Like this is a liability.
I can feel my pulse in my wrists.
“So those are my choices?” I ask quietly. “Private possession or public ownership?”
His eyes flash. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Use accurate language?”
“Don’t make this about possession, Beda, when we both know this goes both ways now.”
My breath catches.
He moves before I can answer, one hand catching my wrist, the other at my waist, and for one stupid second I think he’s going to pin me against the table just to win.
Instead he drags my hand up.
Over the hard wall of his chest.
Raised and jagged and fresh enough that the second my fingertips land on it, he hisses through his teeth.
I freeze.
My name.
Carved into him.
His hand closes over mine and presses harder, forcing my palm flat over the ruined skin above his heart until my stomach twists.
“Maksim—”
“Don’t simplify how I feel for you.”
His voice comes out rough. Low. Almost angry, except anger isn’t the right word for what’s in it. It’s too raw for that. Too close to what I already feel.
I stare at his chest.
At my hand trapped there.
At the proof of his insanity carved into flesh.
And underneath my palm, his heartbeat. Hard. Fast. Real.
This isn’t one of his dark little games about ownership and consequence.
This is real.
My throat goes tight so fast it hurts.
He lets me feel his heartbeat for one more second. Then his hand comes to my jaw and his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is hard enough to make me gasp into his mouth.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there while he kisses me deeper, like he’s trying to force the truth of himself into mewith his mouth because words aren’t enough and probably never will be for him.
It should make me angry.
Maybe it does.
