Two fingers ease inside her just as she obeys.
“Keep them that way. From now on…” I sink deeper as she cries out. “You do not close them when I touch you.”
My thumb grazes her center and her body tenses, winding in pleasure.
The urge to take her, fully and without mercy, rips through me, consuming all reason. I want to bury myself inside her untilthere’s no part of her left. But I want her desperate first, begging for it like she did at the club.
The second my fingers leave her, her thighs clamp shut, denying me the view. It twists something vicious in my chest, the way she still pretends she can set the rules when the truth is every move she makes happens because I let it.
Heading to the dresser, I pick one of my T-shirts and hand it to her. She slips it on fast, tugging the hem down the middle of her thighs like I haven’t already memorized the terrain of her bare skin, mapping every inch of it with my hands, my mouth.
“Why are you giving me your shirt?” she asks, voice tighter.
“This is what you sleep in now. Unless you’d rather sleep in nothing. Trust me, I wouldn’t object.”
She swallows hard, slipping beneath the covers like they’ll shield her, as if hiding from me is still an option.
Sladkiya moya.My sweet girl. She hasn’t learned. Nothing in this house hides from me. Especially not her.
I start undoing my belt, the metal catch releasing with a soft clink that makes her tense. Pants slide off, and I leave the boxers on…for now. Just to show her I’m quite capable of being a gentleman.
She turns away just as I switch off the bedside lamp, and darkness swallows the room whole.
The mattress dips beneath my weight as I climb in beside her. She’s so close, I can feel the heat of her. The soft rustle when she shifts, like she’s searching for comfort she doesn’t want to ask for.
I should leave it at that, let the silence stretch.
I got what I wanted. She’s here. Mine. Wearing my shirt. Sleeping in my bed. Miserable.
But that damn pull—the one I’ve tried to ignore—rises again, curling low and hot, dragging against the sharp edge of my pride.
It’s not just the wanting to take her. It’s the way I want to pull her into me. Wrap an arm around her waist. Let my fingers splay across her stomach and breathe her in. It’s the sick, maddening way I crave the quiet weight of her body against mine because I liked the way it felt. Like something inside me settled when I held her last.
That should repulse me, make me shove off this bed and sleep somewhere else just to put distance between myself and whatever the hell this is.
But I don’t move. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, listening to her breathe like she’s trying to slow it down and fight the same demons that claw at me.
She moves again. A faint exhale escapes her lips, tinged with frustration and want. She rolls her shoulders, then goes still, keeping her back to me.
That’s when I can’t stop my hand from moving. Just one touch. One press of my palm to the curve of her hip. My fingers slide over the soft cotton, and she freezes.
Neither of us says a word, but I swear in this quiet, I feel her press the smallest bit closer, just enough for her body to meet mine.
Nu blyat, that one silent answer undoes something in me.
In a single move, I pin her against me, chest to spine, my nose in the scent of her shampoo, a concoction of something coconut and vanilla.
“I ache for you, Fiona,” I say against her throat, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Do you ache for me?”
She hesitates. Just for a second.
“No.”
My lips curve into a slow smirk as she trembles beneath my hands, her chest heaving like she’s been holding her breath since I touched her.
“You try to lie…” My fingers drag lower, slipping between her thighs until I find her soaked for me. “But your body already confessed.”
She gasps as I slide into her wet slit. “Oh God…”
