Page 15 of Scarlet Thorns

I sit in the sudden silence, stunned and shaken in the best possible way. My emotions tangle together— exhilaration, sadness, confusion, longing so sharp it’s almost painful. I touch the spot where his fingers grazed my skin, still tingling from the contact.

What the hell just happened?

Will I ever see him again?

Would I even know it was him?

The questions have no answers, but for the first time in months, I don’t mind the uncertainty. Tonight, someone saw me— really saw me— and found me worth touching, worth listening to, worth the restraint that must have cost him.

I don’t know his name.

I’ll never know his name.

I’ll probably never see him again.

But I know how it feels to matter to someone, even if only for thirty minutes in a room full of shadows and secrets.

And right now, that’s enough.

Chapter Six

Osip

I wake with my cock harder than steel and her voice echoing in my skull.

The digital clock glows 5:47 a.m. in the darkness. Too early for business, too late to pretend I’ll fall back asleep.

Galina sleeps beside me, one hand resting on her swollen belly. So far along and she still looks like porcelain— untouchable, perfect, breakable. Her breathing is deep and even, the kind of sleep that comes from a clear conscience.

I slip from the Egyptian cotton sheets without disturbing the mattress, bare feet silent as I stalk across the bedroom. The bathroom door closes with a whisper as I shut it carefully, shoulders tight with tension I can’t shake. I feel like a man who’s been fighting wars in his sleep.

The shower runs scalding, steam filling the marble-tiled space. I step under the spray and let it beat against muscles knotted with stress and unwanted arousal. The water should wash away the memory of Room Five. Of candlelight flickering across lace masks. Of tears I had no right to witness.

It doesn’t work.

My balls pull tight with a need that’s almost painful. My hand wraps around my cock, and I’m back in that burgundy chair, watching the woman from last night break apart in front of a complete stranger. The way she looked at me when I walked through the door— not like the dangerous bastard everyone else sees, but like something worth wanting. Worth the restraint that nearly killed me.

Her voice was broken and honest:My boyfriend thinks I’m lying about being sick.

The memory of her pain hits harder than my physical need. Someone dismissing her suffering like it’s inconvenience rather than truth. If I knew the bastard’s name, I’d teach him what real pain feels like. Slowly.

My grip tightens on my shaft, movements rough and urgent along my slick flesh. The image of her in that chair, spilling secrets to a masked stranger, trusting me with vulnerability I didn’t earn. The way she said “holy hell” when she saw me, like I was something magnificent instead of monstrous.

Pleasure uncoils with each stroke of my fist, my palm slapping wetly against the dense mat of dark hair at the base of my cock as I pick up the pace. I see her deep eyes, those sweet lips, made for kissing. Made for wrapping around my hot flesh.

Blyad.

Release hits like violence, stealing my breath and leaving me hollow. But even as I come down from the high, she’s still there. Still talking in that broken, beautiful voice. Still looking at me like I matter.

Chert voz’mi.

I brace against the tile wall, letting the water run cold until my skin protests. Force my thoughts to business. To numbers and logistics and problems I can actually solve. The woman from Room Five is a distraction I can’t afford. A complication that leads nowhere.

But my body remembers the magnetic pull between us. The way the air changed when I entered that room. The restraint it took to walk away instead of…

Stop it, mudak.

I towel off roughly, skin raw and red from the heat. I feel composed on the surface, but there’s chaos underneath. I’ve mastered control in every aspect of my life except this. Some random woman I’ll probably never see again.