He leaned in, until his lips touched my ear, and I shivered. Strangely, not at all out of fear. “If you were my woman, I would’ve run a hot bath for you and me.”
His arm tightened around my waist, keeping me firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reached for my spoon.
“If you were my woman, I would have you hold onto that beam while I fucked you from behind until you saw stars,” he whispered.
I tried to squirm away, but his grip was unyielding. “And afterward you would be bundled on my lap, wearing my shirt, smelling like me.”
“Get your hands off me,” I hissed, my face burning with humiliation and something else I refused to acknowledge.
“Since neither of those things happened, it’s safe to assume I don’t consider you mine. And I warned you,” he said, his voice a low rumble against my back. “Now open up.”
He dipped the spoon into my soup and brought it to my lips. I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head away.
“Shorty,” he said, the nickname sounding dangerous. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I spat, struggling harder against his hold.
His chest vibrated with what might have been a chuckle. “Such language from a Mafia princess.”
Before I could retort, he pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my face toward him. His eyes held mine, icy blue and unrelenting.
“You have two choices. Eat willingly, or I’ll make you. Either way, you’re getting food in your system. It will help with the dizziness.”
I glared at him. How did he know? I weighed my options. My head was still spinning with every little movement, and fighting him would only drain what little energy I had left. With a defeated sigh, I parted my lips.
A flash of triumph crossed his face as he slipped the spoon into my mouth. The soup was surprisingly good—rich tomato with herbs—and my empty stomach clenched in appreciation.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and I wanted to stab him with the spoon for how those words sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
He continued feeding me in silence, his movements methodical but gentle. Each time I accepted a spoonful, his grip on my waist relaxed slightly, his thumb absently stroking my side through my shirt.
I told myself I was only complying to regain my strength. That I was biding my time until I could escape. That the warmth spreading through me was just from the hot soup and had nothing to do with his caring enough to feed me, or his hard body pressed against mine.
But when Zotov reached the bottom of the bowl and his lips brushed against my ear to whisper, “See? That wasn’t so difficult,” I couldn’t stop the goose bumps that raced across my skin.
“More?” he asked, and I shook my head, but instead of letting me go, he pulled his bowl toward us and started eating while keeping me on his lap.
Somehow, with his attention off me, I could finally relax. His clean scent surrounded me and calmed me down, and his body heat seeped through my clothes and made me sleepy.
I must’ve dozed off because when I came to, I was in his arms while he carried me across the room. With my eyes half-mast, I stared at the lone queen-sized bed that dominated the small room. “Seriously? I can walk. Also, do you really think I’ll sleep in this situation?”
Zotov’s soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and the vibrations reached my skin. “You need to pee first?”
I shook my head.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Well, apart from the obvious”—I gestured at the bed and then at him—“where are you sleeping? The floor? The bathtub? Antarctica?”
His lips twitched. “I’m sleeping right here. With you.”
“Like hell you are.”
“Trust me. It’s you and me in this bed. Nothing you can do about it, so stop fighting.”
“You think I’d just lie down next to you without a fight? Dream on.”
He put me down on the bed, then pulled something from his pocket that glinted in the dim light—handcuffs. “Whether you dream about me or not is your decision. Butyou will lie right next to me. And to ensure you don’t try anything stupid while we’re sleeping, we’re going to stay real close.”
