My breath stops.
Three months of imagination didn't prepare me for reality. Curves that belong in a museum. Skin that glows in the city lights. Pink pebbled nipples. The soft slope of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the neat patch of hair between her thighs that makes my mouth water.
She pulls on my shirt slowly until it falls to mid-thigh, making her look thoroughly fucked even though I haven't touched her.
Yet.
"Satisfied?" she asks.
Not even close.My cock is so hard it hurts, straining against my zipper like it's trying to make its own decisions. I want to bend her over that bed, push up that shirt, and show her how unsatisfied I am.
But this isn't the time. She's scared and overwhelmed. Most likely in shock.
"There's more," I say.
Before she can respond, I cross the room in two strides. My hands find the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. Not touching, but close enough that she can feel my heat. Close enough that I can smell her—soap and a scent that’s uniquely hers, like vanilla and sin.
"What are you doing?" she asks in a breathy voice.
"Making things clear." I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. "You're under my protection now. That means you're mine. Don't leave without permission. Don't talk to anyone I haven't approved. Do what I say, when I say it."
"I'm not your property."
"No. You're my responsibility." I pull back enough to look at her. "With property, I wouldn't care if you enjoyed it."
Her breath hitches. The pulse in her throat flutters like a trapped bird. "You care if I enjoy it?"
"Very much."
A knock on the door breaks the moment.
"Boss?" Misha calls. "I have the items you requested."
I step back, and Lila sags against the wall like a marionette with severed strings.
I open the door a crack, and Misha hands me a bag—art supplies from the 24-hour store. Professional-grade sketchbook and pencils.
"Thank you. Now go home."
"You sure? With everything that happened?—"
"Pyotr will be here soon. Go."
He nods and leaves.
I turn back to Lila, who's watching me with those artist's eyes that see too much.
"Here." I set the supplies on the nightstand. "I noticed you grabbed your sketchbooks. Figured you'd want better material than what you had."
She picks up the sketchbook and runs her fingers over the cover. "This is… expensive."
"Good thing you're not paying for it."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you care if I have anything to draw with?"
