“No.”
My jaw tightens.
I hate that word from her lips.
No.
The way she says it hits me harder every time.
I want to shove her back onto the couch right here, spread her thighs wide with the other, and bury my face between them until she’s sobbing my name.
Fuck the trust right out of her eyes when it comes to my brother, my men, anyone. Make her come so hard she forgets how to look at another man without seeing me first.
Make her body remember who owns every gasp, every shiver, every drop of cum between her legs.
But Kostya’s still outside—knocking again, harder now, impatient and insistent.
And that fucking voyeur’s not getting another show, not even the sound of it.
“Bedroom,” I say instead. “Now.”
She holds my stare, chin up, eyes sparking, then huffs a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re an asshole,” she bites.
She pushes off the couch, my shirt hanging loose on her, brushing the tops of her thighs as she walks past me. Bare legs flash once before she disappears down the hall. The bedroom door shuts with a slam.
I exhale through my nose. Force the feral thing back into its cage. Kostya knocks again in repetition.
I’m going to shoot him.
I palm the pistol tighter, thumb the safety off out of habit, and cross to the door.
Gun still in my hand. I open the door.
Kostya leans against the frame like he’s been here all night, coat open, that irritating half-smile already on his face.
He looks past my shoulder immediately.
“Evening,” he says casually. “Did I interrupt something?”
“What the fuck do you want?”
He steps inside without asking.
“Nice place,” he says, glancing around like he’s inspecting furniture. “You’ve redecorated.”
My hand tightens on the pistol.
“You’re not answering your phone.”
“It’s late.”
“You haven’t answeredall day.”
“Because it’s on silent.”
Kostya chuckles under his breath. “Convenient.”
