“Come here.”
The command is low, immediate. No room. No please.
She doesn’t move. One eyebrow lifts, fractional. “No.”
The word lands like a slap. My blood surges—hot, violent, grateful. She said it.Thank fuck she said it.
I step forward. Once. Twice. Closing the space until the heat of her skin brushes mine through the last thin layer of air between us. “Come. Here.”
Her lips part on a short, incredulous breath. Her eyes meet mine and her eyes widen a fraction.
“No way.” The words come out dry, edged. “You’re not taking whatever the fuck you have boiling in you out on me tonight, Maksim. Find another wall to punch.”
The refusal is perfect. Sharp. Personal. It hooks straight into the thing under my ribs that’s been clawing since Nikolai opened his mouth.
She’s not soothing me. She’s not bending. She’s daring me to prove I can’t have her any other way.
My hand moves before the thought finishes—fast, fingers curling around the nape of her neck, gripping the hair there tight enough to pull her head back. She hisses.
Her scalp gives under my fist; her throat arches, exposed, pulsing. I lean in until my mouth is a breath from the side of her neck.
“Then you can take your frustration out on me,” I say against her skin. The words scrape out, low and mean. “Fight me. Hurt me. I don’t care. Just stop standing there like you’re trying to leave.”
Her hands come up, fast, palms flat against my chest, shoving. Hard. Not enough to move me, but enough to make the message clear. “That’s not how this works.”
I don’t let go. Instead I tighten my grip in her hair, just enough to make her gasp—small, involuntary, furious.
My other hand slides down, rough, possessive, cupping between her legs through the thin black fabric. No tease. Just claiming what’s already mine.
She stiffens. Breath hitching. But she doesn’t pull away.
“You can’t pretend this isn’t what you want,” I murmur, teeth grazing the tendon along her throat. Not biting yet. Close enough to promise it.
“Your body doesn’t lie the way your mouth does. It’s always wet for me.Alwaysready. Even when you hate me.”
“That’s a fucking lie,” she snaps. Voice tight, trembling at the edges with rage. From the effort of holding herself together.
Her nails dig into my shirt, clawing fabric instead of skin. “You don’t get to decide what I want just because you’re hard and pissed off.”
The denial lights me up. Thrill snaps through me like live wire, because she’s fighting. Because every word costs her. Because she’s still here, half-naked, letting me hold her like this instead of running for the door. Her defiance is everything.
I press harder with my palm between her legs, slowly grinding, feeling the heat, the damp proof she can’t hide. “Say it again.”
Her eyes flash. “Fuck. You.”
I laugh—short, rough, more growl than sound, and drag my teeth along her throat, harder this time. A red line blooms under the pressure, but I don’t break skin, yet.
My grip in her hair yanks her head farther back so I can see her face, flushed, furious, pupils blown.
“Come on, Beda,” I rasp. “Keep lying. It makes me want to prove you wrong until you can’t speak.”
Her knee comes up, sharp, aimed, but I shift, trapping her thigh between mine, pinning her harder against the wall behind us. The impact jars a sound out of her, half curse, half moan. Her hands fist my shirt tighter, pulling instead of pushing now. Conflicted. Perfect.
“You think this fixes anything?” she hisses, voice fraying. “Your daddy issues? Your brother? This doesn’t make Nikolai disappear.”
The mention of him should kill the moment. It doesn’t. Itfeedsit.
Rage loops back, hotter, and I slam my mouth over hers—brutal, claiming, no finesse. She bites down on my lip hard enough to draw copper; I taste blood and groan into her mouth because it’s real.
