“Then dye it blue again,” she says simply. “I like that color on you.”
I consider it. Weigh the weakness of giving in against the way she looks at me when the blue catches the light, like I’m hers in a way that matches her purple.
“No. Purple,” I say. Not a question. “I’ll do purple. Same as yours.”
Her mouth curves—just a fraction. Small, pleased.
“Matching again?” she teases, voice soft.
“Da.” My hand slides higher, cupping between her legs where she’s still slick with me. She inhales sharp, thighs parting on reflex. “So everyone knows you’re mine. And I’m yours.”
She laughs—breathless, quiet. “Possessive about me Maksim?”
“Maybe.”
I shift to lean in. Forehead to hers first, then mouth. Slow this time. Not the frantic, bruising kind from earlier. Deeper. Hungrier. Like I’m trying to crawl inside her and stay. Her fingers tangle tighter in my hair, pulling me closer. She melts, softens against me, body going liquid under my hands.
Three quick sharp raps sound from the door.
My body goes rigid. Every muscle locks like a trap springing.
Ayla freezes too, her breath catching against my lips.
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. They’re wide, alert, already scanning toward the hallway like she’s calculating distance to weapons.
“Stay,” I command.
She nods once. Sharp. Trusting in the way that still fucks me up.
I stand, grabbing my jeans off the floor and stepping into them without looking away from the door. My hand closes around the pistol on the coffee table before the waistband is even buttoned.
The knock comes again. Harder this time.
Then a voice through the wood. “Open the door, Maks. It’s me.”
Behind me, Ayla exhales. “Oh. It’s Kostya!”
She starts to push herself up from the couch, scrambling to get herself into my shirt.
The way her voice lifts when she says his name hits something ugly in my chest.
My hand shoots out and presses her back down against the cushions
“No.”
Her brows knit together. “What—”
“Stay.”
She looks down at herself, tugging the hem of my shirt lower over her thighs. “I’m fine.”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I meant it to.
Her chin lifts. “Maksim—”
“Go change.”
She glances toward the hallway, then back at me, stubborn lighting in her eyes.
