My Russian Billionaire Boss 🔐 | Part 15: Cracks in the Tower (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

We fell back into the old routine the moment the wheels touched down in Palo Alto, but nothing felt the same. The penthouse still smelled like expensive leather and fresh linen. The city lights still glittered below the glass walls like nothing had changed. Yet every glance Viktor gave me carried a new weight. Darker. Hungrier. Like the night in Seattle had stripped away the last polite layer between us and left something raw underneath.

Mornings started in the private gym. Viktor was still shirtless and powerful, muscles flexing under the overhead lights as he moved through his deadlifts. Sweat traced slow lines down the deep groove of his spine and over the ridges of his abs. I tried to focus on the tablet in my lap, reviewing AetherLynx schematics, but my eyes kept drifting. He knew it. Every time he caught me staring, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. When he finished his set he would wipe his chest with a towel and look straight at me, gray eyes lingering on my mouth, on the faint mark he had left on my neck the night before. He did not say a word. He did not have to. The air between us felt thick enough to choke on.

Board meetings were worse. I shadowed him like always, sitting just behind his right shoulder in the glass-walled conference room while executives droned on about quarterly forecasts and threat vectors. Every time Viktor leaned in to murmur instructions his breath ghosted the side of my neck. The memory of Seattle flooded back hot and immediate — his hips snapping forward, the way he had buried himself to the hilt and growled my name like a claim. I would shift in my chair and try to ignore the sudden ache between my legs. He never touched me in public. He never even let his hand brush mine. But the tension hummed under every professional sentence we exchanged.

One afternoon we worked from the penthouse. Viktor had canceled the drive into headquarters and told me we would review the tablet data here. By four o’clock, the living room felt too small. I was on the sofa with the laptop when he walked in from the gym still in nothing but black shorts that sat low on his hips. His skin still glistening with sweat. He stopped a few feet away and looked at me for a long moment.

No words.

He crossed the room in three strides, caught me by the front of my shirt, and pushed me back against the mirrored wall that faced the valley. My back hit the cool glass. His mouth crashed down on mine before I could draw breath. The kiss was hard and demanding, tongue pushing in like he couldn’t hold back anymore. I moaned into it and grabbed his shoulders. His hands were already yanking my shorts down my thighs. They pooled at my ankles and I kicked them aside.

He spun me around so fast my palms slapped the mirror. Our reflections stared back at us — Viktor behind me, broad and powerful, eyes dark with something that looked almost like anger. He shoved my legs apart with his knee, spat into his palm, and slicked himself in one rough stroke. Then he was pushing inside me in one long thrust. No prep beyond the spit and the leftover ache from Seattle. I gasped at the stretch, forehead pressed to the glass, and he groaned low in his throat as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Lennox,” he growled against my ear. His hips snapped forward hard and fast. The sound of skin on skin filled the gym. Every thrust drove me up onto my toes. He gripped my hips so tight I knew I would bruise. He fucked me like he was punishing both of us for wanting this — for letting the line blur, for letting the job become something neither of us could control. The mirror showed everything: my mouth open, eyes half-lidded, cock leaking against the glass; Viktor’s powerful body moving behind me, jaw clenched, sweat already beading on his chest.

I came first. Hard. My release striped the mirror in messy pulses while my body clenched around him. Viktor cursed under his breath and buried himself deep. His hips stuttered once, twice, then he followed with a broken Russian growl that vibrated against my back. He stayed inside me, chest pressed to my spine, breathing hard. Our foreheads touched the mirror. For the first time, he did not pull away immediately. He stayed there, still buried deep, one hand sliding up to rest over my heart like he needed to feel it racing.

Then he kissed the back of my neck once. Soft. Almost tender. His lips lingered for a heartbeat before he stepped back. He slid out of me slowly, leaving me empty and dripping. Without another word he grabbed a towel, wiped himself clean, and walked away. 

I stayed pressed against the mirror for a long time, breathing hard, watching my own wrecked reflection stare back at me.

_____That night Viktor was on a long conference call in his office. I heard the low murmur of his voice through the closed door. I settled on the long leather sofa in the living room with the tablet on my lap and the company laptop open beside me. The city lights glittered below us like scattered code. I told myself I was only working on the stolen AetherLynx data. The code was dangerous. I had started seeing fragments that did not make sense for simple defense architecture — backdoors that looked like they could be turned inward, pieces that might expose the entire Volkov Security network if integrated wrong. It felt like a trap wrapped in gold. Every layer I peeled back made my stomach tighten. This was not just valuable. It could destroy Viktor if we used it carelessly.

But the archive kept calling to me.

I opened it again, telling myself I only wanted answers. Who was the person in the videos? Irina? Some ex-girlfriend he had never mentioned? A mistake from his early days? I dug deeper, running a quiet script to extract a few more seconds from the files. One video finally gave me more.

It played longer this time. Young Viktor dominated a beautiful young Russian man completely. The man was lean and dark-haired, face flushed, mouth open in pleasure as Viktor drove his cock into him against the server racks. Viktor’s voice was raw with need. He thrust deep, hips snapping, and moaned a name.

“Alexei… fuck, Alexei…”

He came hard, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural sound. Then he pulled out slowly. The younger man turned, caught Viktor’s face in both hands, and kissed him slow and deep. Their bodies were still pressed together, sweaty and trembling.

“I love you, Viktor,” the man whispered in a thick Russian accent, voice soft and full of something that sounded dangerously like forever.

Viktor kissed him back like he meant it. They looked like two young men stupidly, hopelessly in love.

My stomach dropped. My cock twitched hard against my sweatpants even as my brain spun. The man who had just fucked me raw against the gym mirror this afternoon was the same man who had once been in love with another man. The parallel hit like lightning. The same hungry grip on my hips, the same dominant growl, the same way he had kissed the back of my neck earlier like he could not help himself.

I minimized the file just as the office door opened.

Viktor walked out, phone still in hand, and dropped onto the sofa right beside me. Our thighs pressed together. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne. I quickly pulled up some random files on the screen, but the guilt and heat in my eyes must have given me away. My face felt flushed. My pulse hammered.

Viktor narrowed his gaze. “What did you find?”

“Nothing important,” I lied, voice steadier than I felt. “Just some old test logs from the tablet. Dead ends mostly.”

He studied me for a long moment. Then he reached over, caught my chin, and pulled me in for a kiss. This one was slower. Deeper. His tongue slid against mine like he was tasting the lie on my lips. I hesitated for half a second. Just a breath. He felt it. He pulled back, eyes searching my face.

“Is the guest room comfortable?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, throat tight.

“I will have someone pick up all your stuff from the loft tomorrow.” The words were casual, but the meaning was not. He wanted me here. Permanently.  He had asked me right after Seattle. No more back and forth. No more pretending this was temporary.

I nodded again.

Viktor stood. “I will shower and join you for dinner in a while.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip once, then walked down the hall toward his bedroom.

I stayed on the couch, heart hammering. My mind would not stop turning. Irina Volkov had not just stolen the company from him. She had stolen something far more personal. A piece of Viktor’s past he had buried so deep I was only now seeing the edges of it. The St Petersburg archive. Alexei. The promises made in the dark between two men. Why did she have it? What secret had Viktor been hiding all these years?

__________Outside in the dark, Irina Volkov sat alone in her sleek study. The city lights of San Francisco glittered beyond the glass. Her phone lit up with a single silent ping from the tablet. She read the alert, lips curving into a slow, satisfied smirk. She opened a new message thread and sent a message to Viktor.

We need to talk.

She set the phone down, leaned back in her chair, and smiled at the ceiling like a woman who had waited years for this exact moment.

My Russian Billionaire Boss 🔐 | Part 16: The Ex Who Still Owns a Piece