“No,moya voitelnitsa, you aren’t weak.”
I’m vaguely aware that Alik’s hands are now fisted at hisside. That his eyes have tipped past the boiling point, the pale blue the hottest part of any fire. “Then stop treating me like I am. Stop keeping me locked away. I’m strong, Alik. I know you’ve only ever seen me when I’ve been beaten down, but I’m not that person. I’m a fighter. Let me help you fight.”
The man in front of me is vibrating with an emotion I can’t identify. He said he hates me, but the look he’s giving me doesn’t resemble any kind of hate I’ve ever seen. I watch him, transfixed, as he swallows, then says, “Youarea fighter,moya voitelnitsa. One of the strongest I’ve ever known. But being strong doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Being strong doesn’t stop you from getting hurt. From getting killed. That’s what almost happened tonight. You went into that club without any idea of the hell you were rushing into, and you were attacked. Almost mauled to pieces. And I’m so fucking mad at you.”
Alik looks worried, sounds genuinely distraught, and is absolutely furious. I can’t process the contradictory signals he’s giving off, my brain and body picking up two entirely different wavelengths. “And that’s why you hate me?”
“I don’t—” Alik groans, dropping his head, cutting me off from whatever turmoil he’s going through. “I hate what happened,” he forces out. “I hate what they did to you. Hate how terrified I was when I saw that asshole trying to strip you. Hate that I almost couldn’t stop him in time.”
“But you did.” I feel the need to comfort him even though I don’t understand why. “You shot him and we got out in time and, honestly, I was doing fine until someone dumped champagne on me and everyone saw those numbers…”
Holy shit. The numbers.
I completely forgot about the numbers. I look at my chest. My PJ tank top is dry now but barely holding on by a one strap. It’s torn in multiple other places, but it doesn’t matter which way I tug it or how much skin I expose, the numbers aren’t there.
“I don’t understand. Isawthem. A row of them. They were there.” I’m as freaked out as I sound. I didn’t imagine it. I’m not losing my mind. “I saw them. Everyone did.”
I rip my top over my head, press my palms to my bare chest, trying to feel for the thing I can’t see. There’s nothing but empty skin. Alik is trying to catch my hands, but I’m moving too fast, frantic with the need to figure out what’s been written on me. I don’t realize I’m clawing at myself until blood blooms beneath my nails.
“Sera, stop. Stop.” Alik succeeds in manacling my wrists, pulling my arms until they’re above my head, pressing them against the door.
We’re both breathing hard, both staring down at my exposed skin. The longer we look, the angrier the scratches become. The more swollen my breasts. The harder my nipples.
Alik is so close I can feel the not-so-subtle shift of his body. The tension that grips him from head to toe. The solid press of his erection against my stomach.
This would be the perfect moment to say any number of things. About the thing that looked like a tattoo on my chest. About what it means and who put it there and why I’ve only just seen it tonight. About whether or not Alik really hates me. About the bizarre tug of war we keep playing with each other. Any or all would make a lot of sense, but the only thing I can think about, the only thing I can manage to say is, “Why did you kiss her?”
God help me, I’m jealous and now Alik knows it. I expect him to grin, to gloat, to rub it in. Instead, he drags his gaze up from my breasts, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted, his hands trembling around my wrists. “I didn’t.”
“You did. I saw you.”
Alik drops his forehead to mine. Brushes our noses together. “She kissed me, Sera. I’d never kiss that woman.”
“You’re not with her?”
Alik’s laugh is pained. “She was my access to the club. A necessary evil. Nothing more.”
He is staring at my mouth. I open it, slip out my tongue. Watch his pupils dilate as I wet my lips. Shiver when his cock gets even harder. “I think you were lying,” I whisper.
Alik’s attention drifts back down to my breasts. His grip on my wrists tightens. “About what?”
“You don’t hate me.”
He groans something in Russian and it sounds so desperate I can’t help but smile. Because I’m desperate too. Insane with it. Reckless with it. I push my stomach against his cock, have to bite my tongue when a rush of arousal arrows straight to my core. Have to suck in a breath when Alik crushes his body against mine, his shirt rough and absolutely amazing against my nipples.
When Alik looks at me, his pupils are so blown his eyes are almost black. “The only thing I hate about you,moya voitelnitsa, is how much I fucking need you.”
Need. It’s the only word that makes sense, the basic necessity that explains what I do next.
I kiss him.
Hard.
He kisses me back, just as violently. I moan and I feel his answering groan somewhere deep inside me. It unravels every rational bone in my body. I no longer care about what I should or shouldn’t do. I just want him. Now, before he has the chance to walk away for the third time.
I twist my arms until Alik lets me go, his hands dropping to my face. He digs his fingers deep into my hair. He tips and angles my head, manipulating my jaw until I’m open-mouthed beneath him, giving him access just the way he wants.
His touch is possessive, domineering. I love it. Love how hard he’s pressing me against the door, love how hard his cock is against my stomach.
