Page 13

In Valentina’s dreams, Ilya was there, his head buried between her thighs, his broad shoulders holding her open as though he had all the time in the world to unravel her. The rough scrape of his stubble against her sensitive skin sent shivers coursing through her.

Her fingers slid into his hair, tangling desperately in the roots, tugging him closer, silently begging for more. His hot, insistent mouth fucked her with an almost punishing rhythm, each flick and suck of his tongue sending shockwaves rippling through her body.

His large hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he flattened his tongue over her folds, wantonly dragging up and down. She tugged harder on his hair, rolling her hips against his mouth, toes curled as she chased every sensation he so generously gave.

The low groans vibrating from his throat matched the breathless moans that escaped her lips as the room blurred together. She arched beneath him while he devoured her like a man starved. Her breath came in ragged bursts as he ruthlessly pushed her to her peak, the slick sounds of his mouth, his low, guttural hums of satisfaction, only driving her higher.

And when it hit―when he finally set her over the edge―it was like a thunderstorm breaking inside her, her cries sharp and desperate as her thighs quaked around his head. He didn’t relent, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every wave of her release until she was left trembling and breathless.

Then he pulled back, his lips glistening and his dark, hooded eyes locking onto hers, holding her captive, and she felt her heart lurch. He rose over her like a Greek god, one hand trailing up her thigh in a way that made her burn all over again, while the other tugged at his unbelievably hard cock, wrapping around it snugly and stroking slowly, curling his thumb over the dripping tip, all the while maintaining eye contact on her trembling frame beneath him.

A wicked smirk appeared on his lips as he stroked harder. “You have no idea how good you look like this,” he murmured, his thick Russian accent coating his words, “breathless and sweaty. Like the good little slut, you are.”

He leaned down, grazing his teeth over her thigh as he smeared his wetness over her dripping entrance. “How badly do you want my cock, Printsessa ? How badly do you want me to fuck you right now?”

His body pressed flush against hers, parting her thighs wider as words stuck in her throat. “Tell me,” he continued, his voice a murmur caressing her ears. “How willing are you to beg for it?”

Before she could respond, she woke up with a sharp gasp, the sheets tangled around her legs and her heart pounding erratically in her chest. Her skin was flushed, damp with sweat, as the remnants of the dream lingered, vivid and all too real.

She glanced around as though trying to confirm if she was really alone in the room. Then she ran a shaky hand through her hair as reality set in. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her breaths uneven and her thighs still trembling from the phantom touch of him.

Valentina pressed her palms to her face, trying to will away the heat and unmistakable ache that settled low in her belly, her throbbing clit as she crossed her legs on the bed, but the memory of the dream refused to fade.

She lay still for a moment, the vivid remnants of the dream swirling in her mind, her body buzzing with a need she couldn’t ignore. Her breaths came shallow as her hand hesitated beneath the blanket, her fingers brushing against the hem of her pajama shorts. She swallowed hard, debating with herself, but the lingering heat in her belly was insistent, a pull too strong to deny.

Before she could let common sense crash into her, she slipped her shorts down her hips, the cool air against her heated sex making her shiver. Her fingers trembled as they grazed over her sensitive clit, a sharp gasp escaping her at the touch. The echoes of Ilya’s mouth on her―his intensity―his teeth pulling at her clit, clung to her like a fever, her body reacting to every phantom sensation.

Her fingers slid lower, tracing her folds, slick and sticky, wetness pooling at her pussy. She bit her lip, her back arching slightly off the mattress as she gave in, slowly sliding up and down her wet folds, curling around her clit and rubbing tight circles, guided by the memory of his dark blue eyes, his glistening lips, the way he seemed to worship and degrade her all at once in her dreams.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned breathlessly, a broken gasp escaping her lips as she stroked faster, tipping her head back into the pillows as she screwed her eyes shut.

She could almost feel Ilya’s hot breath fanning her clit, his tongue darting in and out of her, flicking and sucking. She could hear him teasing her, taunting, groaning.

“Tell me how badly you want my cock, Printsessa.”

“So badly,” she whimpered, the words spilling out in a quiet, desperate cry. Her body trembled as her fingers circled faster, harder, her hips lifting off the bed in search of more. The tension coiled tight within her, unbearable and consuming, until she slid two fingers deep inside her drenched pussy, the slick heat welcoming them with ease.

Her mind clung to the fantasy―his cock stretching her, filling her completely, the weight of his body pressing her down as he whispered filth into her ear. Each thrust of her fingers mirrored what she craved, harsh and rough, the imagined feel of him driving her closer to the edge. Her moans were soft but needy, her pace quickening as she chased the release she could almost taste.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured in her ear, his voice low and rough as he drove deeper into her. “Now, be a good little slut and come for me.”

Her breath hitched, the pressure mounting with every movement, her body on the verge of unraveling as her free hand gripped the sheets, anchoring her to the moment.

“ Ilya ,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her fingers curled just right, sending a shuddering wave of pleasure crashing through her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming, slapping her pussy repeatedly as she came. Then she collapsed onto the bed, her legs trembling from the high.

And when it was over, her body shaking from release, she lay there in the silence of the room, the reality of what she’d done settling in. She stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving, her hand still resting between her thighs as she fought the embarrassment creeping in.

Even alone, she couldn’t escape him.

Valentina rolled onto her stomach, mortification clinging to her like an unbearable weight as she groaned into her pillow, her face burning.

“Fuck you, Valentina,” she muttered bitterly to herself.

She couldn’t believe she’d let her body betray her like this―fantasizing over a man she despised, a man who thrived on making her life hell. Sure, they had shared a rare moment of civility over dinner last night, even bonded a little. But that didn’t erase the fact that he was still the bane of her existence.

How was she supposed to face him now? Look him in the eye without imagining them dark and hooded, looking up at her from between her thighs.

She groaned again, throwing the covers off and slipping out of bed, sneaking toward the bathroom. The cool tiles under her feet did little to ground her spiraling thoughts. As she splashed water on her face, she tried to focus on anything but him―his sharp jawline, the way his accent curled around words like smoke, or worse, the memory of his nude form she’d caught in the lake.

That was it. That’s what she blamed it on―the lake. She was only human, after all. A woman. It wasn’t her fault that her traitorous body had reacted to the sight of him. She could be attracted to the thing between his legs without being attracted to the man himself.

Besides, this stifling proximity wasn’t helping. Being stuck inside these four suffocating walls with him only made things worse, fueling thoughts that had no right to exist.

Her jaw tightened, her resolve hardening. If anything, this was just another reason to stick to her plan, to escape. Before it was too late.

After an unsatisfactory bath, Valentina trudged to the kitchen, still groggy and trying to shake off the last thirty minutes from her system. Fortunately for her, the living room was empty, which meant Ilya had woken up already.

For a moment, her cheeks colored as she pulled out eggs and butter from the cabinets. There was no chance in hell that he would have heard her pleasuring herself to the thoughts of him. She was as quiet as she could be, right? Right?

She shook her head immediately, trying not to think too much. But as she glanced out the window above the sink, her composure faltered.

Ilya was outside, carrying logs over one broad, bare shoulder. His skin glistened faintly, the early morning light catching on his toned muscles as they flexed with every movement. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, just as he set the logs down and grabbed an axe, the simple motion exuding effortless strength.

Heat crept up her neck, and she quickly turned away, scowling deeply as she focused on the stove. Get a hold of yourself , she scolded herself, though her cheeks betrayed her. She cracked the eggs into the pan with more force than necessary, whisking them furiously before pouring them into the hot skillet.

A cup of coffee followed quickly, and she escaped into the living room with her plate, hoping the distance would cool her heated thoughts.

As she sat on the couch and took a bite, her mind refused to quiet. The stupid dream. His stupid presence outside. The stupid, stupid axe. She shook her head, aggressively cutting into the eggs. She heard the back door creak open but didn’t look up, her heart picking up speed as his heavy footsteps echoed in the cabin.

“Morning,” came his voice, smooth and infuriatingly casual.

“Mm,” she grumbled, barely acknowledging him.

There was a pause, then a soft laugh. “Rough night?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement.

Valentina stabbed her fork into her plate, her teeth grinding, but stayed silent, willing herself not to react. From the kitchen, she heard him shuffle about, and then:

“Wait. Did you make breakfast just for yourself? That’s kind of greedy, Printsessa .”

That stupid pet name triggered the memories she was desperately trying to forget. “Tell me how badly you want my cock, Printsessa.”

Her grip on the fork tightened. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling through her nose, silently praying for patience and, more importantly, self-control. “Go to hell,” she muttered under her breath, her tone low enough to be dismissed as accidental.

But Ilya was nothing if not persistent. He chuckled as he began preparing his own breakfast, the sound irritatingly at ease. Valentina chewed her food slowly, mentally pleading with the universe to keep him in the kitchen.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Moments later, he strolled into the living room, plate in hand, his eggs smelling way better than hers, and plopped down on the couch next to her―far too close for comfort. She shifted away, putting as much space between them as possible, her body tense with a mix of annoyance and treacherous attraction.

“So,” he began, clearly enjoying himself, “we’re not talking today? Or is this just a new way to keep me on my toes?”

She ignored him, focusing entirely on her plate, her fork scraping against the porcelain.

He leaned back, the movement drawing her attention despite herself. “It’s so fucking hot today,” he muttered, and her gaze flickered to him before she could stop himself.

He was still shirtless, still a little sweaty, his legs sprawled wide apart as he dug into his food. Her eyes betrayed her, tracing the lines of his torso before snapping back to her plate.

Gross , she told herself, swallowing thickly. He hasn’t even showered yet . But the ache building in her lower stomach told a different story, one she refused to entertain.

Before she could distract herself with anything else, she felt a hand wrap firmly around her ankle.

Valentina froze, her entire body sparking to life as Ilya easily tugged her toward him. She squealed in surprise, electricity zapping up her legs as she lost balance, her plate barely steady in her vice-like grip.

In one fluid motion, she was close―too close―and she could feel the heat radiating off him. His tone dipped low, the grip on her ankle firm, commanding, and maddeningly confident. It sent a shockwave through her, one she couldn’t fight no matter how hard she tried.

“I don’t appreciate being ignored, Printsessa ,” he murmured, his hand sliding up her ankle slowly, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. “When I speak to you, I expect an answer.”

Her breath hitched as his hand traveled further, deliberate and teasing, his fingers grazing just above her ankle. Heat shot through her body as her clit pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own, and she clenched her jaw to keep herself from moaning out loud.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she nearly screeched, ripping her leg out of his hold like she’d been burned. Her heart thundered as she scrambled back, putting as much space between them as she could while clutching her plate like it was a shield.

Ilya leaned back, unbothered, a smirk curling at his lips as if he hadn’t just unraveled her with a single touch. “Just trying to get your attention.” His gaze lingered on her flushed face, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he noted the way her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snapped, but her voice betrayed her, shaking just enough to give her away.

“As you wish,” he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. But the wide smirk on his face told her he wasn’t finished―he had barely even begun.

Seeing him constantly was beginning to mess dangerously with her head. Sure, she was starting to notice things about him―how he was surprisingly dependable, how he always got things done without complaint―but that didn’t change the fact that he was him . The man who riled her up like no one else, who always knew how to push her buttons―just like he did now.

Being around him 24/7 was maddening, and if this went on much longer, she was afraid of what she might do. Like give in to the pull she refused to acknowledge―the one that had her imagining things she shouldn’t, things she’d absolutely regret.

Even after he left her alone in the living room, she couldn’t stop thinking about his hand around her ankle, his thumb brushing her skin―the same one that she almost sucked at the lake―his mouth, pink and full, always ready to set fire to her nerves.

This desire was becoming unbearable. It was growing on her faster than she liked―obsessive, consuming, relentless. There was no holding it back now. She needed to leave as soon as possible before she made a mistake she couldn’t take back.

A familiar idea took root in her mind, desperate and reckless: steal his car keys and get out of there before it was too late. Granted, she had tried it before, and she had been unlucky, but she would be sneakier now. And it was physically impossible to leave the lodge without a car, so it was her only way out.

Affliction couldn’t rise the second time.

So, the moment the sound of the shower echoed through the cabin, she decided to make her move. Heart thundering, she crept into the kitchen, searching for the keys. She rifled through the kitchen, her hands moving quickly as she yanked open cabinets and drawers, her nerves fraying with each passing second.

“Where the hell are they?” she whispered to herself as she checked the counter next, running her hands along the smooth surface, and then crouched to peer under the kitchen island, her pulse pounding in her ears.

The sound of water running in the bathroom down the hall gave her a limited window. She knew this was risky, but she couldn’t let herself think too much about it. She needed to leave― now .

She was so focused on her search that she didn’t hear him approach until his voice cut through the tense silence like a knife.

“Looking for something, Princess?”

Her heart nearly stopped as she shot upright, whirling around to find him standing in the doorway.

Water still clung to his skin, glistening in the dim kitchen light, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead. A towel hung low on his hips, revealing the defined lines of his torso and the slight trail of dark hair leading downward.

His sharp eyes locked onto her, narrowing with suspicion as his hand gripped the doorframe.

“I―” she stammered, caught completely off guard. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Nothing.”

His gaze swept over her, lingering on her guilty posture and the open cabinets behind her. “You’re awfully busy for someone who isn’t up to anything,” he said, his voice edged with amusement.

Valentina’s lips parted, her brain scrambling for an excuse. “I was just… uh, thirsty. I needed a glass of water,” she said, holding her chin in defiance.

Ilya’s smirk was slow and knowing as he stepped closer, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor. “A glass of water, huh?” he said, tilting his head. “Is that what you call digging through my kitchen like a thief?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back quickly, but her voice wavered slightly, betraying her.

He stopped right in front of her, towering over her with an infuriatingly smug expression. “You’re a terrible liar, Valentina Romano,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower.

She tried to back away, but the counter was at her back, and he leaned in, his arms bracketing her on either side. Her breath hitched as she caught a whiff of soap and heat coming off him.

“Why don’t you save us both some time,” he murmured, his lips curving into a dangerous smile, “and tell me what you’re really looking for?”