“What were you doing?” he asked, his deep, husky voice doing little to help my situation.
“Nothing,” I replied, my tone swift and defensive.
He halted behind me, eyes squinting as he drew in a deep breath, as if trying to catch the scent in the air.
Oh, no.
Afraid that he might figure out what I was doing when he walked in, I sprang to my feet, attempting to walk away.
“Not so fast.” He grabbed my wrist and spun me around.
My breath hitched at the sudden dryness in my throat that made it difficult to swallow. His gaze seemed a little more intimidating tonight, and I could barely hold it.
“Tell me,milaya,” he began, his eyes pinned on me. “What is it you were doing?”
I locked my jaw. “I told you…nothing.”
His lips curled into a small grin. “I wasn’t born yesterday,” he said with a voice so smooth and endearing.
I hated the fact that he could see right through me, and my body wouldn’t stop trembling with both anger and desire. “What’s it to you?” My expression darkened, masking my lust with fury.
“It’s everything to me,” he answered, taking slow, measured steps forward. “You live inmyhouse, breathemyair, and sleep inmybed. That means I have a right to your actions, your words, and even your thoughts.”
My face twisted into a frown. “And that,” I snapped, “is exactly why I have a problem with you!”
He paused, as if shocked by my rising voice.
I continued, the words flying out of my mouth like arrows. “You have no regard for me as a person, and that’s why you treat me like I’m less.” I went on, my voice trembling from a mix of frustration and fury. “You talk down to me and act as if you own me, like I’m some worthless piece of shit you keep on a leash!”
His brows arched in surprise as he watched me vent.
I leaned in, my breath coming faster, eyes blazing. “For the fifteenth hundredth time, Roman, you don’t own me. You never have. And you never will.”
The room fell silent, and I watched something flicker beneath his hard expression; something between anger and fascination.
He was quiet for a second, his gaze lingering on me as a slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He stared at me, his cold eyes darting over my body.
“You really should learn to sync your words and your body language,milaya,” he muttered, his voice soft and smooth. “You say one thing…” his gaze dropped to my heaving chest, “…but your body tells me something entirely different.”
I swallowed hard, trying to mask my desire even though he could see the struggle. I straightened, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself. My body just hasn’t caught up to how much I hate you.”
Then came that signature smirk again. “Is that so?”
My lips parted, ready to shoot back, but before I could respond, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.
He looked into my eyes and quietly asked a question that shattered all my defenses at once.
“If you despise me as much as you claim, then why were you playing with yourself when I walked in?”
Fuck, no!
My breath hitched, and my heart stopped, shame and embarrassment flashing across my face. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me—anything to save me from the mocking glint in his cold eyes.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
My chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, speechless and unable to say a single word.
“Why touch yourself when I’m at your service?” he continued, his seductive voice fanning the flames of my desire.
