“If you insist on watching over me twenty-four-seven, then the least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable,” I say, threading my fingers through his and tugging him into my room.
“Stella,” he hesitates.
“I know, I know. No fucking.” I roll my eyes, teasing.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Oh.” I chew on my lip embarrassed. “What were you going to say, then?”
He looks deep into my eyes and sighs. “I forget.”
Warmth rushes through me at the endearing smile on his lips.
“Come on,” I say, pulling him toward the bed as he closes the door behind him. “Help me lie back down before I pull a stitch.”
That’s all I have to say to get him moving. Ever so gently, he helps me slide back into bed, then pulls the blanket over me once I’m settled. I watch him with bated breath as he heads for the chair in the corner, sets his pillow down, and prepares to sleep there.
“There’s more than enough room on the bed for the two of us,” I whisper, stopping him before he can settle in.
“I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“Are you scared I might try to jump your bones? Newsflash, Kill, I’m out of commission, as you well know.” I point to my bandaged shoulder.
“I’m… a rough sleeper,” he says, as if that explains the reason he won’t even consider getting into bed with me.
“Suit yourself.” I shrug with my good shoulder and burrow into the blankets, leaving a generous amount of space behind me. I pretend to close my eyes instead of watching him wrestle with his decision. I can tell the moment he finally gives in. The soft rustle of fabric gives him away as he pulls his T-shirt over his head and steps out of his pants.
Kirill might kill my patience, but he sure is sinfully beautiful to look at. There’s a carved-from-stone quality to him. All sharp lines, hard muscle, broad shoulders, and smooth skin marked with ink that curls over his chest and neck as if it were poured there by the gods themselves. Power, danger, and desire made flesh in a single man.
I hold my breath as he slides in behind me, not daring to say anything that might make him change his mind and scurry away. When his breathing finally steadies, I let myself relax too, closing my eyes.
Now I can sleep.
At some point in the night, an intense warmth tugs me awake. I blink up at the ceiling and realize I must have rolled onto my back, a move Kirill clearly took advantage of. He’s halfon top of me, his leg draped over mine, his head on my chest, his arms wrapped around me as if I belonged to him.
The old Stella would kick him off right about now, curse and yell until he ran out of the room as fast as he could. But this Stella, in this room, in the dark where no one can see her, likes the weight of him. Likes how solid he feels pressed against her. Likes it more than she should.
Kirill’s eyelashes flutter with whatever he’s dreaming about, his hands gripping me tightly as though he’s trying to fuse himself to me. With him being completely dead to the world, I let my fingers wander and slip into his hair, sighing at how soft each strand feels. Even in his slumber, his whole body reacts to that single touch. I feel his growing hard length press against my thigh as his fingers bunch in my T-shirt, pushing the fabric upward until his lips brush my bare skin. I bite back the moan that threatens to escape me as he grinds against me, slow and unconscious. Still, it’s his sleepy mumbling that truly steals the breath from my lungs.
Ya khochu tebya tak sil’no.
Dusha moya. Serdtse moyo. Milaya moya.
Esli by ty byla moey. Pochemu ty ne mozhesh’ byt’ moey, kak ya tvoy?
The way his temple wrinkles in distress, his lips curving into a sad smile, wreaks havoc on my soul.
“Shh, Kill. Sleep. I’m here. It’s alright. It’s only a dream,” I coo softly, hoping my voice is quiet enough not to wake him but soothing enough to chase away whatever nightmare has hold of him. I keep running my fingers through his hair while my thumb gently smooths the lines on his temple. Soon his tense muscles relax, and his breathing becomes even again.
I lose track of how long I spend watching him sleep. I hold onto that image as I close my eyes and let myself imagine what it would be like to fall asleep like this for the rest of my life.
I’m mid-sentence, tearing Lucky a new one, when the door flies open and Kirill barges in without asking permission, like a bad landlord who’s forgotten how to knock.
“I didn’t know you had company,” he says, frowning as he zeroes in on my brother. “I came to check on you. See if you needed anything.”
I’m already irritated from the twenty-minute phone call I just had with my father lecturing me. And Lucky going off on a tangent about how Marcello has officially dived headfirst into crazy territory after killing Father McDonagh has only made it worse. On top of that, I’m bored out of my mind because I’m still on bed rest, and my shoulder has been more of a bitch than usual today, throbbing every time I move. So when Kirill asks if I need anything, it only amps up my annoyance.
“What I need is to get out of this damn bed,” I grumble, arms crossed.
