Irina walks in like the whole room belongs to her, heels clicking, posture perfect. She gives Mikhail a glance like he’s some stray dog chewing on furniture, then turns her attention to me, softening her expression instantly.
“Artyom,” she says, her voice warm in that calculating way of hers, “I hoped I’d find you here.”
Mikhail snorts. “Of course, she did. She hoped it all night.”
She ignores him.
I don’t bother standing or smiling. I’m tired, irritated and her presence is the last thing I want right now.
“Morning,” I say, voice flat.
She moves closer, her perfume clinging to the air like she wants to weave herself into it, her hand brushing the back of my chair as if she has the right. “You left early last night,” she says lightly.
“Work,” I say simply.
Her eyes search my face, looking for openings, for the weak spots she thinks she can exploit. Usually, she’s bold with touching, teasing, trying to push boundaries she thinks I’ll eventually cave to, but today there’s hesitation and a flicker of uncertainty. She’s watching me differently, like she can sense the shift in me even if she can’t place it yet.
Mikhail sees it too. He smirks into his cup, amused. “You’re off your game this morning, Ira.”
She shoots him a glare razor-sharp enough to cut tile, but Mikhail just flashes her a lazy grin.
“Artyom… if you have time later, maybe we could?—”
Her words die, because she sees where my eyes snap to.
Kira walks into the dining room with her hair still damp from the shower, wearing one of the dresses Calina forced her to buy, simple and soft, hugging her waist in a way I’m definitely not prepared for. Her cheeks are flushed, maybe from rushing down the stairs, maybe from remembering last night, maybe because she’s looking at Irina already leaning toward me and her jaw tightens so quickly, I feel it in my damn chest.
I sit back in my chair, watching her approach. I’m ready for her anger, for her glare, for something sarcastic and defensive.
What I’m not ready for is the way she goes straight to me like she owns the spot beside me, stopping close enough that her hip brushes my shoulder, her fingers curling lightly around the back of my neck as she leans down and kisses me.
Her mouth lands on mine with heat and certainty, slow at first, enough that I feel the full sweep of her lips against mine, the warm press of her breath, the tiny tremor she tries to hide, but then she tilts her head a little and it deepens. Her mouth opens just enough to pull me in, to drag something sharp and greedy out of me before I can stop it.
It wipes every thought clean out of my head. I freeze for half a breath because I’m not expecting it, because she’s never touched me like this before, but the shock lasts barely a second. My hand moves before my brain does, going straight to her waist, fingers locking around it, pulling her down into the kiss like I need her closer, need her weight against me, need the sound she makes when I squeeze.
Her breath catches in her throat, soft and helpless and hot as hell, and the sound goes straight through me, settling low, tightening everything in me at once. A shiver runs through her body, subtle but real, and I feel it under my palm, feel the way she melts just an inch before she catches herself again.
Irina stiffens as if someone slapped her.
Mikhail grins so wide he nearly drops his fork. “Well. Good morning to you too.”
Kira pulls back slowly, her lips still tinged, eyes dropping to my mouth like she’s not done with me. I feel it like a punch.
“You started without me,” she murmurs, trying to sound annoyed, but her voice is too soft, too warm, too affected. She glances at Irina, and the look she gives her is territorial in a way that lights something violent and hungry in my chest.
Irina clears her throat, straightening her posture. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”
The smile Kira gives her is slow. “I noticed.”
Mikhail coughs loudly to hide a laugh.
I should pull back and put some distance between us, because Iknowthis is temporary, fake, a simple deal. But she’s standing so close I can smell her skin, still carrying the faintest trace of last night, and I do nothing.
“It’s fine,” I say, my hand still on her waist. “Sit.”
She does, sliding into the seat beside me, her knee brushing mine under the table like she’s doing it on purpose, and each time she shifts, I feel heat coil low in my stomach.
Irina watches all of it with a frozen smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
