I don’t know why that makes heat spark under my skin, but it does.
We move on, past another room, and another, each one different, and each time we pass a new one my breath grows shorter, not from shock but from the strange curiosity that builds slowly with every step we take. I’m not scared, but there’s something alive in me, something warm and restless that presses against the edges of my ribs.
We reach the room he came here to check—a darker space with nothing but a long couch and a man counting money at the table. Artyom talks to him briefly, low and serious, something about schedules and shipments and who’s in charge of tonight’s rotation. I hear him enquiring about his business partners and the man tells him they have booked a private party roomupstairs, if he cares to join. I listen but I’m distracted by the pulse in the air, the dim lights, the muffled sounds coming from behind other doors, the warm pressure in my stomach that won’t settle.
When they finish, the man nods and walks away.
“That’s it?” I ask as we step back into the hallway.
“That’s it,” he says. “We can leave.”
We start to walk, but the moment we pass another glass room, the one with the group sex that made my whole body go warm, the heat inside me spikes so fast I freeze mid-step, unable to move or breathe, and before I can force myself to look away, I feel him stop behind me, and I don’t have the willpower to keep walking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kira
It isn’t the bodies that make me stop; it’s the way they’re completely unafraid of wanting each other, the way hands slide over skin with an ease I’ve never felt, the way their eyes stay open even as they fall apart, as if desire isn’t something to hide but something to be seen and witnessed and shared. The realization hits me too fast, a sharp heat curling through me until my breath falters and I freeze mid-step, unable to tear my gaze away, and Artyom halts when he notices.
My breath gets caught somewhere in my throat, and I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Artyom stops too.
“Kira,” he says softly.
“I—sorry,” I murmur, but I don’t move.
He steps behind me slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to startle me, and when he speaks again his voice is right near my ear, warm and deep and stripped of all that controlled irritation he hides behind.
“You’re curious.” It’s not a question.
I feel heat creep up my neck.
“I’m just… looking,” I whisper.
He huffs a quiet breath, and I hear it more than feel it. “I know.”
I swallow hard because the room feels even hotter now, the air thicker, the sounds behind the glass too soft and too loud at the same time, and when I take a small breath, I can smell his cologne wrapping around me like a touch.
I should walk away, leave and pretend none of this stirs anything in me. But I don’t move, and neither does he. He steps closer, until his chest brushes my back, and I feel the heat of him, the solid weight of his body, the tension he’s holding under the surface.
His voice drops even lower. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
The words hit deeper than they should.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’ve never… I’ve never seen anything like this.”
He waits.
“But it doesn’t look…” I inhale. “…scary.”
His breath pauses against my cheek.
“And it doesn’t look embarrassing,” I continue, my voice barely there. “They look… free.”
His hand slides to my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress like he wants to ground me or pull me closer or both.
“Do you want to join them?” he asks. “My business associates are all busy right now anyway, so no one will see us.”
I should say no, but my body betrays me and leans back slightly, only enough for him to feel it, not enough for me to admit anything out loud, and when he feels it, his fingers flex just once against my hip.
