The sheer reality of that, the fact that the words are true, hits me like a sledgehammer.
Ilya smiles sadly. “I should insist, but I’m selfish. I’ll keep you for as long as you want to stay.”
I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want to go back to Adam.
“I want to be kept,” I whisper, my voice ragged as my heart races. “I want to be kept by you.”
Ilya picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Then for now, you are mine, Mishka.”
I smile, but it’s lopsided and feels strange.For now.
I squeeze his hand back. “Yours,” I say, and it’s strange. It’s so damn strange, and I don’t know what to make of that simple word or the significance of it.
I don’t know what to do.
But I do know one thing.
Somewhere along the way, I went from wanting to do this for Adam to wanting to do this for myself. And now that I have…
I want Ilya.
Fuck.
THIRTEEN
ILYA
I’m still on edge, and I hate it.
I hate that part of me wants to lash out.
I hate that I can see myself falling into my father’s patterns.
Hurt Micah, and my anger will go away.
Except the idea of hurting Micah is unthinkable. I can’t, Iwon’tdo that to him.
If Micah cried, I wouldn’t feel good. I’d only hate myself more.
It wasn’t even supposed to be a day where I wore gloves. It was routine. But Boris had said there were cops sniffing around the gambling hall, so I’d gone to the building next door to take care of things.
No cops, but a man with a fake badge who’d insisted on speaking to me.
He said he knew things about me.
He said if I didn’t want everyone to know I was gay, I would pay up.
There’d been only one solution.
Beating him bloody convinced him that trying to blackmail me was a bad idea. I doubt I’ll see him again, but I’m much more concerned about something else.
How the fuck did he know about me? I haven’t done anything indiscreet?—
Except I kissed Micah at the bar the night we met.
I had parfaits with him out in the open.
