Don’t move.
My thumb twitches against his steady pulse point.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A wave of dizziness coils in my chest, climbing upmy throat—just like it always does whenever the prick is near.
But it doesn’t stop there.
No.
It’s followed by a cocktail of feelings I can hardly fathom. Rage, pent-up emotions, and so many…regrets.
I don’t even know what the fuck I want to do with Yulian.
I don’t want to hurt him, not really. Or do I?
Actually, I do. Maybe if I shatter him to pieces, it’ll finally be over.
I squeeze his throat, my thumb and fingers sinking into his skin in one violent go.
His eyes flutter open, blinking slowly. If it were me, I’d reach for my gun now, shoot my assaulter between his eyes.
Not Yulian.
No.
Because his lips curl into a lazy smile. “Hmm, you’re in my dreams now, Mishka?”
My fingers tremble around his throat, and I squeeze harder, telling myself the only reason I’m shaking has to do with rage. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Pfft, that’s totally something you’d say. Dream scores five out of five for realism.” He clamps onto my forearm, his fingers biting into my skin, and a spark races through me, sharp and electric.
It’s like I’m a live wire.
Fucking shocked alive by his touch.
He yanks me off balance in one swift motion. I stumble forward, crashing against him, chest pressed to chest, legs tangled awkwardly on the bed.
My fingers are still around his neck, our faces inches away, his parted lips breathing into me, the smell of alcohol permeating my nostrils.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His whispered words, almost sounding like he’s in awe, trace my skin like a shadowed curse.
An ancient one that’s impossible to undo.
It’s his eyes—they’re the source of the curse. The pools of blue and brown look darker, the rings surrounding them no longer there as his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare.
I’m so caught up in the little changes, in the feel of his heartbeat on mine, that it takes me a while to realize I’m breathing as harshly as he is.
Our exhalations twist between us, heavy as smoke.
Before I can put some much-needed distance between us, he lets out a choked puff of air. “God, I hate your face.”
Then he tilts his head, annihilating the last sliver of space between us, and our lips meet.
