Page 37 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

His gaze stayed locked on me. Then he leaned in, caging me beneath him. That familiar pressure crashed over me again.

"Name your price."

"What?"

"If you're willing to extend the deal, name whatever price you want."

I thought my ears were broken.

"What do you want? A house, a car, jewelry—I can give you anything." He looked at me like I was merchandise waiting to be appraised.

I stared at him. The soft spot in my chest instantly froze over. Reality slapped my delusions hard across the face. What the hell did he think I was?

"Matvey Bykov." Anger made me use his full name. "I'm only doing this to pay for my sister's medical bills. I had no choice but to stand on that auction stage."

"What do you think I am now? Some whore who'll spread her legs for cash?"

My voice trembled. My lips trembled.

I'd been naive enough to think I was special. But now it was clear—in Matvey's eyes, everyone was the same. Money. Profit. Was that all he could see?

"You talk too much." His hand gripped the back of my head, thumb pressing against my jaw. "You only need to answer my question."

His disapproving look seemed to blame me for being unreasonable. I felt like my heart would be carved right out of me.

"I have a right to know why." I met his gaze. "You have so many lovers. Women everywhere."

"Why me? Just because my body's a novelty you want to try?"

God, I was pathetic—my voice cracked the moment I opened my mouth.

"You don't need to know why." His voice dropped several degrees. "You just say yes and tell me what you want."

His reaction made me wonder if I'd pissed him off.

"I want to know why."

"I only want you right now." He fell silent for a moment, then forced the words through clenched teeth. "I fucking hate admitting this, but I can't stand other women anymore."

"When I think about another woman sucking my dick, it makes me sick."

"You think I want a novelty? You ever seen novelty last two months or more?"

That completely froze me. Was this what? A confession? Nothing like what I'd imagined.

"So you're... jealous?" I ventured carefully, afraid of setting him off again.

The air went quiet. His heavy breathing stopped abruptly.

Right. I'd hit the nail on the head. He was jealous—Matvey Bykov, this cold, ruthless man, was actually jealous. It was unbelievable.

"I said you talk too much." His large hand covered the lower half of my face.

My face was hot enough to fry an egg.

He cared about me. He just didn't know how to express it? This discovery was like Columbus finding the New World. Finally, after a moment of stillness, he slowly lowered his hand. He'd regained that experienced, composed demeanor.

The taut string in my mind finally relaxed. I took a deep breath and collapsed back onto the desk.