Page 26

Heat blasted Kat’s skin. Steam rose thick and fast, curling between them like smoke from a fire long overdue. The night faded. The risks. All the lies.

For the first time in years, she let herself stop calculating. No exit strategy. No contingency plan. Just Leonid.

Leo stood inches away, chest bare, his dress pants soaked and clinging low on his hips. Water streaked in rivulets down his torso, carving through silvered scars like rivers through a battlefield.

This moment had been waiting too long. For both of them.

When he reached for her, she stepped into him, her body finding his like it had always known the way.

Her palms slid over his ribs and abdomen, learning him by touch—taut muscle, marred skin. She paused at a jagged line above his hip, her fingertips resting there.

He shuddered—an involuntary reaction, pulled from some place deeper than desire—then kissed her like he needed to silence a scream. She opened to him without hesitation—greedy for the taste, the truth and heat of him.

He gripped her waist, pulled her flush against him. His body was hard, hot, restrained only by fabric. Her breath caught, a pulse tightening deep in her belly.

She needed more—his weight, his breath, the fierce way he anchored her to the present. Every inch of her hungered for him, for the part of herself she’d always held back.

She’d built her life on silence and control—walls that had protected her for years. But those walls had become a cage.

Here, in the heat and steam and reckless closeness of him—she didn’t want distance.

She wanted him.

Calloused hands stroked down her body, and she bowed into his touch. He cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple, and a low moan tumbled from her lips. His hand moved to her arm and found the bruise.

Dark, already blooming. Faint fingerprints where Korolov’s man had grabbed her.

His touch gentled. A barely there stroke over the mark. A growl vibrated through his chest.

The bruise wasn’t deep. She’d had far worse. She hadn’t even flinched when it happened or registered the pain in the moment. But now, with Leo’s gaze pinned to her skin, she felt the echo of it. What it had cost her to walk into that club. What she’d risked—for the truth. With Leonid.

Something flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t protectiveness, guilt or rage, but older and deeper.

She covered his hand with hers. “It’s nothing.”

His gazesnapped to hers, sharp.Like he wanted to take it all—the bruise, the past, the ache—and burn it out of existence.

He walked her backward until her spine hit cold tile.

Dropping to his knees, he hooked his thumbs into her waistband and looked up.

That look leveled her—not with desire, but r ecognition.

He shoved her underwear down and buried his mouth between her thighs.

Heat. Tongue. Pressure. Fuck.

Her head rapped back, and she groaned, the rhythm of her breathing destroyed.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the trust implicit in that simple act stealing her breath. She’d trained herself to never look away during intimacy. But with Leo she was safe enough to let go.

She’d never let anyone take control like this. Ever.

He didn’t stop, didn’t soften. Instead, he gripped her tighter, hauled her closer like he meant to unravel her completely, his fingers digging into her flesh.

His tongue dragged, circled, pressed as he built a rhythm—merciless and precise.

She grabbed his hair with one hand, her other scrabbling against wet tile for balance. Pleasure crested, flooded her and all considered thoughts dissolved.

Thick fingers pushed inside her, stretching and filling, while his tongue returned to her clit with expert certainty. Her body responded. She couldn’t hold back.

“God—Leo—” Her voice broke, then she did. She came fast and hard, everything inside her pulling tight, then fracturing, her knees giving way.

He caught her before she could fall, rising as she sagged against him.

Her palms found his chest—slow and deliberate this time. She dragged them down, over wet skin and scars, until her thumbs reached the band of his trousers.

Breathless, she met his gaze, fire in her blood. “I’m done pretending you don’t matter.” She yanked hard.

The waistband gave. Buttons flew.

He shoved his trousers down, the water-slicked fabric dragging over his hips and thighs, then gone. He kicked them off along with his shorts.

Kat’s eyes dropped. Her breath snagged hard in her throat.

Jesus.

She reached for him, hot and heavy in her palm.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as if her touch undid something deep.

His hands were already on her again—at her back, down her thighs, lifting. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he slammed her against the wet tile with a force that rattled the glass panel. A shelf clattered to the floor, bottles scattering.

She didn’t care, wanting only to feel the weight of him, the strength. She wanted it brutal.

Real.

She had waited far too long.

He kissed her like a man starved—biting, deep, like he meant to imprint the taste of her in his memory. His hips ground into hers, making her gasp, making her writhe. She was saturated—every nerve, every breath—everything in her demanding more.

“Now.” Desire made her voice break. “Now, Leo?—”

He groaned like a desperate man. “Condom.” His voice cracked as she touched him. “We should… I don’t…”

“I’m clean,” she murmured against his mouth. “You?”

“Always,” he breathed, forehead to hers. But his eyes searched hers, fierce and conflicted. “If we do this…”

“I’ve got an implant.”

His jaw flexed—still calculating risk, even now. Always protecting.

“No more holding back.” She bit his lower lip. “I’m tired of being careful about everything that matters.”

They might never get another chance.

He answered with a growl that vibrated in her bones, then slid a hand between them. Without finesse or patience.

Just need.

His possession was fierce. She cried out—raw, uncontrolled—nails digging into his shoulders as her spine arched against the cold wall.

Everything else fell away.

There was no mission. No years of silence. No lies.

The shower faded into background thunder until there was only skin on skin, and the sharp rhythm of his body driving into her like he needed to break her open from the inside out.

She met every inch of him, unleashing the crash and drag of years of want all at once.

Her head struck tile. She didn’t care. Her thighs locked, heels biting into his back.

They were going to destroy this bathroom.Maybe themselves.

Everything was slipping, crumbling, coming undone.

And still he held her, gripping her like he might lose her if he let go. The brush of his mouth at her throat. The way he buried his face in her neck when she tightened around him.

Her body seized, breath gone, mind blank. She came hard, surrendering completely.

He groaned, choked it back, still inside her, still moving—slower now, fighting the edge. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed like it hurt to hold back. Like he wanted to memorize this moment with his body.

To stay right here with her.

He came with a rough, broken sound, his whole frame shuddering against hers. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that—her legs still wrapped around him, his forehead pressed to hers, both breathing hard in the steamy air.

She held him through the aftershocks, her fingers pressed against the defined muscles of his back, her limbs still liquid from the intensity.

This was more than survival, more than adrenaline.

She was here. With him.

Finally alive.