“You don’t get to keep this from me.” My hands found the hem of the shirt she wore, sliding underneath to find bare skin. “You don’t get to shut me out.”
“Then don’t make me choose.” Her voice broke. “Don’t make me choose between you and—”
She cut herself off, but the damage was done. Between me and someone else. Someone she was protecting at the cost of her own safety.
The rage that flooded through me was white-hot, blinding. “Who?” I demanded. “Who are you protecting?”
“Stop.” She pushed at my chest. “Just stop.”
But I couldn’t. The thought of her putting someone else—anyone else—above our family, above our safety, made something savage rise up in me. I captured her wrists again and pinned them above her head with one hand.
“You’re mine,” I said against her throat, my free hand sliding up her thigh. “My wife. The mother of my child. You don’t get to protect other people at your own expense.”
“That’s not—” She gasped as my fingers found her core, already wet despite—or because of—the tension between us. “God, Alexei—”
“Tell me.” I slid my finger into her expertly, knowing exactly how to make her fall apart. “Tell me, and I’ll makeyou feel good, you know I can. Keep lying, and I’ll leave you wanting.”
“That’s not fair.” But her hips rolled against my hand, seeking more friction.
“Nothing about this is fair.” I bit down on her shoulder, not quite gentle. “You’re asking me to ignore threats against my family. To trust that you know better thanmehow to handle danger. That’s not fair either.”
Her head fell back against the window, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in short gasps. “I’m trying to protect everyone. Including you.”
“I don’t need your protection.” My thumb found her clit, circling with deliberate pressure. “I need your honesty.”
“Please.” She was shaking now, close to the edge. “Please don’t make me choose.”
Hell, she looked so hot and beautiful that I was almost distracted myself. The desperation in her voice cut through my anger like a knife. I stilled my hand, rested my forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“I can’t lose you,” I whispered. “I can’t watch someone hurt you because I was too afraid to push. Don’t you understand? This is torture for me, too.”
Her eyes opened, meeting mine. In their depths, I saw love and fear and grief all tangled together. “I know. I know it is. But if I tell you now, before I’m sure, you’ll do something you can’t take back. And I can’t live with that weight.”
She moved her hips against my hand again. I wanted to make her beg and break until she told me everything—that was the plan. But the way she looked up at me with those lustful eyes made me hunger for her moans. However, the actual straw that broke the camel’s back was the surrender and helplessness in her expression, in the way she held on to me. Like she knewI had the key to the pleasure she craved and understood the possibility of my refusing to oblige her.
So I covered her mouth with mine as I added one more finger and started to move inside her. She came in seconds, her body quivering as she whispered my name like it was too precious to be spoken aloud. I licked my fingers, the taste of her making my boxers even tighter.
We stood frozen like that, pressed together against the window while snow fell outside. Two people trapped by circumstances, neither of us knew how to navigate.
Finally, I stepped back enough to let her breathe.
“Fine,” I said, my voice rough. “You want time? I’ll give you time. But not much. And in the meantime, security around you triples. You don’t go anywhere without guards. You don’t make any calls, take any calls, or communicate with anyone I haven’t vetted personally.”
“Alexei—”
“Non-negotiable.” I held up a hand. “You want to keep your secrets? Fine. But you do it safely. Those are my terms.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And Mila?” I caught her chin, forced her to look at me. “If whoever is contacting you makes another move, if they threaten you in any way, you tell me immediately. No more protecting them. No more trying to handle it yourself. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” The word was barely a whisper.
I wanted to push harder. Wanted to demand answers until she broke. But the exhaustion in her eyes, the defeat in her posture—it made me hate myself more than I hated whoever was playing these games.
So instead I pulled her against me, wrapped my arms around her, and held her while she cried. Her tears soaked my shirt, and her body shook with silent sobs, and I stood therefeeling utterly helpless in a way that no amount of power or money or violence could fix.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered eventually. “I’m so sorry.”
