I wanted to fall to my knees.
I wanted to throw myself onto the floor and let her walk all over me, just for the chance to feel the warm drag of her skin brushing mine again. I wanted her to touch me for real, not these accidental land mines she set off every time she breathed.
I’d never craved anything like I did at that moment.
Not food, not sleep, not sanity.
Only her.
The elevator dinged.
She stepped out first, towel slung over her shoulder, still glowing, still angry, and still ignoring the fact that I looked at her like she was the axis the world turned on.
I followed because I always followed.
Because I’d rather walk through war behind her than sit in safety without her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Poppy
Ivan stalked behind me.
Something had changed in the time we left the penthouse this morning and got back now. His breaths were heavier, his gaze more intense—as if that were even possible—and the set of his mouth… it looked more enticing than it had ever looked before.
Though I’d never tried yoga before, I found that I absolutely loved hot yoga after one session.
I loved how it made my body feel, how loose my muscles were, how grounded and warm I felt afterward. I loved how it worked me and stretched me in ways I’d never been before.
But most importantly…
I loved the way it turned Ivan into some kind of caged animal.
Every inhale from him was sharp, like it cost him something.
Every exhale shook a little, as if keeping himself in check required full-body effort.
He was walking behind me like a shadow on a leash that wanted—desperately—to slip free.
I slowed just a touch to swipe my towel over my chest.
His breath hitched.
Oh.
Oh,this was fun.
I’d barely set my water bottle on the counter when I felt him. He pressed his chest against my back and pinned me to the counter. His hands ghosted over the front of my waist, fingertips barely brushing the skin just under the band of my sports bra, and I felt every trace of resistance in my body shatter like glass.
Heat rushed straight to my center.
“Poppy,” he murmured against the shell of my ear, breathless. “You can’t… you can’t do that to me.”
I swallowed hard. “Do what?” Silent treatment was officially forgotten. I didn’t know if I was still angry or if I was wound so tightly by his eyes on me that it didn’t matter.
His fingers slid a fraction lower—still not touching, just hovering, trembling like he wanted to grab me and hold back at the same time.
“Walk around like that,” he rasped. “Bend like that. Sweat like that. Look at me like that.”
