Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

When dinner is served, I see that Adrik has been assigned to a seat at the reject table way in the back of the Onyx Room, which is satisfying enough. But right now, I’m more concerned with the seating situation at my own table.

“Did you switch the name cards on our table?” I growl the moment Kirill walks over to me.

“Of course. Emma’s sitting on your right.”

I’m tempted to make Kirill rearrange it so that Jessica is sitting far away from me, but that would be asking too much. I leave Jessica gossiping with a gaggle of her equally nauseating friends and march straight for where we’ll be seated in the position of honor at the front of the ballroom.

Just in time to catch a certain woman in red trying to switch around the name cards so that she’s not sitting next to me.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Carson?”

She lets out a startled gasp and nearly drops her placard on one of the decorative candles adorning the centerpiece. Her cheeks flush a bright red, only a shade lighter than her dress. She looks even more ravishing up close.

“I just figured you’d prefer to be sitting next to someone more important,” she bites out.

“I’ll make do with you.”

Her jaw clenches tight as she sits herself down and angles her chair away from me.

The little siren is in quite the mood tonight.

Me being here with Jessica has her all riled up. I wonder if that’s the reason she chose to dance with Adrik—to make me feel what she’s feeling. Not that she could have known who he is. What he’s done.

“Oh, what a lovely table!” Jessica cries as she appears from nowhere and claims the seat on my left. “So elegant.”

Of course, her eyes land right on Emma. She’s the only outsider at this table. That and she does stand out.

That dress was made for the spotlight. And she was made for that dress.

Jessica leans around me. “Hello there.” When Emma tries to ignore her, Jessica actually flutters her hand in Emma’s face. “Helloooo.”

Emma affords her a tight smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Jessica.”

“I know.”

Jessica’s smile falters just a tad, but she manages to pick it right back up. “That dress is just gorg! Is it Carolina?”

“Um, I believe it’s Vivienne Westwood.”

“Of course! It’s so Vivienne.” She’s laughing a little too often—a surefire sign that she’s feeling insecure as hell. “I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Emma, Ms. Allens. We’ve met several times.”

Jessica purses her lips and taps one manicured nail against them. “Have we?”

“I’m Mr. Oryolov’s assistant.”

Jessica’s smile freezes. She stares at Emma, then glances at me, then back to Emma. “You’re the… assistant?”

“I am.”

Jessica’s smile drops instantly and she leans back against her seat. “Why is your assistant at our table?” she hisses at me under her breath.

It makes me want to slice her tongue right out of her mouth, but I sheathe my instincts and give her only a cursory glare. “Because I asked her to be.”

She must’ve actually caught the menace in my voice because, for once, she shuts up. However, the moment the appetizers land on the table, her hand lands on my inner thigh, too close to my crotch for comfort. She squeezes and laughs distractedly at something Mrs. Pelham, the wife of a prominent city councilman, is saying from across the table. I put my hand down on hers and she sucks in a breath, probably assuming that I’m being affectionate.

Then I remove her hand from my leg and her smile dies on her lips.

I turn my attention to Emma. She’s thrown herself into a conversation with Reggie Schaffer. The man owns a chain of high-end exotic resorts around the world and is fresh off the grand opening of his new flagship in Bali. He’s a charmer, but I also happen to know that he has been happily married to his second wife for the last forty years. Which is why he was intentionally seated on Emma’s right.

“… just a little intimidating, these events,” Emma says shyly, leaning towards Mr. and Mrs. Schaffer.

Mrs. Schaffer gives Emma a sympathetic smile. “Oh, honey, trust me: I’ve been there. You get used to it.”

“I don’t have to get used to it. This is not my world. I’m just the help.”

Reggie looks skeptical. “This may not be your world, but you certainly look like you fit in.”

Emma laughs and places a friendly hand on his arm. The man is pushing eighty and Emma’s touch doesn’t linger for more than a second, but it still pisses me off. I’m jealous of every smile, every laugh, every conversation she exchanges with anyone that isn’t me.

Across the table, a developer named Brady Sanchez drapes an arm around his twenty-two-year-old date and flashes me an enthusiastic smile. “Oryolov! I can’t tell you how glad I am that we’re sitting at the same table. You’re a hard man to wrangle, you busy bastard.”

I contain my smirk. Nothing about the seating chart had been left to chance. But as long as it has the appearance of coincidence, it works in my favor.

“I’ve got a new luxury skyrise apartment complex coming up in Manhattan and I need to get it decked out with all the fixings. I want that place locked down tight.”

This is shaping up to be the easiest sale of my life. Sanchez is a trust fund baby who has never met a dollar he didn’t immediately want to spend.

Then I hear laughter to my right and I completely lose my train of thought. The Schaffers are chuckling at something Emma’s just said. Even Dennis Carlisle has joined their conversation. That smarmy finance mudak is sitting next to his mistress in public while his third wife molders at home and he still has the audacity to look at Emma like she’s a juicy piece of fruit, ripe for the plucking.

“So what do you say, Oryolov?” Brady presses when I don’t reply. “My skyrise is a forty-story behemoth. And I’m gonna want every single apartment wrapped in Bane’s finest bells and whistles.”

Another burst of laughter to my right. Instinctively, my hand finds Emma’s leg under the table. She stiffens, her smile faltering for only a moment. Then she shoves my hand right off her thigh. It’s enough to make me laugh, too. When I try again, she repeats the process, keeping her face angled away from me the whole time. All I can see is her jaw vibrating with tension.

“Only the finest for you, Brady,” I murmur.

Apparently, I’ve really pissed her off tonight. It’s gonna take more than a little under-the-table feeler to thaw my sexy little kiska.

Lucky for me, I enjoy a good challenge.

Of course, not all challenges are quite so enjoyable. I’m reminded of that when Jessica’s hand finds its way back to my own thigh. I give her five seconds to reconsider and then I peel it off again. She interprets that as an excuse to sidle a little closer to me. I ignore her and focus on the little glacier in red sitting on my right.

This time, when I palm Emma’s thigh, grateful as ever for the slit that offers me contact with her naked skin, she’s ready for me. She grabs my hand and digs her nails in. It takes some effort not to burst out laughing.

The little hellcat is all claws tonight—literally—and I’m fucking loving it.

“I hope that glint in your eye means you’re the one who’s going to handle this account.” Brady folds his arms haughtily. “I’m not willing to accept anyone else.” His gaze veers to Fyodor and Vadim, the latter of whom hides his scowl behind his champagne flute.

I keep my face straight as Emma digs in a little harder. Any deeper and she’ll start to draw blood. Still, I refuse to remove my hand.

“I wouldn’t dream of giving you to anyone else.”

“Excellent.” He lifts up his champagne glass and we cheers to the new alliance.

But despite the fact that I’ve managed to score Bane Corp. a new contract worth millions before the main course has even hit the table, I’m more interested in closing the deal with the siren on my right.

I slide my hand up her inner thigh and pry her legs open. She jerks violently, causing her newfound friends to raise their eyes in alarm.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Schaeffer asks.

“Mhmm,” Emma grits out, trying desperately to push away my hand without being obvious about it.

“Is something bothering you?” Dennis Carlisle chimes in. It looks more like he’s talking to her cleavage.

“Fine,” Emma answers tightly. “Just, um… hungry.”

Yeah, I bet you are, my little minx.

The main courses hit the table and I take the opportunity to dive in a little deeper. The clinking of cutlery drowns out Emma’s fevered gasp as my fingers make contact with the thin fabric of her panties.

I tease them to the side, exposing her pussy before running my fingers along her slit. Just as I suspected: she’s wet.

But not wet enough for me yet.

“Why don’t you eat, sweetheart?” Mrs. Schaeffer suggests thoughtfully. “You’re looking a little flushed.”

I push a finger inside her and Emma lets out a tiny gasp that she tries to turn into a cough. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of scarlet and, suddenly, she’s pushing off from the table and excusing herself.

A more patient man might have waited a few minutes before excusing himself, too, but I’m rock-hard and at the end of my tether. I’m keenly aware of Jessica’s eyes on my back as I follow Emma out of the Onyx Room, but at this point, I don’t give a fuck.

I’m done pretending she’s anything but mine.

The hallway outside the ballroom is empty except for Emma. She’s racing towards the restrooms when I catch up, grab her arm, and twist her around to face me. She collides with me, all breathless and panicked.

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasps. “That was not funny!”

“No,” I growl, pushing her up against the wall. “No, it was not fucking funny.”

I silence her with my lips, stealing the kiss the only way I know how. No negotiations, no conversation. Just demanding and greedy and fucking no-holds-barred. I slide my tongue into her mouth and I feel the moan in her chest.

I’m gonna make sure the whole fucking world knows who she belongs to.

But first, I’m going to remind her.