Page 24

She hasn’t left my sight since I pulled her from that fucking basement.

She’s wrapped in one of my shirts now—sleeves too long, collar stretched, hem brushing her bare thighs as she sits on the edge of my bed like a ghost in cotton. The fabric clings to her in places, rumpled from sleep or nerves or both. Her knees are drawn together. Her fingers twist in the blanket like she doesn’t trust her hands not to shake.

I watch her from across the room. From the shadows. My arms crossed, jaw tight, fists curled so tight the skin across my knuckles threatens to split open again.

She won’t look at me. She hasn’t said a word in hours.

The silence between us is thick with unspoken things. She feels it. So do I.

My rage hasn’t burned out. It simmers low, just beneath the surface. Not at her. Never at her. At everything else —the men who touched her, the father who sold her out, the fucking world that keeps trying to break her.

She did run. She left me.

She put herself in danger .

I step forward. My boots are silent on the carpet, but she feels the shift in the air anyway. Her head lifts, chin angling toward me with that same stubborn glint I’ve seen since the moment she entered my life. Even now, pale and exhausted, bruised and still healing—she defies me with just her eyes.

“I told you not to run from me,” I say finally. My voice is low. Steel dragged against stone.

Her lips part. “I needed answers,” she says.

The honesty in her voice sets me off.

I move before I even think, crossing the room in two strides. My hands hit the bed on either side of her, caging her in against the mattress. She sucks in a breath. Her eyes go wide. I’m so close, I feel the tremble in her chest, the shift of her thighs. My heat wraps around her. My scent. My anger. My obsession.

She doesn’t push me away. She never does.

Her fingers curl in the sheets. Her breathing spikes. “I don’t understand you,” she whispers.

My jaw flexes. “No?”

“One second, you treat me like a prisoner. The next, you burn a city down to bring me back.”

My smirk is sharp. Bitter. Possessive.

“That’s because I don’t know how to half want something, Elise.”

She flinches slightly when I say her name. Like it means something more now. Like it holds weight. She’s right.

It does.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” I ask, voice husky, dark. “I used to sleep just fine. Used to kill without thought. Used to fuck, bleed, command—without ever wondering what it would mean to lose something.”

I dip lower, until my lips hover over hers. I don’t kiss her. “I killed for you.”

“You’ve killed before,” she whispers.

“Not like this.” I lean in closer, brushing the edge of her jaw with my nose, my lips. “Not for someone. Not for something I need. ”

Her breath stutters. “Why me?”

“Because you looked at me like I was a monster, and still touched me like I wasn’t.” My voice drops even lower. “You hated me, and it didn’t make me stop wanting you.”

She’s trembling again.

I could take her. Right now. Push her into the mattress, remind her who she belongs to.

“I would’ve killed a thousand more to bring you back,” I murmur. “I will if they ever try again.”

She doesn’t move, just stares.

“You think I’m cruel,” I add. “You’re right. I am.” My eyes lock on to hers. I let her see every ounce of truth. “If all this is love,” I say, voice hard, honest, raw, “then I am in love with you.”

She gasps, not from surprise. I don’t take it back. I don’t soften it.

What I feel for her is not soft. It’s a brutal, bleeding kind of love. One that destroys everything else in its way.

She stares at me like the words punched the air out of her lungs. Like she doesn’t know whether to recoil or collapse into me.

The tension between us is thick enough to strangle. Her lips are parted, breath shaky. Her pupils are blown wide, and not from fear—no, I know that look now. I’ve studied it in the dark, memorized every flicker of her resistance and what lies beneath.

She wants to fight me, perhaps she also wants me to win.

“Elise,” I say again, softer now, but it still carries weight. Like her name belongs to me. “Say something.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“Then don’t do anything.”

“That’s not how it works, Kolya.” Her voice is trembling and strong all at once. “You don’t get to say something like that and expect me to just… fold.”

My mouth curves—not a smile. Something darker. “I don’t want you to fold.”

She blinks.

“I want you to burn for me,” I murmur, inching closer, so close our foreheads nearly touch. “The way I burn for you.”

A shiver runs through her. Her fingers curl tighter into the bedsheets, knuckles pale. I see the war happening behind her eyes—rage and desire, confusion and craving. It’s a beautiful mess. Mine to unravel.

“I hate you sometimes,” she breathes.

I nod once. “Good. It means you still feel something.”

She kisses me first. Rough. Desperate.

Her hands clutch at my shirt, twisting the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored. Her lips crash against mine without hesitation—no grace, no caution. Just heat. Just need.

I lose control.

My mouth devours hers, all breath and hunger and the kind of longing that builds when you’ve spent days thinking you might never see her again. Our teeth clash, our noses bump, but I don’t care. She’s kissing me like she means to erase every memory of pain, of betrayal, of fear—and I let her.

I encourage it.

Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging hard, and I groan into her mouth. My hands drop to her waist, sliding beneath the hem of the shirt she’s wearing— my shirt—and I find bare skin. Warm. Silken. Alive.

It’s enough to drive me mad.

I guide her back gently—despite the frenzy in my blood, I’m careful. Her body yields to mine as I lower her onto the mattress, her legs parting just enough to pull me closer, her eyes fluttering open for a split second as her head hits the pillow.

“Kolya,” she whispers. Not a plea. Not a protest.

A promise.

I push the shirt up inch by inch, baring her to the light. She watches me as I do it, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. My knuckles graze the underside of her ribs, the swell of her breast, the hollow just beneath her throat.

She trembles—but doesn’t stop me.

I lean down, pressing kisses along her collarbone, then lower. Her skin tastes like salt and something softer beneath it—like surrender, like heat. She sighs, one hand gripping the back of my neck as my mouth finds every inch she’s never let anyone touch before.

She’s mine.

That knowledge settles deep in my chest—thick and warm and absolute.

I reach for her thighs next, palms sliding up the outside, slow and possessive. She gasps when my fingers dip under the last barrier between us, her back arching slightly as her hips shift beneath me.

“Elise,” I murmur against her skin, voice ragged, “I love you.”

Her eyes open, dazed and full of something that makes my pulse stutter.

“I love you too.”

I kiss her again—this time slower. No teeth. No bruising. Just heat and reverence and the kind of ache that’s lived inside me since the moment I laid eyes on her. Her lips part beneath mine, her tongue shy but seeking. She pulls me down and wraps herself around me, thigh over my hip, nails scraping along my spine.

I lose myself in the feel of her. My cock is hard and leaking as I pull myself free. I hike up her skirt, shove her panties aside and fuck, she’s soaked already.

The sounds she make when I enter her are delicious. The way she gasps against my neck when I press closer, grinding her against the mattress. Every movement feels like something sacred. Like a vow.

When she whispers my name again—so soft I almost miss it—I look down and see something new in her eyes.

She’s choosing me. Despite everything. I swear, I’ll never let her regret it.

Her name on my lips—Elise, my Elise—threads something sharp through my chest. I move slowly at first, like I’m afraid of breaking her, of shattering the fragile thing blooming between us.

She’s not fragile. Not when her legs tighten around my hips and she lifts her pelvis to meet me, greedy for more, slick and warm and perfect around me.

I grip her thigh and drag it higher, opening her wider, sinking deeper. She gasps again, back arching. The sound she makes is all heat and need, half moan, half-breathless plea. I feel her nails scrape across my shoulders, blunt and trembling, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“God, you feel—” I can’t finish. Words disintegrate under the weight of how tight she is, how wet, how right this feels.

I drive in harder. Deeper. She cries out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Her hands slide up into my hair, tugging, anchoring me to her, as if she’s terrified I’ll pull away.

I won’t. I couldn’t.

“Kolya,” she pants, voice shaky, legs trembling around me. “Don’t stop—please—”

“I won’t,” I growl. My rhythm turns punishing, the tension building between us fast and hot. Her eyes flutter, mouth parting with every thrust. I lean in, biting down on the soft curve of her shoulder, then kiss it as she whimpers, her body clenching so tight I almost lose it.

“Come for me,” I whisper against her skin. “Let me feel it.”

She shatters beneath me.

It’s not quiet. She moans loud, body convulsing as she clings to me, hips jerking, and the way her pussy clamps around me—fuck, I can’t hold on. I bury myself deep, every muscle locked tight as I come with a groan, grinding into her, filling her until I’m empty and boneless.

I don’t move right away. I can’t. My arms shake with the effort of holding myself up. Her breath is hot against my throat, her fingers stroking my back in slow, lazy lines. I rest my forehead to hers, eyes closed, still inside her.

For a man who’s done terrible things, this— she —feels like redemption.

After, I don’t move for a long time.

Her body is still wrapped around mine, warm and pliant beneath the tangled sheets. Her breathing slowly begins to even out, chest rising and falling in quiet waves. Her thigh rests across mine, one hand still pressed flat against my chest like she needs to feel the beat of my heart to believe any of this was real.

Maybe I need it too.

I shift just enough to ease her closer, and she makes a soft noise—half content, half exhausted. The kind of sound that lodges itself deep in my ribs and refuses to leave.

I press a kiss to her bare shoulder, slow and reverent. My lips linger against her skin.

She doesn’t flinch this time, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers tighten slightly, curling into my chest.

“Still alive?” I murmur, voice rough with the last of my restraint.

She huffs, almost a laugh. “Barely.”

I smile into her skin. “Good. I didn’t want to break you… just bend you a little.”

That earns me a slow roll of her eyes when she turns her head. Her hair is a mess across the pillow, her lips still kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed. She looks undone. Gorgeous. Mine.

“Elise,” I say quietly, more serious now.

She blinks up at me.

“You okay?”

She nods. Hesitates. Then nods again. “Yeah.”

I brush my fingers through the loose strands of hair near her temple, tucking them behind her ear.

“You didn’t have to be gentle,” she says after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with me.”

My chest tightens. “I wanted to be.”

That startles her, just a little. Her brows knit together as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

I shift again, drawing the sheet higher over her. Then I lean down and kiss the side of her throat. Light. Barely there.

“You think all I want is to own you,” I say quietly, lips brushing her skin, “but that’s not the worst of it.”

Her voice is hoarse. “What’s the worst of it, then?”

I pause. “That I don’t know how to want anything else now that I’ve had you.”

She exhales—slow, shaky, like her heart just stumbled.

I settle beside her, pulling her against me. She lets me. Her cheek finds the curve of my shoulder, and her fingers trace faint circles against my chest. We lie there, quiet, and I let myself breathe.

Let myself just feel her there.

“I was scared,” she says suddenly.

I stiffen. Not because I didn’t know—it’s the way she says it. Like she’s never admitted it out loud before.

“Back in that basement,” she adds. “I kept waiting for someone to come. I hated myself for hoping it would be you.”

I say nothing, but I pull her tighter.

“I was angry when you showed up, and relieved, and… ashamed of that too.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed of anything.”

“You said you’d always be in time.” Her voice cracks slightly. “And you were.”

I nod once. “I meant it.”

There’s a pause. The kind that carries weight.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she admits softly. “Or where this ends.”

“I do.”

She lifts her head, brows raised. “You do?”

I meet her gaze, slow and sure. “I’m not letting you go.”

She laughs once. “That’s not exactly comforting, Kolya.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Then she sighs and lays back down, her forehead pressing into my collarbone.

“I still hate you sometimes,” she mutters.

“Good.” I kiss the top of her head. “Keep it interesting.”

She’s quiet again, but I feel the way her body relaxes, breath slowing.

It’s the first time she’s ever fallen asleep in my arms.

I swear I don’t sleep at all. I watch her instead—her lashes against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her hand still resting over my heart like she’s trying to claim it.

Maybe she already has.