Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

The Inner Sanctum.

That’s how the penthouse on Madison is referred to around the water cooler at Bane. People have more factual information about Atlantis or Narnia, though. If the rumors are to be believed, Ruslan paid a whopping three hundred and thirty million dollars to purchase it a few years ago.

No one has ever seen the inside of it.

Until now.

First of all, it’s breathtaking. Like a palace in the sky. Even my frazzled brain is capable of noticing just how beautiful every single detail of this place is.

But that’s not why I like it. I like it because it smells like him. That familiar oaky spice is everywhere and it’s absurdly comforting.

How did I end up here?

Not only had Ruslan spoken freely to Kirill in my presence while we were in the car, but he’d given me access to the Inner Sanctum? To the untrained eye, they may have seemed like small gestures, but I know how significant they are. He’s sending me a message with those gestures.

He’s choosing to let me into his life.

He’s letting down his walls bit by bit.

He’s telling me he trusts me.

And this is the place I’m gonna have to tell him that I’ve fucked it all up. That, soon, the world will know about our dirty contract. That my dumb ass has gone and pressed the self-destruct button without even realizing it.

I leave the entry gallery and venture towards the stunning views that overlook Central Park. The furniture is minimalistic, but I love every piece I see, including the curved white sofa that takes up an entire side of the living room. It looks like he plucked a literal cloud right out of the sky.

I follow his scent around the apartment. Most of the rooms look untouched. The master bedroom is the only one that feels like it’s truly finished. I note a desk next to the bed, a pair of shoes tossed casually aside, a few of Ruslan’s shirts strewn over the divan.

I recognize the baby blue shirt that he wore just yesterday. I pick it up and bring it to my nose, inhaling sharply. Like an addict taking a hit for the first time in years.

If only I could bottle that smell…

I’m gonna want to remember it once this all blows up in my face.

I end up stripping down to my underwear. Then I pull the baby blue shirt on and crawl into his bed. There’s that smell again, clinging to the bedsheets. I lie in the middle of the mattress, curled up into a ball. I just stare up at the ceiling and do my best not to think of anything at all.

After I’ve spent an hour spacing out, I check my phone to make sure he hasn’t tried calling or checking.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I’m not sure if I’m waiting for him to return—or dreading it.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep when I finally hear a sound from beyond the room. I jerk upright instantly, wide awake all of a sudden. Before I can go investigate, Ruslan strides in. He’s already discarded his coat somewhere and he’s unbuttoning the front of his shirt.

He doesn’t acknowledge me apart from a small nod in my direction. His eyes are hollowed-in, dark circles circling them and making his sharp cheekbones even sharper. I’ve never seen him like this before.

Angry? Of course.

Frustrated? Definitely.

Annoyed? More times than I can count.

But tired? The kind of tired that sits on your shoulders and drags you down toward the earth? Never. Not even once.

“Ruslan—”

I’m on my way out of the bed when he holds up a hand to stop me. “No. Stay right there.”

He strips his shirt off, then his pants. He discards both on the floor and climbs into bed with me. He lies on his back, his face aimed at the ceiling just like mine was a moment ago, and closes his eyes. Only after a few minutes of silent breathing does he finally speak.

“Fuck.”

I scoot a little closer and balance myself on one elbow as I look down at him. “What happened?”

He doesn’t open his eyes. “We had to shut down the launch and send everyone home. It was the worst thing that could have happened. And of course, Sergey has disappeared into thin air and I have no clue if he was taken or he chose to run.”

I’m surprised that he’s talking about it at all. I start tracing my fingers along his arm. “Who’s Sergey? And why would he choose to run?”

“He’s my lead chemist. He has complete control over my formula. If he chose to alter it before the launch…”

“But why would he do that?”

“Because someone offered him more money than I did.”

A little shiver runs over my body. This is the first time we’ve really spoken about his other life and the work it involves. I’m getting a sense of just how huge it all is.

“So you had him invent a… a drug?”

His eyes finally open. They veer to me, more gold than amber right now. “Venera is a drug, yes, but it’s meant to be a poppable aphrodisiac. We conducted months of trials to ensure that its effects weren’t harmful or addictive. We were so thorough. Except now, five people are dead and my whole venture is over before it even started.”

I’ve never heard him talk like this. The defeatist attitude is not him. I move even closer, cup his face with my palm, and force him to look at me.

“Nothing is over,” I insist. “You’re Ruslan fucking Oryolov. There’s nothing you can’t fix.”

“I can’t bring people back from the dead.”

My face drops. “Right. No, of course not. I’m sorry—that was a stupid thing to say.”

He doesn’t smile but his expression softens, just a little. His eyebrows relax and his mouth isn’t quite so severe a straight line.

“How much trouble are you in?”

His jaw sets firmly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Now, there’s the Ruslan I know.”

He laughs bitterly and I keep running a hand over his jaw, his arms, his abs. I’m not quite sure what to do in this situation but I do know that now is not the right moment to tell him about Remmy. I desperately want to. But it’s too much in one night. He needs the peace of this apartment.

Maybe he even needs me.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask softly.

His eyes graze over my face. “I have everything I need right now.”

Then he kisses me. Soft and slow, his lips feel like they’re caressing mine. I always seem to lose myself in him, but this is the first time I feel like he’s trying to lose himself in me. I try to memorize how it feels, smells, looks, sounds.

I have to remember it all.

Growling into my lips, his hands scour my body, tugging at my panties before he’s even gotten my shirt off. He buries his face between my breasts, kneading my nipples with his tongue while he slides his fingers in and out of me. I cling to him, intoxicated by the strength in those arms that still manage to be so gentle.

I writhe on his hand, desperate for the orgasm he’s promising. But tonight, I want to give him what he gives me. I want to erase all possibility of thought from his head until it’s just him and me—two naked bodies minus all the noise.

I have to push him off me. His irises are dilated, his gaze intense. But before he can pull me back against him, I slide down to his waist and pull his boxer briefs off. I slide my tongue over his tip, lapping up the drop of pre-cum.

Cupping his balls, I run my tongue down the length of him, honing in on the most sensitive parts of him that I’ve discovered over the last few months. I like knowing what makes him moan, what makes him sigh, what makes him stiffen and buck and bite his lip. I suck him slow, deeper and deeper, inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Fuck—Emma…”

I don’t let up. Even when tears bead up in the corners of my eyes, I keep going. I swallow his cock as my hands work him up and down until his twitching intensifies, his breath shortens, and then he comes.

“Fuck!”

He explodes in my mouth and I swallow every last drop until he has nothing left to give. Wiping my lips, I rise back up and catch my breath. His chest rises and falls, little droplets of sweat dancing along his pecs. I climb on top of him and start licking each one of them off.

His eyes flutter closed as he lets me tend to him. Then, when his breathing has steadied, he grabs me unexpectedly and flips me to my side while I let out a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a squeal. He tucks me underneath one arm and wraps the other around my waist.

I feel his lips at my shoulder and then, seconds later, his breath tickling my neck. “Ruslan…?”

But I already know he’s asleep. That’s another first, another indication that he’s getting more comfortable with me. He never falls asleep first.

A part of me is relieved. But an equally big part of me is terrified.

I’ll tell him about Remmy first thing tomorrow.

No excuses.