Raziel’s determination to keep Elaine at a distance does not protect her. It quietly breaks her heart. Elaine is hopelessly in love with him, and every glimpse of his feelings makes his rejection hurt more. Raziel watches her as though she is the only woman in the room, remembers everything she says, and touches her with a tenderness he shows no one else. Yet whenever she begins believing he might want her too, he withdraws. He calls her Sergej’s little sister, encourages other men to approach her, and sometimes leaves simply because she sits beside him. Sergej begins finding Elaine crying far too often. Curled beneath a blanket after Raziel leaves dinner early. Silently weeping in his passenger seat after Raziel flirts with another woman. Sitting on her bedroom floor, clutching the jacket Raziel once placed around her shoulders. She always insists she is fine. Sergej knows better. After finding her crying for the fourth time in two weeks, he finally asks, “What did he do?” “Nothing.” “That seems to be the problem.” Her face crumples. “He doesn’t want me.” “He does.” “No.” Her voice breaks. “Sometimes I think he does, but then he looks at me as though loving me would be the worst mistake he could make. I know he doesn’t owe me anything. I just wish he would stop making me feel as though he might choose me.” Sergej comforts her until she falls asleep, then goes directly to Raziel’s office. “My sister cries herself to sleep because of you.” Raziel’s expression empties. “What?” “She loves you, you idiot.” “She will get over it.” “No. She is learning to believe she isn’t worth choosing.” Raziel goes still. “You treat her as though she belongs to you until she reaches for you,” Sergej says. “Then you punish her for believing it.” “I have never punished her.” “I found her on the floor holding your jacket.” The color drains from Raziel’s face. “She was crying?” “I keep finding her crying.” Raziel immediately moves toward the door, but Sergej blocks him. “If you don’t want her, tell her clearly. Stop touching her, watching her, and frightening every man who approaches. But if you love her, stop deciding she would be happier without you. She isn’t.” “Where is she?” “In her room.” Sergej lets him pass. “If I find her crying over you again, we will have a very different conversation.” Raziel finds Elaine asleep with his jacket pressed against her chest, dried tears staining her cheeks.

Chapter 3: The Unexpected Interruption

The steam from the shower had painted the marble walls in damp, opaque streaks, but the air in the bathroom was cool, carrying the sharp scent of lavender and the darker, spicier trace of him. Elaine’s back was against the cold tile, a shock against her overheated skin, and Raziel was a wall of heat pressed against her front, his mouth devouring hers, swallowing every whimper.

His hand was between her legs, had been there since he’d silently followed her into the bathroom, locked the door, and backed her into the shower enclosure without a word. His kisses were a language of possession, stating what the conversation in the garden had only promised. She was slick and open for him, her body responding to his touch with a humiliating, eager speed. His fingers—long, thick, calloused—slid inside her with ease, curling, stretching.

“So fucking wet for me already, baby,” he muttered against her lips, his voice a rough vibration. “Just from a kiss. Knew you would be.”

He added a third finger, then a fourth, and the stretch was exquisite, a bright, burning fullness that made her gasp into his mouth. His thumb found her clit, circling with a ruthless, knowing pressure. Her head fell back against the tile with a soft thud, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his breath hot on her throat.

She forced her eyes open, her vision blurred with pleasure. He was watching her face, his amber eyes darkened to near black, studying every flinch, every hitch in her breath as he worked his fingers deeper, scissoring them gently, preparing her. He was everywhere—the heat of his body, the smell of him, the relentless, skilled movement of his hand.

A firm, single knock at the bathroom door made her entire body jolt.

“Elaine? You in there?”

Sergej’s voice, muffled by the wood and the shower curtain, was casual, brotherly. Raziel didn’t stop. His fingers pushed deeper, curling up, brushing that shocking, sweet spot inside her. Her eyes flew wide, a silent scream lodging in her throat. Raziel’s other hand clamped over her mouth, his palm warm and firm, his gaze holding hers with a dark, warning intensity. Quiet.

“Yeah,” she called out, her voice miraculously even, though it felt strangled in her chest. “Just… showering.” The last word hitched as Raziel’s thumb pressed harder on her clit.

“Papa confirmed his flight,” Sergej said, his voice moving as if he were leaning against the doorframe. “Lands at seven tomorrow. Wants family dinner at Moskovsky. I booked the private room.”

Raziel’s fingers moved inside her, a slow, deliberate fuck with his hand, the wet, obscene sound of it hidden by the rush of the shower he hadn’t turned on. Elaine’s knees trembled. She was stretched so full around him, the pressure overwhelming. Every nerve was focused on the feeling of his hand, on the need to stay silent, on the sheer illicit terror of her brother standing on the other side of the curtain.

“O-okay,” she managed. “What time?”

“Eight. Wear the blue dress he likes.” Sergej’s tone was distracted, matter-of-fact. “And try to be on time. No last-hour wardrobe crises.”

Raziel chose that moment to curl his fingers again, grinding the heel of his hand against her as he did. A violent, silent shudder wracked her. Her eyes rolled back for a second, pleasure sparking white behind her lids. She fought to keep her breathing even, to not make a sound. Her eyes crossed slightly, unable to focus, pleasure short-circuiting her senses as his thumb worked tight, relentless circles.

“I will,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Steam,” she added weakly.

“You sound weird. You okay?”

“Fine.” The word was a breathy exhalation as Raziel’s pace increased, his fingers pistoning in and out of her soaked cunt, his thumb a constant, maddening pressure. The coil in her belly was winding tighter, an unbearable tension. She was going to come. With her brother right there. Her eyes were wide, crossed with the effort of holding on, of staying quiet, locked on Raziel’s smug, hungry face. He loved this. The danger, the secrecy, her utter helplessness.

“Just… hurry up. Don’t use all the hot water.” Sergej’s voice faded slightly, footsteps indicating he was turning to leave.

It was the casual dismissal, the normalcy of it, that snapped the last thread of her control. The orgasm crashed into her, a silent, catastrophic wave. Her body convulsed against Raziel’s hold, her cunt clamping rhythmically around his buried fingers, her juices flooding his hand. Her vision swam, blackening at the edges, her crossed eyes seeing nothing but the blurred, triumphant gleam in his. A choked, muffled sob was absorbed by his palm. She shook, helpless, as he worked her through it, his fingers gentling but not stopping, milking every last pulse from her.

The bathroom door clicked shut.

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of her ragged, stifled breathing and the slick noise of his movement. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth. She dragged in a gulping, noisy breath, her legs buckling. His arm around her waist was the only thing holding her up.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, her forehead dropping against his chest.

He pulled his fingers from her slowly, and she felt the loss, the sudden empty ache. He brought his wet hand to his mouth, his eyes on hers, and sucked his fingers clean, one by one. The vulgarity of the act, the focused intensity in his gaze, made a fresh pulse of heat bloom low in her belly.

“Tastes like heaven,” he said, his voice gravel. “And you. So fucking perfect for me, Elaine. Took my fingers like you were made for them.”

He turned her then, gently, pressing her front to the cold tile. The shock of it made her gasp. He kissed the nape of her neck, his hands smoothing over her hips, gripping her ass. “But you weren’t made for just my hand, were you, baby?”

She felt him then, the hard, thick length of him pressing against the cleft of her ass. He was huge. She’d felt it before, through clothes, but like this, skin to skin, the reality of it was staggering. A tremor of pure anticipation—and a spike of nervous fear—shot through her.

“Raziel,” she breathed, her voice still shaky.

“Shhh.” He nibbled her earlobe. “Just feel.”

He reached between her legs, his fingers sliding through her wetness again, gathering it, then stroking his own cock. She heard the slick sound of his fist on his flesh. He pressed the blunt, broad head of his cock against her entrance, not entering, just applying pressure. The stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to this. This was a blunt, impossible promise.

“You heard your brother,” he murmured, his lips against her ear. “We have to hurry.”

He pushed forward, just an inch.

The burn was immediate, sharp. She cried out, her fingers scrabbling against the slick tile. He stilled, his body a tense line behind her.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” His voice was strained, thick with his own control. One hand came to her hip, holding her steady. The other slid around her front, fingers finding her clit again, stroking gently, trying to soften the shock with another bloom of pleasure. “That’s it. Relax for me. Take it. You can take it.”

He pushed again, another devastating inch, stretching her wider than she’d ever been stretched. The burn intensified, a bright, tearing sensation that blurred into a deep, full ache. She was panting, tears pricking her eyes, her crossed eyes seeing only the gray haze of the marble. He was preposterously large. Ten inches of thick, hard cock, and six inches of brutal girth, and he was only just beginning to fill her.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades. “You’re so fucking tight, Elaine. Like a goddamn vise.”

He didn’t rush. He fed himself to her in slow, torturous increments, pausing each time her body clenched in protest, letting her adjust before moving again. His fingers on her clit were a constant, distracting counterpoint to the deep, splitting pressure. Pleasure and pain swirled together, indistinguishable. She felt stuffed, impaled, completely possessed. The cold tile against her cheek, the steam in the air, the smell of sex and lavender—it all faded beneath the overwhelming reality of him, claiming her, making her body his.

When he was finally fully sheathed, he was motionless, buried to the hilt, his groan long and drawn-out. She felt every throbbing inch of him inside her, a presence so profound it seemed to alter her very center of gravity. He was kissing her shoulders, her neck, whispering filthy, tender praise.

“You did it, baby. You took all of me. Fuck, feel how deep I am. You’re mine now. Every fucking inch of you.”

He began to move.

A slow, deliberate withdrawal, then a push back in. The friction was unreal. The stretch was still there, a burning edge, but beneath it was a gathering tide of pure, carnal sensation. With each stroke, he brushed that deep, perfect spot inside her, making her jolt. Her cries were no longer of pain but of shattered, overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it,” he growled, his pace increasing. His grip on her hips tightened, sure to leave bruises. The sound of their bodies meeting, wet and solid, echoed off the marble. “Give me those sounds. Let me hear you.”

He fucked her with a focused, relentless power. This was not love-making; it was a claiming, a branding. Each drive of his hips stamped his possession deeper into her flesh. She was bent over, helpless, taking everything he gave, her mind blank of everything but the feel of his cock splitting her open, the rough sound of his breathing, the slap of skin.

“You think your brother knows?” he grunted, his voice raw. “You think he suspects his sweet little sister is getting her pretty cunt wrecked right now? That she’s dripping all over my cock?”

“No,” she moaned, the word a broken thing.

“He doesn’t,” Raziel agreed, hammering into her, his rhythm becoming punishing. “Because he trusts me. And he’s right to. Because I’m the only man who will ever be inside you. The only man who will ever make you come so hard you see stars. Tell me.”

“You,” she sobbed, her orgasm building again, a terrifying crescendo from the very base of her spine. “Only you.”

“Fucking right.”

His hand slipped from her clit to her hip, joining the other one, as he angled her higher, driving even deeper. The new angle had her screaming, a raw, unfiltered sound that he didn’t bother to muffle. Let the house hear. He was lost in it now, his control fraying, his thrusts turning wild and uneven.

“Gonna come,” he warned, the words gritted out. “Gonna fill this sweet cunt up. Mark you from the inside. You take it, baby. Take every fucking drop.”

His release triggered hers. The feeling of him pulsing hot and deep inside her, the possessive, grunting sounds he made, the final, perfect crush of his body against hers—it threw her over the edge. Her vision whited out completely, her crossed eyes seeing nothing but electric static as her body clamped down on him in rhythmic, milking spasms, drawing his orgasm out. She collapsed forward, her cheek pressed to the cold tile, boneless, shattered. He followed her down, bracing his weight on his hands, his body covering hers, still joined, both of them breathing in shattered, ragged gasps.

For a long time, the only sound was the drip of a tap and their slowing breaths. The steam was beginning to dissipate.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled out of her. She felt the immediate, empty ache, the hot trickle of his spend leaking down her thigh. He turned her gently, his hands surprisingly tender as he brushed the sweat-damp hair from her face. Her eyes were still slightly unfocused, bleary with spent pleasure.

He looked down at her, his expression softened, the fierce hunger replaced by a deep, satiated warmth. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her swollen lips.

“Okay?” he murmured.

She could only nod, her limbs like water.

He reached past her and finally turned on the shower. Warm water cascaded over them, washing away the evidence. He took the lavender soap and washed her body with a thorough, gentle care that was at odds with the animalistic possession of minutes before. He washed between her legs, his touch clinical now, soothing the tender flesh. He rinsed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp.

When they were clean, he turned off the water and wrapped her in a huge, warm towel from the heated rail, then wrapped another around his own waist. He led her, silent and pliant, into her bedroom.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting the room in honeyed light. It felt like a different world from the steam and shadows of the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her, drying her legs, her feet. The domesticity of the act was almost more intimate than what had just happened.

“Look at me, Elaine.”

She lifted her gaze. He was serious now, all trace of teasing gone.

“What happened in there,” he said, his hands on her knees. “That’s us. The raw, fucking truth of it. It’s not always going to be gentle. I’m not a gentle man. But it is always going to be honest. And you are always going to be mine.” He reached up, thumb tracing her lower lip. “Your brother knows the outlines. Your father will know tonight. The world will know soon enough. But this,” he said, his gaze dropping to where the towel covered her body, “this is just for us. You understand the difference?”

She understood. The public claim was for protection, for order. This private, brutal claiming was for something else entirely. For truth. For hunger. For love in its most uncivilized form.

“I understand,” she whispered.

He nodded, satisfied. He stood, pulling her up with him. “Get dressed. Your blue dress.” A ghost of his old smirk returned. “We have a dinner to get to. And a father to persuade.”

He left her then, moving to his own room across the hall. Elaine stood in the middle of her bedroom, the towel around her, the scent of lavender and sex and him still clinging to her skin. Her body felt profoundly different. Used. Claimed. Cherished. The echo of him inside her was a phantom presence, a reminder.

She walked to her closet, her movements slow, her muscles pleasantly sore. She found the dress—a sheath of navy silk her father had once said matched her eyes. As she slipped it on, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a damp, dark cloud around her shoulders. Her lips were swollen. Her green eyes held a new depth, a knowledge that hadn’t been there that morning.

There was a soft knock, not on her door, but on the front door of the suite. Before she could answer, she heard it open—Sergej had a key.

“Elaine? You ready? Car’s downstairs in ten.” His voice came from her sitting room.

“Almost!” she called back, her voice thankfully steady. She smoothed the dress, took a deep breath, and opened her bedroom door.

Sergej was standing by the fireplace, flipping through a book he’d left on her table. He looked up as she entered. His sharp green eyes, so like her own, scanned her from head to toe in one quick, assessing glance. They lingered for a fraction of a second on her damp hair, on the faint, high color in her cheeks. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze—a knowledge, a resignation, a trace of brotherly worry she knew well.

“You look nice,” he said simply.

“Thank you.”

At that moment, the door to the other bedroom opened, and Raziel emerged. He was impeccable in a charcoal suit, his hair damp and combed back, his face freshly shaved. He looked every inch the powerful Pakhan, cool and unassailable. His eyes found Elaine immediately, and the heat that flashed in them was a private bolt of lightning just for her, so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it.

“Ready?” Raziel asked, his voice bland, directed at both of them.

Sergej looked from his best friend to his sister. He closed the book with a soft snap and set it down. “Yes. Let’s go. Papa hates to be kept waiting.”

He moved to the door, holding it open. Elaine walked through first, feeling the weight of both men’s attention on her back. As Raziel passed Sergej to follow her, she heard a low, muttered exchange.

“Be gentle with her, Volkov.”

“I am what she needs, Antonov.”

“See