Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

This has not gone how I expected.

Instead of the royal bitchslapping from a disgraced socialite who has every reason to despise me, Melanie Hamish simply opened the door and welcomed me in. Offered me coffee. Introduced me to her husband, who keeps eyeing me warily but doesn’t say or do anything about it.

“Oh, yeah. I know who you are.” She sips her coffee. “You exposed me more than I exposed myself on camera.”

Jameson coughs into his cup.

I glance around the room. Their home is tidy, but warm. Lived-in. From the research I reviewed before coming here, Melanie and Jameson have only been married for a couple of years. It was a courthouse wedding. No grand reception or series of lavish engagement parties. They seem like the kind of people who don’t care about those kinds of things.

If I hadn’t seen her birth certificate myself, I’d never guess she came from Stewart and Ophelia Hamish.

I draw in a slow breath. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

Melanie shakes her head. “Don’t. Really. You did me a favor, believe me. If anything, I owe you a gift card or, like, a fruit basket or something.” When she sees me frown, she shrugs a shoulder. “My parents are the definition of toxic. I didn’t need the money from doing cam work; I needed the freedom. If you hadn’t done what you did…”

She shudders. Jameson rubs her back and whispers something in her ear.

“I’m fine,” she whispers back. Her fingers brace around the coffee mug as she turns back to me. “I was thinking about ending it, Mr. Chekhov. All of it. Had the bottle of sleeping pills stashed away for when I could bring myself to finally do it.” She sniffs. “My sister doesn’t know that, by the way. She was pretty much the only reason why I stayed. Her and Jamie.”

He presses his brow to hers and I turn away to give them space.

But I turn back when something tugs at the back of my mind. “You have a sister? I don’t remember hearing anything about that.”

Melanie looks to her husband, who stills. “Yeah… I was always the more public child. She preferred to stay in the shadows, out of sight and out of mind. Smart cookie.”

“I see.”

“I know you didn’t come all this way just to apologize. Which I appreciate, by the way; don’t get me twisted. But I know you weren’t just ‘in the neighborhood.’”

I chuckle. I like this woman. She reminds me a lot of Daphne, with the same fire in the way she approaches things. And the same kind of auburn hair that shimmers in the light.

“Your parents have been causing me problems lately,” I say by way of explanation. “I wanted to see what you know about it.”

Melanie snorts. “Why am I not surprised? Stewart and Ophelia couldn’t take a hint if it was a gun at their heads. But, to be honest, I don’t know anything about what they’re up to. We don’t speak anymore.”

“At all?”

“Not a peep. But, if it helps, I do know that they never do anything for free. Especially now that they’re financially and socially ruined.”

I nod as I process that. “Is there anything else I should know?”

She hesitates and glances at her husband. They both shake their heads. “Not that we can think of.”

That sets off my radar. Bullshit. She’s lying.

I set my coffee mug down to lean forward in my chair. “If I find out you had anything to do with this⁠—”

Jameson pulls her back and holds his hand up to me. “Are you threatening my wife?” he growls. “In my home?”

Normally, I’d take this opportunity to remind him who’s asking the questions and who’s supposed to stay in line. But I have to admit, I respect the man.

“It’s okay, honey.” Melanie rubs his chest. “He’s just being thorough. Making sure we don’t get involved. I would never, even if they asked.”

I nod. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Hey, Pasha! How was your⁠—”

I cut Daphne off with a kiss that lets her know just how much I missed her while I was gone. Airport food and hotel breakfasts are nothing compared to the taste of her.

“We don’t have much time.” I lock the door behind me and yank my jacket off. “I have a meeting with my vors in about half an hour, and they’re on their way.”

Daphne’s eyes widen. “I could have brought you lunch or something.”

“You are lunch.”

The wheels of the jet hit the tarmac less than an hour ago, right on time for me to make the early afternoon meeting I’d scheduled with my men to go over the next few months of planning while I’m basically on paternity leave.

But there’s no fucking way I’m going to make it through that meeting if all I can think about is burying myself in Daphne. That’s why I texted her to meet me at my office.

I pull her with me toward the overstuffed chair. The dress she’s wearing is driving me fucking wild—the skirt is almost too short, thanks to our baby inside her, and her swollen cleavage is begging me to faceplant in it.

“Come here.” I yank her onto my lap. “I need my woman.”

Daphne purrs. “Miss me?”

“You have no idea.” I push her skirt up over her hips and tug at her panties. One rub between her thighs tells me she’s more than ready for me. When those damned panties don’t slide off as easily as I want, I grab them in my fists and rip them apart.

Usually, I’d take my time, work her into a frenzy, but we don’t have that luxury.

And we’re already in a frenzy as it is.

One hand fists in her hair, holding her to me so I can taste her gasping moan while the other hand guides me into her.

She’s so hot. So wet. So perfect.

So… mine.

The breath leaves her lungs for a moment when I pull her down harder in that single thrust. One choked moan, and then she’s riding me like it’s the only chance we’ll have for a while. All I have to do is grip her hips and hang on.

My phone buzzes. I shouldn’t check it. But with the meeting around the corner…

Shit.

“The men are… almost…” Fuck, she’s working all coherent thought from me.

Daphne bites her lip with a sexy, coy smile. “Then you’d better hurry up if you wanna keep me to yourself. I’d like to be able to look your brother in the eye tomorrow.”

I tug the collar of her dress down enough for one of her breasts to pop out. I don’t fucking care how close they are—I need to taste her. “Don’t talk about another man while I’m burying myself in you, moya plamya.”

“Why not? Don’t you want your men to watch you claim your woman?”

Good fucking God. I am not an exhibitionist and I’m definitely not okay with anyone seeing Daphne like this.

But the fantasy… the mental image of taking her, sprawled across my desk, naked and writhing and screaming my name, sobbing for more… while our Bratva watches…

When I shudder and groan my release into her, she joins me.

I’ll never have enough of this. Of her. Of her smell, her taste, her voice. Of the way she clings to me and yet soothes me all at the same time. Even now, as we both catch our breath, my face buried in her breasts, I feel her stroking my hair.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

I reluctantly peel my face out of her cleavage. “I missed you, too.”

She opens her mouth to tell me something else, but there’s a knock at the door. I fumble for my phone and type out a hurried text to Mak.

PASHA: Take them to the conference room. Order up some sandwiches. Bring in the bartender.

MAK: Feeling generous today? Or does your office just reek of sex, you dirty little perv?

On second thought, they can all starve.