“Learn Russian,” I add.
Jonah smiles. “Da.”
“We’ll work on that. With only ‘yes,’ you won’t get far. In my bed, sure. Not in the real world.”
He giggles against my throat, warm breath brushing my skin.
“We need to get you a matching tattoo,” I murmur.
“Hm. I’d love one.”
“And a cookbook with Russian recipes.”
“I’ve got Lev for that.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
His laugh breaks loose. “Say it again, krasavchik,” I murmur. “What you said at the bar.”
He hesitates. “Malysh?”
“Hm. Yes.” I stretch out, pulling him with me and tucking him under my arm. “Again.”
“Malysh,” he whispers.
“That’s it. My eyes close.
What a fucking night.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
JONAH
I never realizedhow beautiful the Morozov mansion really is. The first time I saw it, not counting the night we ran for our lives, it only looked terrifying. Now it looks like home. It is just as grand as the old house, yet there’s something different here. Something settled. It feels like I’m finally going to stay. I stand in the foyer for a moment, watching the way the late afternoon sun hits the marble floors.
“Careful,” I tell the guards maneuvering my piano through the doorway. It looks small in this space, a relic of my old life being swallowed by the scale of the Morozovs.
“Yes, sir,” one of them replies.
Heat rushes to my face and I turn away too fast. Viktor catches the movement immediately, grinning at my discomfort. “You had better get used to that, krasavchik. They know who you are. Come on, let’s move our stuff into the bedroom before Lev decides to 'help' us unpack.”
When he swings the door open to the master suite, I stop short. I thought coming back here would scare me, that the memories of being locked in would linger like a bad smell, but the room is transformed. Fresh sheets stretch smooth across the bed and a new duvet catches the light. On the dresser, a vaseof white lilies opens in the sun. The air smells like vanilla and expensive wood.
“Look.” I point to the floor-to-ceiling window. “It’s snowing again.” Thick flakes drift down, one after another, clinging to the glass. It feels like a loop is closing. “Remember the last time we were here? When everything was falling apart?”
Viktor steps in behind me, his chin resting on my head. I can feel the solid heat of his chest against my back, a grounding force that makes the rest of the world fade. “You said I could sit here and watch it.”
“Hm. I did.”
His breath brushes my hair. His voice drops into that low rasp that usually means trouble. “After I’d fucked you hard.”
“Viktor.” I shove him back, flustered despite myself. My heart rate is climbing, a steady 90 beats per minute that I can feel in my throat. Clinical. I’m always trying to put a number on it, but he makes it impossible to stay objective.
“What? It’s the truth.” He grins, the predatory light returning to his eyes. He pulls me back in front of him and presses me against the window. The glass is cold, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body.
“S—stop. The door is still open. Anyone could walk past.” I’m already panting. The idea of being caught feeling both thrilling and terrifying in the absolute silence of the wing.
