He lines himself up. I gasp as he sinks into me. He fills me completely, stretching me, claiming every inch. The sensation is overwhelming—thick, heavy heat.
He doesn't let me hide. He holds my hips, controlling the angle, lifting and lowering me with a rhythm that steals my breath.
"Just feel me," he growls.
He snaps his hips up, grinding deep. The friction sparks a fire that consumes everything. My head falls back. I’m unraveling, the pleasure tightening until it’s pain, until it’s everything.
"Igor!"
I shatter. The release crashes through me. An instant later, he follows, his body bowing off the mattress, roaring my name as he pours himself into me.
Strength leaves my limbs. I collapse onto his chest, panting, listening to the thunder of his heart beneath my ear. We lie in the afterglow, limbs tangled. The silence feels comfortable for the first time in days.
"Illya thinks you have pussy-whipped me," Igor mumbles into my neck, voice heavy with sleep.
I snort, tracing the line of the tattoo on his chest. "Fuck Illya."
"No," Igor says, deadpan. "Don't."
I burst out laughing, the sound ringing clear in the room. Igor chuckles with me, a rumble deep in his chest. It’s the sound of a wall coming down.
Three days later, the peace shatters.
I’m in the library when my phone buzzes against the mahogany table. The screen lights up with a text from an unsaved number.
Danny: Hey Aria. It’s Danny from the coffee shop. I know it’s been a while.
My stomach drops. I haven't heard that name since Igor banished him, since the warnings about the looming war.
Danny: I heard you got married. To him. An Aslanov. I just need to know you’re okay. People say he’s a monster. I’m worried.
I stare at the screen. Igor’s warnings echo in my head.He is a rat. He is dangerous.I trust Igor. I trust his instincts, his protection, and the way he looks at me like I’m the only anchor he has left. But Danny is playing the concerned friend, the innocent IT guy caught in crossfire he doesn’t understand.
If Danny is reaching out, he might know something. He might be the leak Igor is tearing the city apart to find. If I can just talk to him, get him to slip up, I can bring that intel to Igor. I can prove I’m not just a liability to be protected; I’m a partner.
I type back, fingers trembling slightly.I’m fine. He’s not what you think.
Danny: He is. I overheard a conversation I shouldn’t have. Now, I have the proof, Aria. I’m scared. Meet me. Please. I would go to the cops, but I can’t let you get hurt. The old shipyard, Dock 4. An hour.
Proof. The word hooks me. I don’t tell the guards. They would lock me in my room "for my own safety." I slip out the back service entrance, heart thundering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and hail a cab two streets over.
The shipyard reeks of salt, gasoline, and rot. Rust flakes off the corrugated metal of the warehouse as I step inside. Shadows stretch long and jagged across the concrete floor.
"Danny?" My voice catches in the damp air.
Movement flickers behind a stack of crates. Danny steps out. But the charming, awkward guy who used to drink lattes with me is gone. In his place is a man with hollow cheeks and eyes that dart frantically around the empty space. Sweat beads on his upper lip.
"You came." A smile twists his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "I knew you still had a soft spot."
"You said you had proof," I say, keeping my distance. "You said you were scared."
"I am scared!" He laughs, the sound high and brittle. "Terrified I won’t get my payday."
He draws a gun from the waistband of his jeans.
My breath hitches. I take a step back, my heel catching on uneven concrete. "Danny, what are you doing?"
"Igor Aslanov took everything from me," he spits, the facade of the nice guy dissolving completely. "He thinks he owns this city. He thinks he ownsyou."
