Ruined by my Russian Pakhan

Caitlyn's POV

I grin dreamily as Sergey strides into the café. Nikolai, his ever-watchful bodyguard, follows cautiously behind him, his lethal demeanor overshadowing Serg's vivacious one.

I can tell my boyfriend comes from wealth-He exudes effortless wealth, from the crisp designer clothes draped over him to the diamond watch that catches the light with every move.

And then there's Niko-his abso-fucking-lutely ruthless bodyguard, always a step behind, Sergey's personal shadow. Appointed by his father to "keep him safe." From what? I have no idea.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Sergey murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead as he hands me a bouquet of carnations, their scent flooding my senses. My chest flutters.

God, he's perfect.

Sergey isn't just my boyfriend; he's the kind of man you read about in books, the one who texts you goodnight just to make sure you're dreaming of him. The one who pulls you into his arms during a rainstorm, whispering something devastatingly poetic, and somehow makes you believe that kind of love was real, like it's a tangible thing. He was my fairytale, my dream spun into reality.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to Café Amouré. Can I start you with a drink?" says the waiter with a smile that is more customer service generic than sincere.

"Yes." He flashes the waiter a charming smile that makes a faint blush creep up her cheeks as he glances at her nametag. "We'll both have water as we decide on our order, Lila."

"I'd be happy to bring your water... sir," the smartly dressed waiter says in a voice dipped in flirtation, laying down a couple of menus.

Normally, I would 've felt a prickle of jealousy. But not with Serg. I know-without question-that he only had eyes for me. I pick my menu and browse through it but everything looked pretty similar to me.

"I will have whatever you will be having," I say with finality, making Serg chuckle before excusing myself to use the restroom.

Once done with my business I walk out of the lady's restroom humming lively under my breath until a muffled sound from the storeroom snags my attention.

A crash followed by a low, breathy groan.

Curiosity gnaws in my chest. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't, but something about the sound-it isn't right. I edge closer, fingertips grazing the cool metal handle before pushing the door open.

Boxes are stacked haphazardly, metal shelves groaning under the weight of supplies, and a single flickering bulb casts more shadows than light. I blink, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. Eventually shapes start forming, outlines sharpening-until the scene unfolding in front of me registers.

My breath stutters.

Sergey-my golden boy, my perfect, chivalrous, romance-novel prince-is on his knees. His hands grip Niko's thighs. His mouth-God, his mouth-

Lips stretched around Niko's cock.

Niko's head is tipped back, fingers tangled in Sergey's perfect, never-a-strand-out-of-place hair.

The air goes thin.

My world-our world-tilts.

And just like that, my fairytale shatters.

"What? What the hell is happening here?!" My voice rips through the room, a volatile mix of rage, agony, and something dangerously close to disgust.

Realizing they have company, Sergey jerks back, scrambling to his feet. His hair is tousled, his lips swollen. Behind him, Niko shoves himself back together, his expression stoic and unreadable.

"It's not what it looks like. Well... I... I can explain...," Sergey sputters, looking at me like I'm some alien.

Explain? How does he even begin to explain this?

I step into the room, my face burning, my pulse pounding in my ears. My gaze flickers to Niko, who stares at the floor, deliberately refusing to meet my eyes.

"Caitlyn, let's discuss this back at our table," Sergey reaches for me, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Not what I think?" A humorless laugh rips from my throat. "I think I just walked in on my boyfriend-no, my fucking fairytale-on his knees sucking his bodyguards dick. So please, Sergey, tell me what it might be."

My hands are shaking. My eyes burn with tears welling up my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I turn on my heel, storming out of the room, my feet carrying me toward the exit.

I really fell for him. I fell for the sweet facade, the lies wrapped in grand romantic gestures. But seeing him in that position with his bodyguard in a restaurant's storage room?

It wrecks me.

Reaching my car, I fling open the door, slide into the driver's seat, and slam it shut with enough force to make the frame rattle.

My fingers tremble as I grip the steering wheel, taking slow, shallow, and uneven breaths to calm my nerves.

But before I can catch my breath

A blur of movement catches my attention.

Sergey is standing outside my car banging his hands on the window, his eyes pleading, "Cait please open up,"

For some reason, I unlock the door. Maybe because I need closure. Maybe because the curious stares from passersby make me nervous. Either way, he slips into the passenger seat.

"What exactly does this mean?" I slide as soon as he slips into the passenger seat. My voice is raw, my chest aching.

Sergey exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Caitlyn," sparing me a look so filled with something that almost resembles guilt."I suppose I haven't been honest with you enough."

I let out a hollow laugh. "You think?" My hands curl into fists as my voice cracks, but I don't care. "I have loved you unreservedly, Sergey. Fallen for every stupid, extravagant, over-the-top thing you've ever done. And you-you weren't even afraid to cheat on me? With your fucking bodyguard?" My lips are quivering, my hands are trembling as I jab a finger into his chest.

"Stop," he says, his voice sharp now. "I never cheated on you. The only person I ever cheated on was Niko. You? You were just... a cover. Someone I kept close to hide my sexuality from my father."

The words hit like a sledgehammer, knocking the air from my lungs.

Sergey holds my gaze, unflinching. "I don't love you, Caitlyn. Hell, I don't love women. I love men. And I have been using you to keep up an illusion that my father expects. I was going to tell you, but I was afraid it would break your heart."

The words hang between us like smoke, acrid and heavy. I stare at him, searching his face for some hint of remorse, something that might soften the blow-but I see nothing. My chest tightens, hurt and confusion warring in the pit of my stomach. Did any of it mean anything to him? Was I just a prop in his desperate bid for approval?

The world tilts beneath me, the ground slipping beneath me.

Well, Not every day that your boyfriend confesses to using you as a shield against his homophobic father-in a parking lot, of all places.

"I... I-" I start, but my phone interrupts me, the sharp ring shattering the thick silence between us. I flinch, the sound far too loud for my liking. For a moment, I consider ignoring it-letting it ring out while I demand answers, scream, cry, something-but my hand moves on instinct, swiping it and pressing it on my ear.

My boss' voice come bubbles through the phone-steady and firm, "Sorry to bother you, but I'm calling to remind you about your new appointment at the prison."

The prison.

I blink, my mind struggling to catch up.

Right. The assessment. My new patient. His scheduled release next month. The files the secretary left on my desk this afternoon.

I inhale sharply. "I've got it covered. I'm on my way."

Sergey watches me as I start the engine. "Cat, are you really just going to leave?"

I glance at him, something cold settling in my chest. "Yeah. No time to mope around. Some of us don't have Daddy's money to throw around on women just to keep up appearances."

His lips part slightly, like my words sting.

Good.

"Leave." My voice is steady-despite the storm still brewing inside me.

Sergey hesitates before murmuring, "I'm sorry. I hope one day you'll understand."

I don't respond. I don't owe him anything.

As he steps out, I crank up the volume on the stereo, drowning out the chaos in my head with music.

Twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes to pull myself together before I step into that prison.

By the time I reach the prison gates I have managed to calm my nerves a little.

The sight before me is nothing short of suffocating. Tall, wrought iron bars loom ahead, their cold, unfeeling presence a stark contrast to the fire still burning in my veins.

"To hell with him and his goddamn boyfriend," I mutter under my breath as the guards inspect my bag before leading me down a long, narrow hallway lined with cells.

"Good luck with this one... he's a tough one," he says, and my lips curve into what I would assume is a genuine smile as I push the cell door shut.

The tiny cell is dark except for the light coming from a dim reading lamp that casts long, eerie shadows across the walls. I feel the weight of an unblinking stare drilling holes through my back. Almost instantly, I feel eyes on my back, the ones that bore into your skin and make your hair stand in a nerve-wracking sensation. I turn toward the small, worn desk at the center of the cramped space.

There he is-slumped in a chair far too small for his broad frame, his presence hogging the room, making the space feel suffocatingly smaller than it is. His dark, unreadable eyes are locked onto me, unwavering. It's like he's trying to memorize me, or maybe dare me to look away first.

He is shirtless, the only thing on him a pair of boxer briefs hanging low on his hips, exposing the deep cut of his waistline. Every rational part of me is screaming to turn around and walk away, yet my feet are refusing to move.

I am tongue-tied, helpless as my gaze roams over him, drinking in every hard, rough edge. His body is all lean muscle, powerful without being bulky, his tanned skin catching the dim light just right. Every shift makes his biceps and triceps tighten ever so slightly, and I hate the way a thrill snakes down my spine because of it.

His caramel-toned skin looks unfairly smooth, stretched over the hard ridges of his tattooed chest. My gaze keeps drifting upward, pulled to his face-rugged, sharp-edged, stupidly handsome, even with that scowl tugging at his lips.

Then, he lifts his head, and our eyes meet. Hazel. Deep. Piercing. Framed by thick lashes, his stare is cutting right into my soul. The teardown moment is stretching, each second unraveling something inside me. His gaze isn't just meeting mine-it is consuming me, wreaking havoc in my chest, leaving me breathless.

This is... weird. I have never been affected like this by any of my patients, let alone Sergey, who had love-bombed me with everything a girl should swoon for. But let's not get it twisted-this isn't a boy. He is a man. And by a man, I mean way older than me.

"What are you doing? And who are you? Where is Dr. Chavez?" The deep rumble in his voice, dispassionate, neutral and absolutely monotonous. His left cheek is dimpling, and my body betrays me-heat is pooling low in my stomach, my thighs pressing together as my now-wet panties cling to me.

All from just this man's voice.

But don't judge a girl. It is deep-huskier than sin, layered in all shades of grey, masculine, and sexy as hell.

"Never mind, get over here already, I am not so patient," that hot voice rings again, and now I can swear my pair of underwear are dripping. But this time, I try to force my mind to reason and tell him I am actually his new therapist.

But strangely, I can't. His voice is commanding, and I find myself moving before I even realize it, my wet thighs clamping together.

A low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest as he leans back in his chair, watching me like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. His fingers drum lazily against his thigh-slow, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world.

Silence hovers like a stormy cloud between us.

But that's until...

"Well, well," he taunts, tilting his head with a smirk so damn smug it made my palms itch to slap it off. "Chavez must've been desperate to send me a fresh one. Tell me, sweetheart, do they give you a handbook on how to shrink the minds of men like me, or do they just toss you in and hope you don't cry in the corner?"

I open my mouth to retort, but his sharp gaze flicks to my lips, that goddamn smirk widening like he'd just won a game I didn't know I was playing.

"Ohhh, don't be shy now," he drawls, stretching his arms over the back of the chair like he owned the damn room. "You're already looking at me like I just ruined your favorite fairytale. What's wrong? Never seen a real monster up close?"

The silence stretches, his eyes practically drinking in my every reaction. He was enjoying this. Testing me. And worse? My body was betraying me, heat pooling low in my stomach, my pulse drumming in my ears.

Then, his voice drops-low, smooth, dangerous. "But hey, I'll make it easy for you, doc. Let's skip the mind games. How about you get those pretty little knees on the floor and show me just how dedicated you are to... rehabilitation?"

Then, sharper. "Now."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Every rational instinct is screaming at me to walk away-to maintain control. This was insane. I was trained to understand people like him, to analyze, diagnose, contain. And yet... the weight of his stare, the sheer dominance in his voice, sent a deep, reckless thrill through me.

I should run.

Instead, I obey.

I sink to my knees, pulse hammering, my breath coming too fast. I don't even flinch.

His smirk darkens into something far more wicked as he reaches for the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down without hesitation.

I should look away. But I don't

And holy. Fuck.

It wasn't big-it was huge. And that was only semi-hard. How much bigger could it even get?!

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. My gaze drifts to the head of his cock, which is already glistening with pre-cum.

He clicks his tongue, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes, wagging his finger, "Tsk. You're staring, doc."

Then, sharper-"Hands. Mouth. Now."

And that's when it registers to me-I am already too far gone.

What the hell has gotten into me?!

I don't know what kind of ghouls have possessed me, but I find my hands reaching out to touch his now fully hard dick, tensing at the way it throbs with my mere touch as I try to wrap both my hands around the thick shaft as that is the only way I could get his dick wrapped up. With both hands! Crazy right?

I gulp hard as I stare down at the head that is glistening with pre-cum.

"Lick the head, bitch. And use your hands too," he hisses those dirty words that made my pussy drip instead of knocking me back to my senses. And that's when I realize how much I need to have his cock deep down my throat, choking me.

Without hesitation, I move my face closer to the cock before spitting on it, rubbing the saliva all over it using my fingers. I had watched this in a few porn videos and even practiced it using a makeshift dildo, but not in my grandmother's memory has I envisioned I would be giving a blowjob this soon, especially with one of my patients inside a prison cell!

I pepper sloppy kisses through his length

"Fuck...that feels so good...you going great baby", I hear him mutter under his breath, and taking that as a compliment, I dart my tongue out licking his salty pre-cum before sucking the tip of his cock.

I am definitely going insane! And out of my mind too! But this too...feels heavenly.