The glass, however, that’s not reinforced. I could slide it open, swing my legs over, and press myself flat against the wall. From there, I could climb down.
I could also fall and die, but in this scenario, let’s say I don’t.
The Orlov dogs are always outside. Brutal and well-trained with teeth meant to shred, but if I time it right, I could be halfway down the garden wall before anyone even realizes I’m gone.
My body remembers the drills. The endless hours of slipping from rooftops, scaling balconies, vanishing into alleys. My mind whispers freedom.
But my chest… my chest remembers Nikolai’s voice.
All I’ve wanted—all I’ve fucking needed—was you again.
I turn onto my side, flipping from my left to my right before shuffling to the bottom of the bed, my fingers rubbing back and forth as I study him. He’s lying on the floor, one arm under his head, the other across his middle. His gun is within reach, as always. He doesn’t move, doesn’t stir, but I know he isn’t fully asleep. He never is. A few nights ago, I coughed, and his gun was drawn within seconds.
I swallow hard, nails digging into the sheet. I should go. I should take my chances, slip through the window, and never look back. This is what I’ve trained for, what I’ve been prepared to do since the moment I was born.
So why are my eyes still stuck on him?
His chest rises slowly, steadily, and the thin sheet tangled around his hips does nothing to hide the lines of his body. My stare catching on the deep V that disappears under his sweats, the flex of his stomach every time he exhales.
My breath stalls.
The boy who kissed me like I was something sacred. The boy I thought couldn’t exist anymore.
My thighs press together.
I remember that night—the way his hands trembled against my skin, the way his lips claimed mine. We were supposed to keep going. To see what it felt like to fall apart together.
Now here he is, sprawled beneath me, alive, inches away.
My eyes trace the curve of his jaw, the faint scar along his temple, the way his mouth parts as he breathes.
Desire claws at me, frustratingly insistent. I curl my fingers deeper into the sheets, biting my lip, fighting the ache that spreads through me.
I want him. God help me, I want him more than I want the escape that’s sitting right behind that glass.
Heart hammering, heat pooling low in my stomach. My thighs sink into the mattress as I move to lie flat on my back, my nipples aching under the cool air.
The fantasy I’d been running through flashes in my mind: us, tangled together, skin against skin. But I push it away.He’s the enemy. He always has been. He doesn’t want me. He wants to use me.I remind myself over and over again, but it means nothing when I close my eyes and reach my hand down, slipping it under my shorts.
I finally give into the ache I’ve been craving. Circling my clit again and again until I insert two fingers, and a quiet hum releases into the air. I keep switching between my clit and my entrance, giving my body what it needs. My breath picks up speed, and I know I’m about to come.
Then I hear it: a slight shift on the floor.
Fuck. My. Life.
I freeze in place.
“Nikolai?” I whisper.
“Yes, malyshka,” he rumbles, calm but edged with restraint.
“You’re… awake?”
“It’s hard to sleep with your moaning,” he admits.
I stammer, trying to form words, to cover my embarrassment, but it dies on my lips. Instead, I murmur, “Will you… come up here?”
He doesn’t move.
