Just for a moment.
I wake again to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of coffee. For a disorienting second, I don't know where I am. Then it all comes flooding back.
Zakhar. The kiss. The sex. Multiple rounds of sex. Him telling me he wants to put a baby in me while he—
Oh God.
I sit up too quickly, the sheet pooling around my waist. I'm naked. Sore. Marked. I can see faint bruises on my hips where his hands gripped me, a hickey on my breast that I definitely didn't notice him leaving.
Evidence of everything that happened last night.
"Coffee's ready."
I jump, clutching the sheet to my chest. Zakhar is leaning against the doorframe, fully dressed in fresh clothes I know he didn’t have before this morning. He looks better than he has any right to, his wounds healing well, color back in his face, a predatory grace I’ve only seen hints of before now.
He looks like a man who knows exactly what he wants.
And apparently, what he wants is me. Pregnant.
"I—" My voice comes out rough. I clear my throat. "I need a shower."
"Take your time." His eyes rake over me, dark with satisfaction. "I'm not going anywhere."
I flee to the bathroom, locking the door behind me even though I know it's pointless. If he wanted in, a lock wouldn't stop him.
The hot water helps. I stand under the spray, trying to organize my thoughts, trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing.
Last night was... incredible. Terrifying. Life-changing.
But in the cold light of morning, reality sets in fast.
I slept with a man I've known for a week. A Bratva soldier who's decided I belong to him. Who talked about breeding me like it was already decided.
And I let him.
More than that…I wanted it.
What does that make me?
I wash carefully, wincing at the soreness. When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel, Zakhar is sitting at my small kitchen table with two cups of coffee and what looks like takeout bags.
"You went out?" I ask.
"Called in a favor. Clothes. Food delivery." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit. Eat."
"I’m just going to get dressed first," I say, moving through to the bedroom before he can stop me.
"There’s little point in that," I hear him call out. “But if it makes you feel better.” I can almost hear the smirk in his tone.
I pull on clean clothes with shaking hands. Leggings and an oversized sweater that makes me feel slightly more in control. When I return, Zakhar is pouring cream into my coffee, the exact amount I take.
I sit. He pushes a container toward me, eggs, toast, bacon. Real food, not the scraps I usually grab between baking shifts.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Comfortable in a way that shouldn't be possible with a man I barely know.
"We need to talk," I say finally. I set down my fork, hands folding in my lap to stop them from shaking. "What are we doing, Zakhar?"
"We are accepting that our lives are entwined, and making the most of it." A glimmer of darker promises flashes in his eyes.
