Page 16

“Yes, Mom. Yes—oh, my God, I promise I’ll try the new recipe you sent over one week ago. Uh-huh….”

My fingers kept rifling through my bag, with my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder as I walked down the busy corridor to my office, but I was distracted, so I felt everything else but the damn keys. “Mom…. God, Mom, I really have to call you back. I’m at work—yes, Nathan’s fine….”

My fingers brushed against pens, a lip balm, and an old receipt—but no keys.

“No, he hasn’t popped the question. What— Mother! I’ll have you know we’re in love and all, but he has school and work to handle, and I really need to get into my office now, and I can’t find my keys. I need to find the keys, Mom.”

With a sigh, I shifted my purse to my other arm and bent down, only to freeze. My mother was on the other end of the phone, rambling about how she met my dad and something unrelated about cheesecake, but I was barely listening.

A bouquet of flowers rested against my office door. Elegant, carefully arranged, and undeniably meant for me.

Poor me, a sucker for mushy moments and sweet things.

My heart gave a curious little flutter as I crouched to pick them up.

“Mom, I love you so much, but I have to go now.” I didn’t wait to hear her protests before hanging up.

For a brief moment, I just held them, inhaling the delicate scent of lilies and roses. I wondered, and was hoping, that Nathan realized how much of a jerk he’d been lately and sent me these.

Shaking off the mystery for now, I finally found my keys and stepped inside, placing the bouquet gently on my desk. I had a full schedule ahead: appointments, notes to review, lives to help untangle. But as I settled into my chair, a warm feeling lingered.

I pulled the bouquet closer. A crisp white envelope nestled among the stems bore my name in neat handwriting.

Smiling cheekily, I opened it and slipped out the folded note.

Miss Sinclair,

I know. I’m skipping the session again. You told me not to, but I never promised I wouldn’t. Before you start composing that concerned lecture in your head, hear me out. I have a better offer.

Dinner. Tonight. My treat. Consider it a professional courtesy, an expression of gratitude, or just me attempting to be properly civil for once. You’ve put in a ridiculous amount of effort trying to fix what’s broken in me. Even if I don’t agree that I need fixing, the least I can do is host you for a meal.

At eight, I’ll have a car in front of your house. If you dismiss the driver, I’ll assume you’re done putting up with me. If you don’t, well…I guess we’ll both be surprised.

The sender wasn’t Nathan but….

—M. Yezhov.

***

I shouldn’t have accepted, but curiosity got the better of me.

After spending all night getting ready and choosing a simple short plum brown dress, a pair of flats, and a matching bow for my hair, I told myself I shouldn’t go.

It was unprofessional, maybe even reckless. But after a long day of listening, guiding, and holding space for others, I felt an eagerness stir in me. I had no idea what I would be walking into, but I wanted to find out.

It was a simple dinner, I repeated.

Consider it a professional courtesy, an expression of gratitude, or just me attempting to be properly civil for once.

He was trying to be nice, and the least I could do was give him the opportunity to be courteous.

So, here I was, struggling to breathe regularly when the elevator doors slid open, revealing the private entrance to the glass-fortress penthouse.

I smoothed my dress, sucked in another breath, and stepped inside.

The air carried sandalwood, bergamot, and a warm, spiced aroma.

Towering windows showcased the city skyline, its lights shimmering like distant stars. The room was expansive yet cozy, featuring dark wood accents, minimalist silhouettes, and subtle sophistication.

And there he was.

Miron stood near the plush sectional, hands in his pockets, watching me with a gaze that was both unreadable and magnetic.

He looked effortlessly put together, wearing charcoal trousers tailored to perfection, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease, and a watch that likely cost more than my rent.

“I see you got my note.” His voice had just a hint of warmth.

My stomach fluttered. “It was right in front of my door; how could I miss it? Are we starting the session before or after dinner? Because you know we still have to make up for the one you missed today.”

He seemed to consider it. “After. Dinner is prepared already. So, the sooner we start eating, the better. Come this way.”

I might have been imagining things, but there was an edge to his voice and tension in his shoulders when he led us to the beautiful dining area.

We got seated across each other on the small table, and he barely even looked at me.

He filled our glasses, and I sipped my wine, feeling an odd mix of confusion and something else coil in my chest. The soft clinking of glasses and ceramics became uncomfortable, prompting me to lighten the conversation.

“Did you prepare all of this?”

He scratched the bridge of his nose with his little finger, looking like someone on the brink of impatience. “No, I didn’t. It’s a direct order from La Vine, the restaurant.”

Wow. I wasn’t really expecting that brutal revelation.

“Uh, okay. But the note was definitely your handwriting, right?”

“I had one of my employees write it.”

Dumbfounded, I stayed mute, finding it hard to process what he said, and he looked up from his plate, tilting his head to the side. “That was a joke.”

“You know you’d have such a bright future in comedy, if you consider it.”

I waited for the smallest smile, but Miron’s lips were pulled tight. Instead of returning to his food, he reached for something under the table and slid it across.

It took a moment for my gaze to adjust under the bright lighting. It was a picture. Three, actually, with the same targets.

The glossy prints reflected dim café lights. My fingers hovered over them before I dared to pick them up.

I froze. That face—I could recognize it even in my sleep.

Nathan ?

There he was, laughing, his hand resting a little too comfortably on the waist of a woman I didn’t recognize.

“New York University School of Law,” Miron grunted from across the table. “One week before he came back here.”

My tongue was parched, as dry as sandpaper. But I swallowed to find my voice. “What…what is this?”

I flipped to the next photograph. It was zoomed in, a closer shot.

They were smiling at each other, with Nathan leaning in, taking something out of the woman’s eye. She was young and pretty, with perfect hair and a smile that screamed sunshine and rainbows.

“Her name is Piper.”

“So? What use is her name? She could be….” My breath was faltering, my head swimming. “She could be a friend or colleague,” I said more firmly. “I don’t know all of his friends.”

There was that insinuation in his eyes again, that hint that I didn’t want to hear him say aloud. “You know goddamn well that she’s not his friend or colleague.”

“Miron….”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but that is proof that your absentee boyfriend has another girlfriend in New York, and if you’re not convinced, I have a lot more work-related outings to show you.”

Rising to my feet, the chair scraped backward, and I slammed my napkin down on the table, once again struggling to keep my breathing in check.

It was hard.

I’d never known what dying felt like until now as I stood there, gasping for air and fighting so hard to keep the stinging tears away.

My ears were ringing, and my heart pumped so loud I could go deaf.

I always believed that words, when chosen carefully, could ease any wound. But as I looked at Miron, I threw all caution to the wind, going all in to hurt him as much as this tore me to shreds.

Because I couldn’t deny it.

Once again, there was that gut instinct that told me he wasn’t lying.

“How dare you?” He pushed his chair back, and I glared at him as he walked over to my end of the table. “Why would you do this to me? Was this why you invited me here? To humiliate me?”

“Humiliate you?” He looked anything but apologetic. “It was driving me fucking nuts that you were staying devoted to someone undeserving. A man who doesn’t even respect you enough to tell you to your face that he has someone else.”

Hearing that broke me, and a tear slipped to my cheek.

Eight years of hoping and waiting. Eight years of loving unconditionally, even when it was inconvenient. Eight years of thinking I was the only one for him and believing that he had me.

“Driving you nuts? It wasn’t your business, Miron! God! It wasn’t your—” More tears rushed out, and I lost control over holding them in. “You had no right…you had no right to go poking your nose in something that doesn’t concern you.”

I blinked hard, but the tears poured down anyway, blurring the hard expression on Miron’s face. He sighed, a slow, measured sound, and then, he surprised us both.

His hand moved before I could stop it. His fingers, calloused and firm, brushed against my cheek. A rough thumb caught the tear before it could fall further, and his touch startled me.

I stilled. He did, too.

His jaw tightened, as if regretting the moment already. “You’re crying.”

His touch was unexpected, warm against my skin, and for a moment, I forgot the weight in my chest. He didn’t pull away immediately, his thumb lingering as if waiting for me to push his hand away. I didn’t.

My throat was tight when I swallowed. “And it’s your fault.”

His hand dropped, but the space between us felt impossibly small. I hadn’t realized how close we were standing until now.

Until I could feel his warmth. Until I noticed the way the light caught the sharp angles of his face and the intensity brewing in the depths of his blue eyes.

It was raw, unguarded.

The atmosphere between us had shifted, thickened. Maybe long before this moment, and neither of us noticed. A slow, magnetic pull drew me in, and I didn’t resist.

I reached for him first, wrapping my hand around his neck to bring his lips down to mine, breathing him in.

The impact was hard, almost knocking me off balance, and his lips were firm against mine. Unmoving. Or more like shocked.

I practically flew backward, and my hand shot to my mouth. “Oh, God. What have I…what did I do? Miron, I’m sorry. That was a mistake. I didn’t mean to—”

“Please, shut up.”

His mouth covered mine as he slipped his arms around me. His hand, still warm from touching my cheek, slid to my jaw, tugging it to part my lips.

There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed me. It was harder, demanding, consuming. He kissed me like a man who never asked—only took.

But this wasn’t theft.

He sucked on my tongue, nibbled on my lips, and groped my ass with one of his hands, like he was claiming a prized possession. And I let him.

I melted against him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He was solid beneath my hands, yet the way he held me, tucking me against his chest with one arm locked around my waist, made me feel something I hadn’t in a long time.

Wanted.

I was barely breathing, only inhaling him, tasting this man who managed to make my head swim from the first day he stepped into my office.

My eyes snapped open.

My office.

This was wrong. He was my client. He was engaged.

“Miron, this is crazy. You’re crazy,” I rasped.

His lips left mine only so he could press his forehead against mine, his breath harsh and unsteady.

“I know. You deserve better,” he murmured hazily. “But allow me to show you just how much better.”

I thought I was strong enough to be rational and to pull away—to walk out of those doors and not look back. But I was wrong. I let my walls fall.

For once, I allowed myself to want.

I swallowed, my hands still fisted in his shirt. “Show me.”

His grip tightened, as if he’d been waiting for me to say it. And when his lips crashed into mine again, I knew there was no turning back.

I moaned into his mouth, shut my eyes, and threw my head back when he greedily grazed my collarbone and bit on the skin below my ear.

“ Hazel ,” Miron growled my name into my hair, like a man drunk with maddening desire and insatiable need. And hearing my name on his lips lit up a torch inside me, which burned with an equal hunger.

Trembling hands slid under my dress, and he gripped my hips, his palms scalding hot against my skin when he lifted me from the ground and wrapped my legs around his waist.

His feet moved, and his lips were everywhere, tasting and taking. And I gave with equal fervor. Cupping his cheeks, I captured his firm lips, sucking each one at a time. He tasted so much better than strawberry jam.

I heard a door slam shut behind me and opened my eyes briefly to see him move to a king-size bed at the center of a bedroom.

Gently, he lay me on it and moved back with the darkest gaze to unbutton his shirt, neither of us saying anything.

I knelt on the bed, matching his speed as I hooked my fingers under my dress and lifted it over my head. I was left in a bra and a flimsy thong that barely covered my ass. My breasts grew heavy in my bra, my nipples tightened with want, and my arousal dampened the thin material between my legs.

He watched me as he took off his pants, and when his cock sprung out, I gaped.

Miron was mouthwateringly huge.

An ache settled between my legs, making me squirm when he hadn’t even laid a single finger on me. Yet.

“Take off the bra and lie down on your back.”

It was an order, but I didn’t refuse. Reaching for the hook, I unclipped it and let the bra drop to the foot of the bed. Then, I lay back and spread my legs for him, watching as he joined me on the bed in a hungry daze.

He nestled between my thighs, fisted my thong, and slipped his hand through it to cup my sex. Moaning, I arched my back, pushing my pussy deeper into his hand.

So much heat. So much need.

One of his hands pinned my wrists above my head while his mouth found my breast, sucking gently.

I devoured the sight of his chiseled cheeks, the rippling muscles of his chest and arms as he hovered above me. He looked perfect in a way I considered otherworldly.

Miron was not the type of man I’d pictured for me. He belonged to another circle, the type his fiancée obviously rolled with: high-class, powerful, commanding.

It probably wasn’t ideal for me to think about her while he feasted on my breasts like he’d been starved. But I couldn’t help it.

But seeing him now, holding me and touching me like he worshipped me, made me feel an immense amount of pleasure that crashed through me, inside me, until I was quivering, jerking, twitching—believing that there might have been a world where we existed together.

He squeezed my nipples and journeyed lower, kissing the faint stretch line marks scattered above my hips, his fingernails digging harshly into my thighs.

I never knew what it felt like to have a man buried inside me, and I doubted that his cock would fit, but I wanted to feel Miron more badly than I could express. I wanted him so deep that he could touch my soul.

“Miron…” I whimpered. “I need you.”

Broken and shattered, yet craving a man who was promised to another. If this wasn’t madness, I wondered what was.

He lifted his head, stretching above me to a drawer, and pulled out a shiny foil packet. With his teeth, he ripped it and skillfully rolled down the condom to sheath his terrifying length.

His fingers spread the wet lips of my pussy, and I shivered when he kissed my shoulder.

“You’re beautiful, even more than I imagined,” he rasped.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I wound my arms around his neck, and I was sure he saw the fear in my eyes because he kissed my neck and breathed, “I’ll be gentle.”

His fingers traced the outer layers of my pussy, teasing and circling my clitoris. I sucked in a sharp breath when stars dotted my vision.

Something hard poked me, and I looked down to see his glistening head prying its way inside me.

At first, it stung, and I winced, regulating my breathing and forcing my body to relax so I could adjust to his size.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

I nodded, and he pulled out. And went in again, balancing both of his arms beside me as he pushed his hip and urged his cock to plunge deeper.

A blend of pain and pleasure ripped through me at the same time, and my hand flew to his arm, fingernails biting into his taut skin.

“Miron…” I gasped. But he didn’t stop. Not until, finally, my walls tightened around him, letting him in.

His head dropped to my shoulder, his eyes shut, and a groan rumbling through his chest. “You’re so fucking tight, moy dorogaya Kheyzel .”

I was so distracted by the sting of the stretch that I couldn’t focus on what he said. My pulse was racing, and the more I looked, the more beautiful he was.

I caressed his strong jaw, ran my fingers through his hair, and flicked my tongue against his mouth.

“Miron, this is so wrong,” I moaned.

“I know. I know, Hazel. But you’re so fucking right.” He pushed into me, literally burying his face in my hair.

His other hand gripped my thigh, guiding me, controlling the slow, aching roll of our hips. And before my eyes, I watched Miron shudder and tremble. I watched his restraint dissolve like mist in the morning sun.

“I’m going deeper.” His voice was brittle, but his eyes held a warmth I had never seen there before. It was more than just a heads-up; he was making sure I was okay.

“I can take you.” My heart thumped like a marching band when I kissed his lips and murmured the next words. “I want you, Miron.”

With a growl, he raised my hips with one hand, fixed the other behind my head, and slammed into me with just enough force to drive a wedge into the ground.

I muffled a scream. And he nipped my neck with his teeth, grazing hard enough to leave a mark. “I want to hear everything. Moan for me, moy dorogaya Kheyzel. ”

The pain zapped first, followed by the tingles of an awakening hunger and inane lust. But I obeyed and moaned like he wanted me to, because he felt good.

His exquisite face contorted in ecstasy with each powerful thrust, his fingers digging into my leg as he devoured me. The agony and ecstasy blurred, and time lost all meaning. He repositioned me, his hands firm but gentle, and took me with a primal intensity that left me breathless.

Miron pounded into me, trembling and muttering strings of Russian above me as he took me mercilessly but with consideration. He rode me hard and harder, cancelling all the noises of the pain from Nathan’s betrayal and the nagging voice of reason that we were repeating the same cycle of hurt on his fiancée.

In the moment, it was just me and him.

Him for me, and me for him.

I held onto him tight as my climax peaked, and he mumbled in my ear that he was coming.

All it took was one drive, one loud growl, and we exploded at the same time, merging the bubbles of reality and fantasy. I quivered violently as I came, and his body collapsed on mine, our harsh breaths mingling and chests heaving as we came down from the roller coaster.

And when all was calm, the nagging voice was louder.

What have I done?