“Look at me, Kira,” he commands, his voice a thick, low rasp against my ear, demanding my attention even as my vision starts to tunnel with sensation.
I obey, and the dark, fierce need in his eyes is overwhelming, pulling me closer to the edge. I match his urgency, arching my back, my fingers splayed across the warm, damp skin of his chest, feeling the ragged beat of his heart against my palm. He drives into me harder, faster, his breath turning into harsh, quick gasps.
The pleasure coils tight and low, and I can feel the moment I lose control, the pressure building until it snaps. A cry tears from my throat, raw and unrestrained, immediately swallowed by the sound of his body slamming into mine. The climax hits like a wave of pure electric heat, stealing my strength, leaving me shaking violently, gripping his shoulders as the intense spasms pull through my core.
He uses my surrender, driving one last, deep stroke into the heart of the shuddering release. His head tips back, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out in stark relief as a thick, guttural shout of release tears from him. He collapses, heavy and spent, his body trembling, burying his face in the damp curve of my neck, his breath coming in shuddering, uneven drags.
The world falls away, leaving only the sound of him driving into me, his body shuddering with need, and the fierce, devastating knowledge that we both chose this, messy, broken, and completely unavoidable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Artyom
The drive back from the hospital is quiet in a way that makes everything feel heavier than it should. Kira sits beside me, her hair a little messy from my hands, her lips still swollen, her pulse jumping at her throat every time we pass under a streetlight, and I keep telling myself not to focus on any of it, not after what we just saw, not after her brother was dragged into a car by men who knew exactly what they were doing.
But I still taste her on my mouth, and I still feel her body against mine, and none of that is helping me think straight.
Her knee touches mine when I take a turn, and she sucks in a breath like her body reacts before she can stop it. Something tightens low in my stomach, and I have to force my hand to stay on the wheel instead of pulling over and dragging her into my lap, because right now isn’t the moment for that, even if every part of me wants it.
She glances at me once, then again, trying to figure out what’s going through my head, and the truth is I don’t know how to explain any of it. I’m angry, I’m worried, and I’m still hard from what happened in that room, and none of that comes out in a way that wouldn’t make things worse.
When we pull into the driveway, my house lights are on, and Calina and Milana are waiting in the foyer. The moment we step inside, Mikhail behind us, Calina crosses her arms and looks between us with a glare that says she’s been pacing for a while.
“Where have you two been?” she demands.
Kira tenses beside me, and I catch the way both my sisters notice it—the faint color on her cheeks, the way she moves a little slower than usual, the way she keeps tugging her sleeves down like she doesn’t want them to see the marks on her wrists.
Milana steps forward and puts her hands on Kira’s shoulders, her voice sharper than usual.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” she says, but her tone wavers, the worry slipping through despite the scolding.
Kira opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I step in, placing my hand lightly on the small of her back, letting her know she doesn’t have to explain anything.
“She was with me,” I say simply. “We were… busy.”
Calina’s mouth curves immediately. “Busy,” she repeats, drawing the word out like she’s tasting it.
Milana lifts an eyebrow. “So that’s why she forgot we exist.”
Kira’s face goes red instantly, and she lets out a small, helpless sound that makes both of them laugh.
“Oh, come here,” Milana says, stepping closer and brushing her thumb over Kira’s cheek as if she’s checking for bruises. “You look tired. And very distracted.”
Calina nudges her lightly. “Let’s get her upstairs before she disappears on us again.”
Kira groans under her breath, which only makes Milana grin wider. Then she looks up at me again, waiting for a cue she doesn’t realize she’s asking for.
“Go,” I tell her quietly. My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I’ll take care of everything down here.”
Her fingers graze mine as she moves past—a quick, delicate touch that feels like someone dragging fire across my skin—and then she disappears up the stairs with them.
And the second she’s out of sight, my focus shifts back to the one thing I can’t ignore.
I turn to Mikhail. “Office. Now. Bring the senior men.”
His smirk disappears, replaced by something sharper. He nods once and heads down the hall.
As he gathers everyone, I take a moment in the foyer, letting the calm of the house settle around me. It doesn’t help. The anger, the questions, the possibility of who sent those men—all of it sits under my skin like a pressure I can’t release. By the time the men file into the office and take their seats, the tension in me has settled into something cold and focused.
