Throughout his life, Oleg imagined himself as a war machine, a ruthless mercenary, a cruel man, and a terrible best friend. This is not surprising, considering what he had been doing all his life. The fact that he didn't go crazy was actually some kind of fairy tale.

He never had a relationship other than with Razumovsky, but that was a whole different ballgame; it was the relationship between an owner and a dog. Oleg, of course, had always been the dog.

It is all about you now. What is on your mind?

Volkov is afraid of you.

You know, when he fools around with some random girl, it isn't anything meaningful.

So now he worries about messing things up, accidentally upsetting you⎯maybe by raising his voice or hugging your soft body too tightly. That's why Olezha treats you like you are something special, carries you in his arms, and strives to treat you like a princess.

Oleg bites his lower lip with his pearly teeth, battling filthy thoughts and trying to tune in to what you're saying. He lowers his head, carefully eyeing the book you've been nagging him for, for ages. Nah, he doesn't mind splurging on you; it just makes him feel a bit hotter when he stares at you for too long.

Especially when you wore that light pink cotton dress that hugged your waist perfectly, twirling playfully at the hem each time you ran around Oleg. Now he could hardly wait to remove it. That's what you were doing intentionally to tease him, right?

“Princess…” Oleg's voice is a low murmur, warm and husky against your ear. He leans his broad chest against your back, his embrace firm yet comforting, and his wide palm settles on your stomach, the touch sending a gentle shiver through you. You tense instinctively, your breath catching in surprise. “Buy whatever you want,” the man whispers, his nose brushing into your hair as he inhales deeply. He snuggles himself closer, his body heat surrounding you like a protective shield. “And the car. Now.” He's insistent. Always.