Her thighs tremble against my hips. Her rhythm falters, becomes erratic, desperate. I can see it in her face, the momentshe loses herself to it. The moment the control she's fighting so hard to maintain starts to slip.
I don't move, don't thrust up into her or try to take over. I let her chase it, let her take what she needs until she breaks.
When she comes, it's with a cry that sounds like rage and release all at once. Her body shudders, clenching around me, her spine arching and her head thrown back. The sight of her undone, powerful in her surrender, sends me over the edge.
My release tears through me with brutal intensity, white-hot and devastating. My vision blurs. My fingers dig harder into her hips, holding her down on me as I empty myself inside her.
She collapses forward onto my chest, her breath hot against my skin. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just lie there, tangled together, her heartbeat thundering against mine.
Then she rolls off me and onto her back, a forearm thrown over her forehead as she struggles to catch her breath.
I sit up slowly, my chest burning as I try to catch my breath, too. Standing, I get dressed. I know I should say something, but I can't. I'm too shaken by what just happened.
I leave the room in silence, closing the door with a soft click. In the hallway, I lean against the wall, eyes closed.
35
LENA
The door clicks shut behind him, and I pull the covers around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. My body still hums with the aftershocks of what just happened, my skin hypersensitive where his hands gripped my hips.
How could I have done that?
How could I have had sex with him? Not just have sex with him, but lead the whole thing. I took control. I rode him like I'd been a sex-starved maniac.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. My thighs are sticky with evidence of our coupling, and shame burns through me, hot and acidic. What was I thinking? The man I had sex with was not Sasha. He was not the man from my cabin. He's a Russian Mob boss who'd put a hit on my life.
Yet, I wanted it. Wanted him. Even knowing he's Aleksandr Romanov, even understanding that the man I fell in love with was built on a foundation of lies and lost memories, my body stillresponds to his touch like he's the only source of oxygen in the room.
I'm pathetic.
The thought circles in my mind like a vulture over roadkill. I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest. The silk sheets are too soft, too expensive, nothing like the worn cotton I had in my cabin. Everything here is wrong. The room is too big, the bed is too comfortable, and the walls are too close, despite all the space.
I miss my cabin with an ache that feels physical. Miss the simplicity of chopping wood and checking the generator. Miss the silence broken only by wind through pines and the occasional call of a hawk. Miss being Maya, even if Maya was just a character I'd invented to stay alive.
Sleep should be impossible, but exhaustion pulls me under like a riptide. My last conscious thought is of gold eyes watching me from across a firelit room, back when I still believed he was someone worth saving.
I wake to the sound of engines.
Multiple engines, the deep rumble of expensive cars pulling up the drive. I sit up, disoriented, my hair a mess and my body aching in places that remind me exactly what happened last night. Sunlight streams through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold that feel too cheerful for how I feel.
More engines. Doors slamming. The low rumble of male voices carrying up from below.
I throw off the covers and cross to the window, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The view steals what's left of my breath.
The circular driveway is filling with cars. Black Mercedes and BMWs, sleek and expensive, the kind of vehicles that scream money and danger in equal measure. Men emerge from them, all dressed in dark suits, moving with the controlled grace of predators gathering for a hunt.
Everyone has heard the Pakhan has returned.
I count at least fifteen cars, maybe twenty, and more are still arriving. The men cluster in groups, some smoking, others checking their phones, all of them radiating tension that I can feel even from up here.
And all of them with suspicious bulges beneath their clothes. Guns. They are all armed and ready for violence. My stomach drops to my toes and I rush to the ensuite bathroom. I lean over the sink, but there's nothing but dry heaves.
Shaking, I turn on the faucet and take a long, hot shower, then brush my teeth and get dressed for the day. Not that I have any plans but to stay locked in this room like a good little girl. But I don't want to be caught in my underwear, or worse, if someone decides to come into my room.
The bedroom door unlocks with a soft click.
I spin, my heart jumping into my throat, but it's just Danil. He's dressed in a charcoal suit that makes his massive frame look even more imposing, his expression unreadable as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.
