Page 7

“I don't get bored.” His fingers flex at his sides, betraying tension. “And I don't chat with prisoners.”

I lean forward, letting my hair fall across my face. “Then why are you still talking to me?”

He moves with startling speed, closing the distance between us. His hands grip the arms of my chair, caging me in. The heat of his body radiates against mine, and my breath catches at his proximity.

“Stop.” The word comes out like gravel. His eyes bore into mine. “Whatever game you're playing, stop.”

I tilt my chin up, meeting his intensity. “Or what?”

For a moment, the air crackles between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel his breath stutter. Then he jerks back as if burned, retreating to the far wall. His posture is rigid, with his hands clasped behind his back in a military stance.

“Or I'll have someone else guard you.” But there's a roughness to his voice that betrays him.

I hide my smile. Erik Ivanov's control might be legendary, but I've seen the cracks already. Now, I just need to widen them.

4

ERIK

Ipace outside Katarina's door, my cock already straining against my tactical pants. Fuck. Two more minutes until I take over from Viktor. Two days of this torture, and she's crawled under my skin deeper than any enemy ever has.

“You look like a man who doesn’t know what to do with himself.” Viktor's gravelly voice cuts through my thoughts.

I grunt, keeping my stance rigid. The memory of Katarina's knowing smirk from yesterday floods back. The way she'd stretched, arching her back, pretending to work out muscle kinks.

“She's been quiet.” Viktor checks his watch. “Reading those tech magazines, we gave her.”

My jaw clenches. Even that innocent detail sends heat rushing south. The way she bites her lip when she concentrates, how her fingers trace the pages...

“Erik?”

“What?”

“You're grinding your teeth again.” Viktor's eyes narrow. “Maybe I should keep watch longer?—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “Go. I've got this.”

He hesitates, but years of working together make him trust my judgment. The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves.

I adjust myself, willing my body to cooperate. It's useless. Every shift of fabric against my cock reminds me of yesterday's release in the shower and the one before that in my quarters. Quick, brutal sessions trying to purge her from my system.

Taking a deep breath, I check my watch. Time. I scan the corridor one final time before entering.

Katarina lounges on the bed, magazine open across her lap. Her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and my fingers itch to grab it, to pull her head back and?—

“Hello, Erik.” Her voice drips honey-sweet poison. “Miss me?”

My cock pulses, and I force myself to maintain eye contact. Not to let my gaze drift to the gentle rise and fall of her chest or the way her shirt has ridden up to expose a strip of pale skin.

I take my position by the door, already knowing the next eight hours will be pure hell.

I track Katarina's movements like a predator, every muscle coiled tight. She unfolds from the bed with feline grace, stretching in a way that makes her shirt ride higher. My hands flex at my sides, and I focus on my breathing. In, hold, out. The way they taught us in Spetsnaz.

She pads across the room, bare feet silent on the carpet. I shift my weight, positioning myself between her and the door—pure instinct. But she's not heading for escape. No, she's coming straight at me.

My pulse kicks up. Not fear. It’s something I need to crush.

“Getting cramped in here.” She runs her fingers through her hair, and the scent of her shampoo hits me. “A girl needs her exercise, you know?”