“Sweet dreams, solnyshko.”
I stare at the ceiling and think: I am absolutely, completely, irreversibly fucked.
ROMAN — Volkovskaya Bedroom, 06:47
Iwake up hard with a warm, soft weight pressed against my side, small hand over the scar on my chest, one slim leg thrown over my thigh.
Mywife.
Anya Volkova, genius chemist, stubborn pain in my ass… currently wrapped around me like I’m her favorite pillow.
She must have moved in her sleep. When we turned the lights off, she was curled as far away from me as the mattress allowed, like the edge of the bed was going to save her from the man who bought her. Now her face is tucked into my shoulder, breath warm on my skin, hair all over me, silk nightgown bunched up high enough that I can feel her bare hip against my side.
And my cock is jammed against the soft inside of her thigh, hard enough to be painful.
“Blyad’,” I mutter under my breath.
I should move her. Slide out from under her, put some space between us, pretend this never happened. Be the polite husband who promised to wait.
I lie there and let myself feel it for a minute.
She’s so fucking small like this. Soft. Loose. No sharp tongue, no scientist brain, no eyes full of hate. Just a warm, exhausted girl who has lost too much too fast, clinging to the biggest heat source in the room without even knowing she’s doing it.
Her fingers are spread right over the old bullet wound. The Chechen job that almost killed me. Out of all the places on my body she could have landed, she picked that one in her sleep.
Interesting.
I drag my hand slowly up her back, careful not to wake her too fast. The silk is thin and warm under my palm. I trace every vertebra, every little bump of bone, and her breathing changes just a little—still deep, but there’s a hitch in there now.
My fingers slide into her hair. It’s softer than it looks. Slippery between my knuckles, still carrying the faint scent of her shampoo—lavender.
I tighten my grip just enough to feel her scalp move.
She murmurs, shifts closer, and rubs herself right against my cock.
My vision goes white for a second.
“Stay,” I breathe, more to myself than to her.
My other hand comes up to her throat. I lay it there, thumb on her pulse. That’s the spot I want when she’s awake. When she’s begging.
Her heart beats slowly. Resting. Completely relaxed on a man she claims to hate.
That pisses me off and turns me on at the same time.
I feel the exact moment her brain reconnects.
Her whole body goes tight. Heart rate jumps under my thumb. Her fingers twitch on my chest. Her eyes snap open, wide and grey and panicked, and she realizes where she is—in my arms, on my chest, my cock pressed against her.
“Good morning, solnyshko.” I don’t bother to hide how amused I am. “Sleep well?”
She jerks, tries to push away.
I tighten my hand around her throat and lock my leg over hers so she can’t go anywhere, reminding her who’s stronger here.
“Tishina.” Quiet. “You came to me in the night. You climbed into my space. So you can stop acting like I dragged you over here.”
Her cheeks flush, a slow burn climbing her neck. “I didn’t— I was asleep—”
