He took his time, ruthlessly thorough, using his tongue and fingers until I was writhing beneath him, begging. When I finally shattered, he kissed his way up my body, leaving marks I’d find tomorrow—possessive little bruises that said ‘mine.’
“Please,” I whispered, pulling at his shoulders. “Alexei, please.”
He settled between my legs, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance. Our eyes met and held. Then he pushed inside in one slow, devastating thrust that made us both groan.
This was different from before. Slower, but somehow more intense. He set a rhythm that was almost torturous—deep, controlled, each stroke deliberate. His hand slid up to wrap gently around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of his power and his restraint.
“Look at me,” he commanded when my eyes started to drift closed. “Posmotri na menya.”Watch me.
I looked, and I saw everything in those pale eyes—desire and darkness and something that looked dangerously like love.
He shifted the angle slightly, hitting something inside me that made me cry out. His thumb found my clit, circling with perfect pressure as he drove into me harder and faster, the control fraying.
“Come for me,” he growled. “I want to feel you.”
“Alexei,” I moaned as I came apart, my nails raking down his back. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling into me with a string of Russian curses.
We collapsed together, hearts pounding, skin slick with water and sweat. He rolled us to the side but stayed inside me, unwilling to break the connection. His hand splayed across my stomach, possessive even in the aftermath.
“I’ll never let you go,” he whispered against my hair.
“I know,” I whispered back.
And I did know.
That was the problem.
**********
Later, when his breathing had evened into sleep, I slipped carefully from his arms. He stirred but didn’t wake, one hand reaching for me, even in unconsciousness. I pulled on his shirt again and padded to the bathroom.
I pulled out the letter and stared at my father’s handwriting until the words blurred.
Trust no one.
But I trusted Alexei. I trusted him to keep me alive, to protect me with that terrifying single-minded focus. I trusted him with my body, maybe even with my heart.
I just didn’t trust him with this. If I told him, he would hunt my father down. He would kill him with the same cold efficiency he’d killed whoever had bled on his shirt tonight. And I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
So I kept the secret.
I hid the letter back in its place and returned to bed, curling into Alexei’s warmth. His arm came around me automatically, pulling me close. His lips brushed my shoulder, murmuring something in Russian I couldn’t quite catch.
Outside, snow fell silently. Somewhere in the city, my father was hiding. Somewhere, enemies were circling. Somewhere, a storm was building that would destroy everything.
But for now, in the dark, in Alexei’s arms, I could pretend we were safe. I could pretend this secret wouldn’t burn everything to ash.
Chapter Eighteen
Alexei’s POV
I woke before dawn. The room was still dark, winter pressing against the windows. But I didn’t move. I didn’t reach for my phone or the gun under my pillow.
I watched her sleep instead.
Mila lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, dark hair spilling across the pillow like ink. My shirt—the one she’d stolen last night—had ridden up her thighs. In sleep, she looked impossibly young, impossibly soft. Nothing like the woman who’d met my violence with her own kind of fire just hours ago.
The marks I’d left on her throat were still visible. Dark bruises blooming purple against pale skin, trailing down to her collarbone. Evidence of my mouth, my teeth, my complete inability to touch her gently.
