I kissed her back.
My hand came up without permission, cupped her face, my thumb against her cheekbone. I felt her sharp inhale, felt her lips part slightly, felt the way her whole body leaned into me like I was gravity and she was falling.
The kiss deepened. Her other hand found my chest, palm flat over my heart. I wondered if she could feel how hard it was pounding, if she knew what she was doing to me.
My other hand slid into her hair, tangled in the honey-colored silk. I'd wanted to touch her hair since the auction stage. Wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked. It was softer. Impossibly soft.
She made a small sound against my mouth. Not quite a whimper. Not quite a sigh. Something in between that shot straight through me and lit every nerve ending on fire.
My body responded. Inevitable. Undeniable. Heat pooled low in my abdomen, blood rushing south, my cock stirring to life with an urgency that should have embarrassed me.
The physical response broke through the haze. Shocked me back to awareness.
I was kissing Sophie Volkov. The woman I'd bought. The woman who'd just had a nightmare and a panic attack. The woman who was bound to me by a contract she'd signed under duress, who had no real choice but to be here, who was vulnerable and scared and so obviously not in any position to consent meaningfully to this.
What the hell was I doing?
I broke the kiss. Pulled back like her lips had burned me. My hands dropped from her face, her hair, putting space between us even though every cell in my body screamed to close the distance again.
"I can't." The words came out harsh. Wrong. "We can't. This is—"
Sophie's expression crumbled. I watched it happen in real time. The soft hope in her eyes guttering out. The way her shoulders curled inward. The way her hand fell from my chest like I'd rejected not just the kiss but her entirely.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have—"
"No." I stood. Backed away from the bed. Needed more distance. Needed to think clearly and I couldn't do that when she was close enough to touch. "You didn't do anything wrong. This is my fault. I shouldn't have stayed. Shouldn't have touched you. You're vulnerable and I took advantage—"
"You didn't take advantage of anything." Her voice was small but firm. "I kissed you. I wanted to."
"You just had a panic attack." I was talking too fast, my own panic rising. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets so she wouldn't see. "You're traumatized and scared and you don't owe me anything. The contract doesn't include—this isn't part of—"
I was making it worse. Could see it in her face. The hurt deepening into something closer to shame.
"I know what the contract says," she said quietly. "I know what I signed. I'm not trying to—" She stopped. Pulled the weighted blanket up higher like armor. "I just thought... I thought maybe you felt something too."
I did. God help me, I did. I felt too much. Wanted too much. Wanted to crawl into that bed and hold her and kiss her until neither of us could remember why we were supposed to keep ourdistance. Wanted to make her mine in every possible way, bind her to me with something more permanent than a contract.
But that was exactly the problem. She couldn't consent to any of that while I held all the power. While she was trapped here, obligated to me, dependent on me for safety and food and shelter.
"You need to rest," I said. Deflecting. Avoiding. Retreating behind the Pakhan mask. "It's late. We'll talk in the morning."
"Nikolai—"
"Goodnight, Sophie."
I left. Walked out of that room before I could change my mind, before I could turn around and see the hurt on her face and apologize and make everything worse by trying to explain feelings I didn't understand myself.
The door clicked shut behind me with a finality that felt like a coffin closing.
I stood in the hallway. Pressed my forehead against the wall. My cock was still half-hard in my jeans, my body still singing with want. My hands were shaking worse now. My chest was tight. The anxiety that had been manageable five minutes ago was spiraling into something darker.
I'd done the right thing. I knew I'd done the right thing.
But the look on her face when I'd pulled away. The hurt. The shame. Like I'd confirmed every terrible thing she believed about herself—that she wasn't wanted, wasn't worth staying for, wasn't enough.
I'd hurt her to protect her. That's what I told myself. That's what made it okay to walk away.
It didn't feel okay. It felt like I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life.
