I’m slammed into the wardrobe. His body presses into mine, hot and overwhelming, pinning me in place. My wrists go above my head, held in one of his hands.
And then I feel him.
There is a hard line pressed against my stomach—heavy, hot, thick—and my brain short-circuits because oh God, I know what that is, and my body reacts anyway.
Heat floods between my thighs so fast I want to scream in humiliation.
“Tishina,” he murmurs, his mouth at my ear. “Quiet.”
“I—let me go—”
“You feel that,” he says softly, rolling his hips once into mine. “Your body does. Whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” His thumb drags across my lower lip, gentle and obscene at the same time. “I feel you.”
My whole face burns. My legs tremble. My thighs press together on instinct and make everything worse.
“Mishka,” I choke out. “I need to see him. Please—I need to—”
“No.”
The word hits.
“He’s gone,” Roman says. “Vadim moved the flight.”
My heart collapses in on itself.
I sag against the wardrobe, and the tears just fall. Hot. Silent. Unstoppable.
“Cry,” he says. “Then breathe.”
“I hate you,” I whisper again.
“I know.”
He lets go of my wrists. My arms drop like dead weight.
Then—
“Turn around.”
“What? No—”
“Turn around, Anya.” He gestures at the dress. “Buttons. You can’t reach them.”
My humiliation is so sharp, but I turn. I put my hands on the wardrobe and stare at the carved wolves because looking at him right now will break me.
He starts on the buttons, slow and methodical.
“You can breathe in a minute,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens. I swallow hard.
“This is a nightmare,” I sob. “Why did you choose me?”
“I didn’t,” he says. His fingers work down my spine, each button freeing a little more air. “Vadim chose. I obeyed.”
