Page 17

The air is cold against my back. My robe slips open slightly at the thigh, baring more skin to the chill, but the heat rolling off Andrei makes it almost bearable. I watch him through heavy lidded eyes, my chest rising and falling faster now, unable to mask it.

He looms over me, one knee pressing onto the mattress, bending down until I can feel his breath stir the loose strands of hair around my face.

For a second—just a second—I look up at him and see something that roots me deeper into the bed, freezes my limbs more effectively than fear ever could.

It isn’t lust in his eyes.

It isn’t even victory.

It’s something worse. Something sharper, more cutting. Possessiveness. A dark, consuming hunger that no body, no single act could ever satisfy. The kind that lays claim to more than flesh—the kind that sinks into bone and never lets go.

Andrei doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask.

He waits.

Only for a breath. Only for the space of a heartbeat.

Waiting, not for permission, but for confirmation of what he already sees in my eyes.

My hand moves before I can think.

It rises between us—not to push him away, not to create space. I touch his face, fingers sliding across the rough line of his jaw, tracing the scar I’ve only dared to glimpse before. The contact is so soft, so hesitant that it feels alien after everything else that’s passed between us.

It’s the most honest thing I’ve done all night.

His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, I think he might pull away. Might shatter the fragile thing blooming between us.

Instead, he captures my wrist in one large hand, holding me there, trapped against his skin.

His mouth claims mine again, harder this time, less controlled.

His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging just enough to make me whimper before his tongue soothes the ache, demanding entry I don’t resist. His free hand pushes my robe aside with a rough impatience, baring my legs, my hips, my stomach to the cool air.

I arch against him, desperate for the friction, desperate for something to make the unbearable heat in my blood snap into flame. My pussy aches for him.

He groans low in his throat when he feels it—the way I press against him, the way my body offers itself even when my mind can’t find words.

His hand trails down my side, fingers splaying wide, claiming every inch of skin they find.

His mouth follows, kissing down my throat, across my collarbone, down the center of my chest. His teeth scrape sensitive flesh, pulling soft gasps from my throat that feel too loud in the heavy silence of the room.

My back bows off the mattress when he closes his mouth over one aching peak, sucking hard enough to make my nails dig into his shoulders. He shifts lower, leaving a trail of bruising kisses down my belly, rough stubble scraping sensitive skin.

Every nerve sparks and jumps, alive and raw.

I am shaking by the time he settles between my thighs, pushing my knees apart with ruthless, inevitable hands. I should feel exposed. I should feel shame.

Instead, all I feel is his—his gaze, his hands, his mouth.

He drags his mouth along the inside of my thigh, slow and unrelenting, before he finally—finally—presses his tongue against my core, stealing the breath from my lungs.

My hands fly to his hair, threading through the dark strands, anchoring myself to the only thing solid in a world that has turned to fire and shadows around me.

He groans into me, the sound vibrating through sensitive flesh, and it’s too much, not enough, everything at once.

My body tightens, straining toward him, my thighs trembling against his shoulders as he drags me closer to the edge with every slow, devastating stroke of his tongue.

“Andrei,” I gasp again, this time wrecked, this time a prayer.

He doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

Not until there is nothing left of me to surrender but my soul.

He moves over me, slow and sure, stripping the last barriers between us like he’s been waiting years, not hours. The robe slips away, forgotten, pooling uselessly somewhere on the floor. His hands roam everywhere—familiar now, like he’s memorizing every inch of me by touch alone.

When he pushes inside, it steals the breath from my lungs.

There is no hesitation, no pause. He fills me with one brutal, claiming thrust that forces a cry from my throat, raw and helpless. His hand curls around my hip, holding me still, keeping me exactly where he wants me while he begins to move, hard and deep and relentless.

The world narrows to the press of his body against mine, the rough drag of skin, the heat of breathless moans swallowed into desperate kisses. Every thrust drives me higher, every grind of his hips a brand on my body that I will never scrub away.

He fucks me like he owns me.

Like he’s never going to let me go.

My nails rake across his back, leaving red trails in their wake. I cling to him, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as the pleasure builds, wild and inevitable, rushing toward the edge of something I can’t control.

When I break, it’s with a sob into his mouth, my body shuddering violently beneath him, pleasure tearing through me so hard it feels like pain. He follows with a low, brutal groan against my neck, driving into me one last time before stilling, his entire body taut, pulsing inside me.

The aftershocks leave me shaking, a wreck against the cold sheets.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

The only sound is the ragged pull of our breathing, the harsh thud of my heartbeat against my ribs.

I lie still beneath him, my chest heaving, every nerve raw and exposed. Sweat cools on my skin in the slight chill of the room, making me shiver. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears—not from fear, not anymore, but from the unbearable rush of whatever came after.

Andrei shifts beside me, his weight easing off just enough for me to breathe. His arm falls heavy over my waist, anchoring me in place. Not tender. Not cold. Just there. Like he belongs there.

Like I belong to him now.

Neither of us speaks. Words would ruin it—would define it—and neither of us is ready for that. We cling to the silence, to the fragile space where this can still be anything, still mean nothing.

I stare up at the ceiling, numb and wide awake.

My mind races, faster than my body can catch up. A thousand thoughts crashing against the inside of my skull, none of them making sense, none of them changing the only thing that matters.

This is for my father. To keep him safe.

I whisper the lie in my mind, the same way I did before.

But now it tastes bitter, sour on my tongue, because no matter how many times I tell myself its survival, no matter how tightly I cling to the excuse, I can’t deny the truth anymore.

Some part of me wanted this.

Craved it.

Craved him.

My stomach twists in shame. I turn my face into the pillow to hide from myself, hating the warmth still coiling low in my belly, hating the aching satisfaction still thrumming through my limbs.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the feeling away.

It doesn’t leave.

The bed creaks softly beside me as Andrei shifts closer. His mouth brushes the curve of my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

His voice breaks the silence, quiet and unshakable, “You’ll come back.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a promise.

A sentence.