I try to answer as I stare up, but the words don’t come. Just a small shake of my head, numbness still clinging to me like fog. But I lean into his hand anyway, desperate for the warmth. For him.
He moves closer, one hand sliding down to settle against my waist. “Are you sure he didn’t touch you anywhere?”
“No,” I whisper, barely holding it together. “He didn’t. You…you saved me.”
His jaw clenches. “You’re safe now. I swear I will never let anything happen to you.”
The words dig deep. My throat tightens, my stomach twists, and the pressure behind my eyes burns. Because I believe him. Even with blood on his hands. Even after what I just saw him do. Somehow, in the aftermath of violence, this—he—feels like safety.
“I’m taking you home.”
Dread instantly rises. I don’t have a home, and there’s no way in hell I can ever let him find out.
“I can’t,” I say too quickly, then force myself to slow down and sound casual even though my heart is racing. “I’m staying at Mandy’s. She’s not leaving yet.”
His eyes sharpen, like he’s checking me for lies. “Then you’re coming home with me.”
My pulse thumps so hard in my throat it hurts. “What?”
He smirks, and the look in his eyes makes me want to grab him by the collar and do something reckless. “I don’t mean my bed, Sloane.”
Heat floods my face anyway.
“Oh, obviously I know that’s not what you meant,” I mumble, then hate myself for rushing to explain.
He arches a brow, the smirk never leaving him, but of course, I can’t shut up.
“I just…I mean, you probably date models. Tall, perfect women. And I’m…” I motion at myself, then cringe. “Not that.”
His reaction is instantaneous. The amusement in his eyes disappears like it was never there, replaced by something darker. Hotter. A look that hits me so hard I stumble back a step.
His gaze drops to my mouth before it lifts again, hooking on to mine. “Is that what you really think? That I’m not attracted to you?”
He steps forward until all the space between us disappears. I have to tilt my head back just to look at him, and the height difference only makes my attraction for him grow even more. He’s larger. More solid. More dangerous in a way my body seems to crave without my permission.
“I…I don’t know,” I whisper, barely able to hold his stare. “Are you?”
The air shifts, charged and heavy, and I can barely speak. He doesn’t either, simply watching me.
“Do you really want to know, Sloane?”
My throat tightens.
Yes. Please.
I nod.
“Give me your hand.”
I lift it, unsure why he wants it. His fingers close around mine, warm and rough, completely swallowing my hand. The contact sends a shiver through me, heat curling low in my belly.
He brings my palm to his mouth and kisses it like he’s imprinting the feeling of me onto his lips. A quiet moan slips out while his gaze stays pinned on me with a heat that sinks beneath my skin and coils deep inside me.
He mumbles something in Russian, voice low and guttural, and the sound ripples through me like a current.
Then, slowly, he lowers my hand between us, guiding it down until it settles between his thighs. I gasp the second I feel him through the fabric.
Hard. Long. Undeniably thick.
