by Marian Tee
When I Hurt
Marian Tee
Contents
Blurb
About the Book
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Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Book 3 Coming Soon!
Also by Marian Tee
About the Author
When I get mad, I say all sorts of things, even secrets that I’m supposed to keep.
When I get frightened, I find myself lying, doing and saying anything just so I won’t give him a reason to leave me.
But when I get hurt, oh when I really get hurt—
It’s not because I’m crying and hurting over him.
Vassi.
The gorgeous Russian celebrity who’s also my stepbrother—
And now, he’s the man I’ve blackmailed into being my lover.
When I get hurt, it’s only because I was the one who caused him pain.
I was the one who broke his heart.
I did it because I love him, and for that, I don’t mind if I keep getting hurt.
About the Book
Seri found herself spreading her legs open under the blanket. Heart beating fast, she waited for him to touch her, but instead he took hold of her hand and slowly brought it over her pussy.
She stiffened. “V-Vassi?”
He whispered into her ear, “I want you to touch yourself.”
Her eyes flew open.
“You’ll do it for me, won’t you? You’ll do it for your boyfriend?”
She swallowed. “But it’s too…”
He bit her ear. “It’s the only thing I want, the only thing that can make me forget you’ve chosen to date another guy.”
Oh.
“So what’s it going to be, solnishka moya?”
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WHEN I HURT (VASSI & SERI 2):
A RUSSIAN STEPBROTHER ROMANCE
By Marian Tee
Copyright 2016 by Streak Digital Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Prologue
Vassi Grachyov idly fixed his cuffs behind the stage curtains while waiting for the host to call his name. The family business had won yet another award for industry leadership, but with both Sergei and Fyodor still tied up with negotiations in Russia, it was up to him and---
The backstage door opened, and he said without looking up, “You’re late.”
Misha was only able to grunt, surrounded as he was with the event’s production assistants.
Normally, the women working on Misha would have giggled and tried stealing selfies with the famously gorgeous and infamously absent-minded genius. But with only minutes to spare, they were in a tremendous panic, with one hurriedly taking away his lab coat, another one handing him a business jacket, while a third one did her best to tiptoe and give his tousled hair a quick brush.
Misha accepted the jacket but shook his head at the last girl’s attempt to tame his dark, longish locks. “It’s okay,” he said absently, his mind still focused on the article he was drafting for Science Translational Magazine.
Vassi said seriously, “Yes, leave him be, please. If you have to know, that’s his woke-up-like-this look.” He paused then continued solemnly, “He’s one of those rare specimens who, no matter the time of the day, would always look…”
The women’s eyes widened.
Perfect, they thought in unison.
And all of them let out a little squeal, the shrill sound breaking Misha’s concentration.
Misha blinked, suddenly realizing that the women around him had a rather hungry look in their eyes. Behind them, he caught sight of his younger brother smirking and knew right away that whatever had just happened, it was Vassi’s doing.
Mentally cursing Vassi, he carefully removed himself from the circle of female predators and was relieved when the host called out their names a moment after. As he and Vassi walked on stage, he said under his breath, “Otva ‘li.” Fuck off.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw the women on their phones, tweeting or stealing photos of him, and suppressed an irritable sigh. This was why he hated public events, Misha thought. And if not for Fyodor’s golden rule of having the family present a unified front in every occasion, he would have gladly skipped every chance to stand in the limelight.
But then if one of them did, tongues could start to wag, and as Fyodor had warned them, such gossip could eventually harm the most precious member of their family.
With the thought uppermost in his mind, Misha forced himself to smile and speak a few words even as boredom tempted him to kill himself. Beside him, Vassi appeared to have no problems at all dealing with all the attention. As soon as the award ceremony ended, they were immediately inundated with requests, all of which Vassi handled with ease while Misha dealt with it as he always did, which was to ignore what could be ignored and let his bodyguards take care of the rest.
Although the audience for the prestigious award ceremony mostly consisted of Fortune 500 executives, the appearance of the Grachyov brothers had reduced everyone into obsessed fans. Men in expensive tuxes were eager to shake hands with them, knowing that such an experience gave them bragging rights over their friends. The women, on the other hand, acted more like well-dressed fangirls than the powerful executives they were, with the way they fought against each other for the chance to get close to the two brothers, hoping to either steal a kiss or – if their guardian angels were smiling at them – then perhaps even the most fleeting touch of a Grachyov cock?
It was unlikely, considering the bulk of security surrounding the Grachyov brothers, but not impossible, and even this tiny chance was enough to send the females into a frenzy.
It was both a hilarious and incredible sight, and the paparazzi present smirked among themselves even as they furiously took photos and live-tweeted the event. The Grachyov effect, the reporters thought in wry amusement. There was just nothing like it since the Kennedys.
Vassi shook hands with an ambassador and his wife. “Thank you for the invitation. We would love to join you for luncheon, but I’m afraid both my brother and I already have other commitments scheduled after this.”
He moved forward and was blocked by a society matron cooing for his attention. A smile still pinned to his lips, he thanked the woman for the support while slightly turning his body sideways. The movement was barely imperceptible, but it was sufficient for dodging the woman’s straying hand as she expressed her admiration for him while trying to cop a feel.
Another woman attempted to do the same thing to Misha while waiting for him to finish autographing her luncheon card, but instead of stepping back, he only nodded to security. By the time he finished scrawling his signature, the woman’s face was beet red, with Misha’s guards having quietly but sternly warned her of the legal consequences for attempted sexual harassment.
Unfortunately, the minor fracas didn’t deter the other guests from clamoring for their attention, and Misha’s patience started to wear thin. He glanced at his younger brother.
“A photo would be fine, yes.” Vassi smiled as he posed next to an elderly gentleman.
“It’s our privilege to be a part of this.” Vassi bowed respectfully to the event’s special guests from Japan.
“Of course, a handshake is the least we can do.”
There was not a single sign of discomfort on Vassi’s too-pretty face, even though Misha was certain his brother found the way people kept fawning over them both tedious and bizarre.
It was, Misha thought pensively, pretty amazing, when one considered Vassi’s attitude as a child. Even though Vassi had been the youn
gest, he had still been the first to swear among his brothers, the first to be sent to detention for troublemaking in school, the first one to take a girl to bed. In fact, Vassi had been the rowdiest little kid, violent and aggressive---
But here was his little brother now, the very epitome of grace and charm, Vassi’s smile unfaltering as he skillfully evaded answering questions about his rumored hiatus from acting.
The change was uncanny, Misha thought reflectively, and it all started when Seri had come into their lives.
It took over an hour for the two brothers to finally get past the crowd and make it to the hotel’s private lobby for VIP guests.
“Where are you heading after this?” Misha asked.
Vassi raised a brow. “Since when did you care about my schedule?”
“You wound me, brat,” Misha murmured, deliberately using the Russian term for ‘brother’ to show how hurt he was. When his younger brother only gazed at him, Misha turned his palms face open in a gesture of appeal. “It’s not wrong for a brother to look after a younger sibling---”
“It is,” Vassi countered dryly, “if that brother also happens to be the type to forget he had a girlfriend waiting for him for seven hours while doing scientific shit.”
“That was a long time ago,” Misha dismissed, “and she doesn’t even hold a grudge.” How could she, he thought with a rare flash of cynicism, when his apology to her – which also had served as his parting gift – had been a pearl bracelet worth several hundred thousand euros?
He glanced at his Vassi. “So? Where are you going?”
Vassi expelled his breath in exasperation. “Stop acting like a nanny. It’s getting damn creepy.”
Misha studied his brother thoughtfully. Interesting how Vassi was suddenly unwilling to answer such a simple question. He asked slowly, “Are the rumors true then? You are temporarily leaving Hollywood?”
