"You're hurt." My fingers find the gash on his forearm, the blood still wet and warm. "This needs stitches."
"It's nothing." But he doesn't pull away from my touch, just stands there letting me examine the wound with hands that won't stop shaking.
"Nothing?" I look up at him, and the expression on his face makes heat pool low in my belly. "You could have died tonight."
"So could you." His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. "When Cyril called and said Matvey's men were attackingyour kitchen, that you were inside…" He trails off, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "I've never been that scared in my life."
The admission costs him something. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his hands tighten fractionally on my waist. The Pakhan doesn't admit fear, doesn't show vulnerability, but he's showing it to me now.
"I'm okay." I press my palm against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the blood-soaked shirt. "We're okay."
His forehead drops to rest against mine, and I feel his breath warm against my lips. "I should have anticipated this. Should have known he'd go after you while I was busy destroying his operations."
"Stop." I pull back enough to meet his gaze. "This isn't your fault. Matvey made his choices. You made yours. And now it's over."
"Is it?" His thumb traces my lower lip, the touch sending electricity cascading through my nerve endings. "The photographs still exist. Other copies could surface."
The reminder makes my stomach tighten with dread, but I force myself to hold his gaze. "Then we'll deal with it. Together."
Something shifts in his expression, something that looks almost like wonder. "Together."
"Yes." The word comes out steadier than I feel. "I'm not going anywhere, Nikolai."
And I mean it. Somehow, against all odds, I have fallen in love with this man. I've probably been in love with him since the island, but now… now, I know it to be true.
His mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss desperate and claiming. I taste blood and adrenaline and something darker, more primal. His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach. Heat floods through me despite the violence still clinging to his skin, despite the blood and the fear and everything that should make me push him away.
Instead, I pull him closer.
My fingers thread through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against my mouth. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him take what he needs. The kiss turns savage, all teeth and desperation, and I feel my body responding with an urgency that borders on madness.
"I need you." His voice is rough against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes my knees weak. "Need to feel you alive under me."
"Yes." The word comes out breathless, wanting. "But shower first. You're covered in blood."
He pulls back, and the heat in his eyes makes my core clench with anticipation. "Come with me."
It's not a request. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, and he pulls me toward the bathroom. The massive space is all marble and glass, the shower large enough for four people, and I watch him strip off his ruined shirt with hands that have steadied.
The serpent tattoo on his neck seems to writhe as he moves, and I can't stop staring at the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. He's beautiful in a dangerous way, all hard edges and controlledviolence, and my traitorous body responds with a flush that has nothing to do with the steam starting to fill the room.
He turns on the water, testing the temperature, then reaches for me. His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he pauses. I nod, and he pulls the fabric over my head with surprising gentleness.
We strip each other slowly, revealing bruises and cuts and the evidence of tonight's violence. When we're finally naked, he pulls me under the spray, and I watch the water turn pink as it washes the blood from his skin.
My hands move over his chest, checking for injuries I might have missed. The gash on his forearm is deeper than I thought, the edges ragged. "This really needs stitches."
"Later." His hands slide down my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, the subtle swell of my stomach. "Right now, I need to touch you. Need to know you're alive and whole."
His fingers find the apex of my thighs, and I gasp as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision. My head falls back against the tile, my hands gripping his shoulders for support, and I feel my body responding with embarrassing speed.
"That's it,Solnyshka." His voice is rough, intimate. "Let me feel you."
My phone erupts with notifications, the sound piercing through the steam and the moment. The buzzing is relentless, one alert after another, and something in my gut twists with instinct that screams danger.
His thumb continues its relentless assault on my clit while his other hand slides lower, and I feel two fingers press inside me. The stretch is exquisite, the fullness making me moan his name against the spray of water. He moves them slowly, deliberately, curling them to find that spot that makes my vision blur.
"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growls, his accent thick with desire. "All mine. Say it."
