The car ride was quiet.
Aubrey sat with one leg crossed over the other in the backseat of the sleek black Maybach, Borya seated beside him like a king who owned the road, the city, and maybe even the damn air. The leather seats still smelled faintly like sex and sweat, and Aubrey's thighs ached every time the car jolted over the occasional bump. But it wasn't the physical reminders that had him twitching every few seconds…it was the way Borya hadn't said a word since they left the penthouse.
Aubrey glanced sideways at the man. Borya was lounging with his arms relaxed over the backseat, shirt now buttoned halfway, a cigarette resting between his fingers, unlit. His sharp jawline was tense, eyes hidden beneath those long lashes as he stared out the window.
Aubrey couldn't take it anymore.
"So..." he drawled, "you just told your driver to drive me home without even asking where I live."
Borya didn't look at him. "I know where you live."
Aubrey blinked. "Okay, creepy."
"Necessary."
"You stalked me?"
"I protect what's mine."
Aubrey snorted. "I am not yours."
Borya finally turned his head, slowly, with that same terrifying calm that had Aubrey's breath catching in his throat.
"You were mine the moment you came in my mouth."
Aubrey groaned and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "You are so unhinged."
"And you're still hard whenever I talk."
Aubrey's head snapped up, scandalized. "Excuse me?!"
Borya pulled something out from his coat pocket. A black matte Glock.
Aubrey's mouth dropped. "What the hell is that for?"
Borya handed it to him with zero ceremony. "Take it."
Aubrey looked at it like it was a dead rat. "What do you want me to do with this?"
"Shoot anyone who touches you."
Aubrey rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Borya, what kind of psycho gives someone a gun after sleeping with them? You want me to shoot my doorman next?"
Borya didn't answer. He just stared. Like his silence alone was enough to say: Yes. Shoot the doorman if he looks too long.
"I don't even know how to shoot a gun," Aubrey muttered, pushing it back into Borya's lap. "Keep your murder toys."
Borya held it in one hand, leaned closer, and muttered something low in Russian.
Aubrey squinted. "Translate, Stalin."
Borya's lips curled. "I said, 'I like you, but don't fuck with me. You cheat on me, and I'll make you pay. I'll fuck you until you're crippled. You understand?'"
Aubrey stared.
Then burst out laughing. "Are you a psychopath? We aren't even dating. That wouldn't be cheating."
Borya didn't laugh.
He just leaned in, grabbed the back of Aubrey's neck, and kissed him so hard it almost bruised. Aubrey whimpered into it before he remembered he was supposed to hate this man, or at least act like he wasn't turned on every time he opened his damn mouth.
Borya bit his lower lip before pulling away.
"I don't care. You belong to me. Your ass belongs with my cock only."
Aubrey blinked, breathless. "Wow. Shakespeare would be so proud."
Borya smirked and leaned back just as the car slowed in front of Aubrey's apartment building.
The driver opened the door.
Aubrey stepped out on unsteady legs, still reeling.
Borya reached for his sunglasses, slid them on like the scene hadn't just been the most bizarre declaration of obsession ever uttered in human history.
"Thirty minutes. Be ready," Borya said, voice low and final.
"For what?"
"To see me again."
The door shut before Aubrey could answer.
He stood there, watching the car glide away like something out of a goddamn mafia movie.
His jaw dropped.
"What in the actual fuck..."
He stood on the curb in Borya's shirt, bare thighs visible below the hem, holding a gun he hadn't realized was slipped into his hoodie pocket.
And for some ungodly reason...
He was already hard again.
The silence in Aubrey's apartment was screaming.
He shut the door behind him, turned the lock once.
Twice.
Three times.
Always three.
The duffel hit the floor with a dull thud. His back pressed against the door, head tipped up against the wood, throat raw. His lips were still swollen. His body ached in all the places Borya had touched him. Branded him.
And his mind—it refused to quiet.
"Belong to me."
The way he'd said it. Like a vow. Like a threat.
Then—
A sharp knock. One. Two. No hesitation.
Aubrey flinched.
His eyes snapped to the door like he'd been caught.
He knew the rhythm of that knock. The exact spacing.
Of course it was him.
He unlocked it. Three clicks.
Agent Rian Adler strolled in without waiting for permission, sleeves rolled up, no badge in sight. His chestnut curls were messier than usual, like he'd been pacing, or raking his fingers through them on a loop.
"You're late," Rian said simply, brushing past him.
Aubrey shut the door behind them again. Click. Click. Click.
"I didn't know I had a bedtime."
"You do now," Rian shot back, walking straight to the kitchen like it was his own. "Especially when your signal drops off the damn Bureau's radar for a whole day and a half."
Aubrey leaned against the counter, arms folded. "I was gathering intel."
"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" Rian grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and tossed it at him without turning. "Your neck looks like it lost a fight with a wolf."
Aubrey caught it one-handed, fingers brushing the sore spot just above his collar.
Rian smirked, leaning against the bar, spinning a flash drive slowly between his fingers. "Relax. You're not the first agent to go too deep. But you're supposed to report in."
"I had eyes on him."
"I noticed." Rian's voice darkened. "Your GPS had you parked at his fucking penthouse all night."
Aubrey said nothing.
Rian's gaze lingered on him too long, too direct. That unreadable storm of concern, jealousy, judgment, and something deeper.
Something Aubrey was still pretending didn't exist.
"You slept with him."
Aubrey's jaw twitched. "That's not part of the report."
"It is if you're compromised."
"Don't start."
"I'm not starting," Rian snapped. "I'm warning you. Borya Morozov is not some Midwestern gangbanger with daddy issues. He's cold-blooded. He carves lies into people for fun. You think he won't snap you in half if he finds out who you are?"
Aubrey's voice came sharp. "I'm not stupid."
"Could've fooled me."
He shoved the flash drive onto the counter between them. "Here. Extract everything. Supplier routes, encrypted comm logs…we're pretty sure he switched ports this week. Either someone's feeding him info, or he's playing chess again."
Aubrey reached for it, brushing Rian's hand in the process.
Rian didn't pull away.
Instead, his fingers slid around Aubrey's wrist. "You're not built for this kind of deep-cover work, Bree."
Aubrey's eyes snapped up. "Don't call me that."
"You're too soft. Too…" Rian exhaled through his nose. "You make eye contact and forget who the enemy is. You smile when they talk to you. You laugh. You forget we trained for this."
Aubrey tugged his hand back. "I didn't forget. I was trained to manipulate. To seduce. To blend."
"You think he's not doing the same to you?" Rian said, voice low. "Do you think that possessive thing is love? That obsession he's faking is real?"
"It doesn't matter what it is," Aubrey said tightly.
"Yes, it does," Rian said, stepping closer. "Because when this burns down, you're the one standing in the ash. Not him. Not me. You."
A beat.
Then, soft as a curse, Rian leaned in and kissed Aubrey's forehead. "You're still my good luck charm, you know."
Aubrey didn't stop him. He never did.
But this time… his chest clenched.
Because if Borya ever saw that—even just that—he didn't know what the man would do.
Rian lingered there a second too long, like he knew it too.
Then he stepped back. "I'm still your handler, Bree. That means I'm the one who gets you out if shit goes south. That means don't lie to me. Don't keep me in the dark."
Aubrey nodded slowly. "Okay."
Rian gave him a long, pointed look.
"You're not his. You're ours."
Aubrey's smile was thin. "Sure."
Rian turned to leave, pausing at the door.
"Oh, and Langford?" he said over his shoulder. "Next time he fucks you like a possession, try to remember who actually owns your file."
The door shut behind him.
Aubrey stayed frozen for a long second.
Then he grabbed the flash drive and sank onto the couch, plugging it into his laptop with trembling fingers.
The files loaded.
But his brain…
All it kept replaying was Borya's voice, gravel-thick and feral in his ear.
"You belong to me. Your ass belongs with my cock only."
And the worst part?
He hadn't even hated it.