I blinked, swallowing hard as his words curled around me like something safe. Something solid.
“I’m here now,” he said. Just three words, but they struck something deep in my chest—like a door creaking open.
I let out a shaky breath. “Okay.” That time, it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like a choice.
And as he kissed me again—slow, sure, like we had all the time in the world—I let myself believe it.
Maybe we didn’t need a label right now. Maybe this—whatever this was—was already enough.
“But what if you like kissing someone else?” I blurted out before my brain could slam on the brakes. My heart jackhammered in my chest. “Does that mean I get to kiss someone else?”
Nikolai’s eyes narrowed, the air around him shifting like a thundercloud just cracked open. His entire body went still—tight, coiled, dangerous. A flicker of something possessive passed over his face like a shadow.
“Absolutely not,” he growled, voice low and dark and very much not joking. “I’m the only one you kiss.”
And then—then—his lips grazed my neck, and I swear my entire nervous system short-circuited. A gasp leapt out of me before I could catch it.
“The only one you think about,” he murmured against my skin.
I opened my mouth to say something—maybe argue, maybe tease, maybe laugh it off like I always did when things got too intense—but I didn’t get the chance.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, just swooped me up and placed me on the counter, and oh. My breath caught. My legs dangled. My brain fizzled. This man was casually defying gravity, and now I was seated on cold granite, warm hands on my thighs, trying so hard not to combust.
“I’m the only one, yes?” he asked, voice all smooth command and quiet promise. His gaze bore into me, heat and hunger coiled just beneath the surface.
For a beat, my brain tried to short-circuit again. Doubt flickered through me—because Mikel had trained me to second-guess every sweet thing, every good moment. But this didn’t feel like a trap. This felt… like him. Nikolai. Intense and infuriating and real.
So I opened my mouth to answer?—
But he kissed me before I could speak.
And oh. It wasn’t a kiss built for questions or conversations. It was a kiss meant to claim—fast and wild and too much and not enough. My fingers tangled in his hair as heat surged through me. His hands slid to my waist, holding me like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t keep me tethered.
Time spun sideways. The world narrowed to just his mouth on mine, my body pressed against his, the taste of cinnamon on his lips and the raw need braided into every heartbeat.
When he finally—finally—pulled back, our foreheads rested together, both of us breathing hard.
“Okay,” I whispered, voice shaky, lips tingling. “You’re the only one.”
He didn’t smile, not exactly. But his eyes softened, his chest rising and falling like he’d been holding something in and finally let it go.
“Good,” he said simply.
Then he kissed me again—slower this time. Like sealing a promise.
And as I sat there on the counter, his hands warm on my skin, the weight of his words echoing in my chest—I didn’t feel claimed.
I felt chosen.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run.
“You will come to my game tonight?” Nikolai asked, his voice low and husky, the kind of tone that made my spine melt into glitter. His breath was warm against my ear, and suddenly I was aware of every molecule in my body.
“Yes,” I squeaked—because let’s be real, it was more squeak than actual word. My heart immediately did this Olympic-level backflip in my chest, because, hello, ice hockey boyfriend moment? Just imagining him on the ice—fast, fierce, all sharp lines and focus—was enough to make my knees go soft. Butterflies? Try stampede.
“Good,” he murmured, and wow, was it possible to feel a smirk?
Then he kissed my neck again. Again. Just casually, like it was a normal Tuesday and not a direct assault on my nervous system. His lips were soft and warm and dangerous, and I was just about to float off into kiss-drunk space when—he bit me.
