His hand slides down my back to the base of my spine. Lower. His fingers brush the curve of my ass and the touch sends a bolt of heat through me that whites out my vision for a second. I'msoaked. I can feel it on my thighs. He can smell it. His whole body tenses against mine and the sound he makes is barely human.
I need to tell him stop because this alpha is everything I have spent my entire life running from. If I let this happen I will never get free.
I pull back. It takes everything I have. My hands shake as I push against his chest and step away and the distance between us feels like tearing something.
"Stop," I say.
He stops. His hands drop. He stands there breathing hard, his shirt pulled loose where I grabbed it, his pupils so wide his eyes look black. The scent rolling off him is thick enough to taste, dark whiskey and want. My body is screaming at me to close the distance again.
I don't.
"I'm going to take a shower," I say. My voice comes out thin. "Don't follow me."
I’m expecting him to ignore me and follow me as I leave, but he doesn’t.
I make it to the bathroom and turn the shower on and strip off my clothes and step under the water.
It's cold. I make it cold on purpose. The shock of it hits my overheated skin and I press my hands against the tile and stand there and breathe.
I can still taste him. I can still feel the press of his body against mine, the grip of his hands on my waist, the heat of his mouth on my throat. My cock is hard and the slick is still coming and the cold water isn't doing a thing to stop it.
I press my forehead against the tile and close my eyes.
My heat is coming. I can feel it in the background, the low hum that usually starts a week or so out.
My suppressants weren’t in the toiletry bag with the rest of my things. He hasn't given them back. I absolutely cannot do this.
I stay in the shower until the water goes from cold to painful and then I get out and dry off and put on the cleanest clothes I have and sit on the edge of the bath and listen to the silence of the penthouse.
My lips are swollen. There's a mark on my neck where his teeth grazed me. I press my fingers to it and the sting brings back the feel of his mouth.
Finally, I open the bathroom door. The hallway is dim. The living area glows at the end of it, soft lamplight and the blue flicker of the monitors I left running.
Novikov is on the sofa. He's changed out of his suit into a t-shirt and sweatpants and he's reading something on his phone. He looks up when I come in. His gaze drops to my neck, to the mark his teeth left, and something shifts in his face. Satisfaction. He doesn't try to hide it.
"I'm sleeping on the sofa."
He looks at me. The smirk is slow, barely there, just a lift at one corner of his mouth. He doesn't argue. He doesn't offer to take the sofa himself. He just looks at me and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He doesn’t think I have the willpower to stay on the sofa.
"There are blankets in the hall cupboard," he says. He stands, sets his phone on the coffee table, and walks past me toward the bedroom. He's close enough that his scent brushes over me, warm and deliberate. He doesn't touch me. He doesn't need to.
"Goodnight, Theo," he says.
The bedroom door stays open.
The blankets are where he said they'd be. I make up a bed that is perfectly adequate and lie down and stare at the ceiling. His scent is everywhere and the bedroom door is fifteen feet away.
I don't go to it. I lie on the sofa and I pull the blanket up and I close my eyes. I don’t go to him, but I want to. The moment my heat hits, I’m going to give in. It's only a matter of time.
8. Dom
Cipriani's is neutral ground because neither family owns it. The owner, a Sicilian beta named Enzo who's been in the city longer than both organizations, pays tribute to no one and serves both.
It's an arrangement that works because Enzo's restaurant is useful and because killing him would mean losing the only place where these conversations can happen without someone's soldiers getting nervous.
I arrive at twelve forty-five. Fifteen minutes early. Viktor is with me and two of our men are already inside, seated at the bar with drinks they won't touch. The restaurant is half full with civilians who have no idea what's happening at the corner table with the white cloth and the good silver.
I take the seat facing the door. Viktor stands behind me and to the left. We wait.
