“What a good little assistant you are. So fucking obedient. Are you going to stay obedient for me?”

“Yes,” I rasp.

“Good girl. Now, suck my dick. Show me how hungry you are.”

I thought he’d never ask. I suck on him desperately, my mouth getting used to his size until I’m confident enough to take him deeper.

At some point, his hand finds the back of my head. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as he presses down gently. He could go harder if he wanted to, though. I’d let him. Hell, I might even beg him to. I’m that fucking desperate for him to fill my throat, to own me in every way possible.

“You’re such a good girl,” he croons. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you take all of me.”

I slurp and swallow, refusing to let up even when I think I’m nearing the end of my ability. I can feel his legs tremble on either side of me as he gets even thicker on my tongue and I know he’s close. I pull him deeper into my mouth and, just when I feel like I’m about to gag on how huge he is, he jerks violently.

Once, twice he spasms, filling my throat with his cum. I swallow as fast as I can, but it just keeps coming.

Finally, there’s nothing left. He pulls out and I gasp, falling back against the cool floor as I try to catch my breath. Ruslan is panting hard, too, and I feel a swell of pride in my chest at the sight of him slumped in his chair.

He just came in my mouth.

He’s the first man to ever have the privilege.

And even though I know it’s in flagrant disregard of the Don’t you dare catch feelings clause of our contract…

I wouldn’t have it any other way.