The Boss's Forbidden Obsession

The iron gates of the Volkov estate shrieked like a dying man as Nikolai's SUV tore through them. He didn't wait for the guards to open his door; he shoved it open, his boots hitting the gravel with a heavy, purposeful thud.

His skin was still humming with the afterburn of the girl back at the penthouse. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, his tie discarded somewhere on the highway, and the scratch marks on his neck were a stinging reminder of the hollow release he'd just purchased.

He was in a foul mood. His mother's phone call had been a leash tightening around his throat. A wife. The word felt like ash in his mouth. He didn't need a wife; he needed a war to win, a body to break, or a bottle of whiskey to drown the restlessness that always clawed at his insides.

The mansion was silent, the air inside smelling of lemon polish and old money. He ignored the butler who tried to take his jacket, walking straight toward the back of the house. He needed a drink, and he needed it now.

He pushed open the heavy double doors to the kitchen, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

The kitchen wasn't empty.

Sitting on the high marble island was a girl. She looked like a hallucination-a soft, golden blur in the middle of his dark, cold world. She was wearing a silk tank top so thin it was practically a second skin, and her legs-long, pale, and distracting-swung back and forth as she ate a slice of apple.

Nikolai's eyes narrowed. He felt a familiar, predatory heat rise in his chest. Who the hell was this? One of his men's mistakes? A honey trap sent by a rival family?

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled.

The girl didn't flinch. Most people trembled when Nikolai Volkov spoke. Most women looked at the floor or tried to hide. This girl simply turned her head, her hazel eyes locking onto his with a calmness that bordered on insulting.

"I'm the person wondering why you're shouting in a kitchen at three in the morning," she replied. Her voice was like honey with a sting-sweet, but sharp. She didn't move. She didn't cover herself up. She just took another bite of her apple, the crunch echoing in the tense silence. "And you must be Nikolai. Masha said you were charming. I see she's a terrible liar."

Nikolai took a step forward, his shadow stretching across the floor until it swallowed her. Up close, she was even more irritatingly beautiful. She smelled like vanilla and rain-a scent so clean it made the filth of his own night feel heavier.

"You're in my house," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly register. He reached out, his large, calloused hand wrapping around her throat. He didn't squeeze, but he made sure she felt the weight of him. He pinned her against the edge of the marble, leaning in until his nose brushed hers. "In this house, I don't answer questions. I give orders. Now, tell me your name before I decide you're an intruder and have my guards dump you in the river."

Ivy's heart was hammering against her ribs-he could feel it through her skin-but her eyes remained steady. She reached up, her small fingers gripping his wrist. Instead of pulling his hand away, she leaned into his touch, her lips inches from his.

"My name is Ivy," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "And if you're going to kill me, Nikolai, do it. But don't think for a second that your little Mafia-boss act scares me. I've dealt with bigger monsters than you in the university library."

Nikolai's jaw tightened. He looked down at her lips-flushed, defiant, and perfect. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated obsession. He had just fucked a woman until she screamed, and yet, this girl-this tiny, stubborn thing in his kitchen-was making his blood boil hotter than any girl ever had.

He wanted to ruin her. He wanted to drag her to his room, throw her on his bed, and see if she was still this brave when he was buried deep inside her.

"A university student," he rasped, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. "Masha's little friend. My mother wants me to marry a 'good girl' to settle the family. Is that why you're here, Ivy? To be the sacrificial lamb?"

Ivy laughed, a dry, melodic sound. "I'd like to see your mother try. I'm here because Masha needed a break from this tomb you call a home. I didn't realize the 'King' was actually just a grumpy man-child who doesn't know how to use a door handle."

Nikolai's grip tightened. "Careful, little firebrand. I've broken bones for less than that."

"Then break them," she challenged, her eyes flashing gold under the kitchen lights. "But you'll still be the man whose mother has to buy him a wife because he's too broken to find one on his own."

The air between them was electric, thick with a tension that was half-hate and half-lust. Nikolai was about to haul her off the counter and show her exactly what kind of "man-child" he was when the doors swung open again.

"Nikolai! Let her go!"

Masha stood in the doorway, her face pale with terror. She rushed forward, grabbing Nikolai's arm. "She's my guest! She's my best friend! Don't you dare touch her!"

Nikolai didn't look at Masha. His gaze was still locked on Ivy, who was now straightening her silk top with a smug, victorious look on her face.

"She has a big mouth, Masha," Nikolai said, finally releasing Ivy. He stepped back, but the way he looked at her told everyone in the room that the encounter wasn't over. "You should teach your friends some manners before someone less patient than me finds her."

"I think my manners are just fine," Ivy snapped, hopping off the counter. She stood her ground, even though she barely reached Nikolai's chest. "It's your hospitality that needs work."

Masha looked between them, her eyes wide. She knew her cousin. She knew that look in his eyes-the dark, hungry glint of a predator who had found a new prey.

"Ivy, let's go. Now," Masha pleaded, pulling on Ivy's hand.

Ivy gave Nikolai one last, lingering look-a mixture of disgust and a strange, hidden curiosity-before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

Nikolai stood in the center of the room, the silence rushing back in. He could still feel the warmth of her neck on his palm. He could still smell the vanilla.

He reached for a bottle of vodka on the counter, pouring a glass and swallowing it in one go. He had come home expecting a boring night of family business. Instead, he had found something he hadn't felt in years.

A challenge.

He picked up his phone and dialed his head of security.

"Boris," Nikolai said, his voice cold and final. "The girl staying in the guest wing with Masha. Ivy St. Claire. I want a full file on her. Family, bank accounts, boyfriends. Everything."

"Is there a problem, Boss?" Boris asked.

Nikolai looked at the spot on the counter where Ivy had been sitting, a dark, dangerous smirk spreading across his face.

"No problem," Nikolai whispered. "Just a new toy. And I think I'm going to have a lot of fun breaking this one."