CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lily
Song- Forbidden Fruit, Tommee Profitt, Sam Tinnesz, brooke.
I’m panicking. Not in my usual way, where the walls close in and my chest locks up like I’m about to suffocate.
This is different. This is the kind of panic that comes from falling too fast and realizing there’s nothing beneath you if it goes wrong.
Is it possible to imagine a future with a man you’ve only just met? I’ve watched the films. Read the books.
But what if he’s just saying the right things? What if I’m letting myself believe because I want to?
No one has ever chosen me first and only.
Fuck.
I creep out of the bedroom and grab the chilled bottle of champagne from the fridge, pouring myself a glass. I can’t evenbring myself to get into the dress I picked for tonight. Not when I know he’s right next door.
He distracts me. I don’t want dinner. I want him.
By the time I turn back toward my room, his door opens.
Drago stands there in boxers, bare chest on display, wet hair clinging to his skin. One eyebrow lifts as he leans against the frame, and my breath stutters like I’ve forgotten how to use it.
“Are we celebrating something?” he asks.
I pout. “Would you like a glass?”
He shakes his head and pushes off the door, stalking toward me with that dangerous ease. “No. I have to stay alert every second I’m around you.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Moy zashchitnik.”
I run my hand up his chest, and he groans under his breath, plucking the glass from my fingers. I can see the internal fight he’s having with himself. He does deserve me. He needs to learn to forget his loyalties to anyone else and live in the moment with me.
It’s almost enough for some of the guilt to swirl in my stomach. Those loyalties are to my father. I’m putting him in this difficult position, which makes me selfish.
He calms my mind; that is pretty clear. Providing the safety I’ve longed for years for. I want to provide that for him, too.
“I think this is the moment you sayfuck it,” I whisper.
He tips my chin up to look at him, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Fuck it.” His voice is rough, thick with a Russian accent.
He takes the champagne into his mouth, but doesn’t swallow.
His eyes lock with mine as he places the glass on the shelf beside me, and then his hands wrap around my throat, tipping my head back just enough to steal my breath.
His lips hover over mine.
I open my mouth.
The champagne spills between us, as he spits the contents into my mouth, and I swallow. My eyes flutter open to find his dark with want.
“I wanted to take you to dinner and do this properly,” he growls.
I slide my fingers into his hair. “You’ve already given me the best date I’ve ever had. I don’t need to be wined and dined, Drago. Not unless it’s on you.”
He blows out a breath, giving me a grin. “That was smooth, Lily baby. But, I’ll be the one feasting on you.”
