Page 18 of Cruel Submission

“Arkady.” She whispers my name.

Hearing it in her voice—breathless, wanting—makes me forget everything waiting on the other side of this moment. Debra sleeping in Mishka’s room. Aleks in the hospital. My father’s retaliation coming. The fact that it’s only a matter of time before one of these things—or all of them—tears her away from me.

None of it matters. Not right now.

I kiss her again. Harder. More demanding. My hand tightens in her hair, and she arches into me. Somewhere distant, I know I should stop. Should step back. Should remember all the reasons this can’t work.

But I don’t.

Her hands slide down my chest, fingers hooking in my belt, pulling me closer. The kiss turns fierce. Consuming. Years of keeping everyone at arm’s length, hours of terror thinking I’d lost her, a lifetime of wanting something I don’t deserve… it all ignites between us.

I drag my mouth from hers, kiss down her jaw to her throat. She tilts her head back—offering, trusting—and I can feel her pulse racing under my lips. Taste the salt on her skin. Feel the hitch in her breathing when I find that spot below her ear that makes her nails dig into my shoulders.

“Arkady,” she breathes again, and this time there’s heat in it. “Please—”

I capture her mouth again, swallow whatever she was going to say. Press her harder against the wall, one hand sliding down to her hip, her thigh, hitching her leg up around my waist. She makes this desperate sound and rocks against me, and I’m drowning in her—the taste, the feel, the little gasping breaths she’s taking between kisses.

This is dangerous. This is stupid. This is everything I shouldn’t want and can’t stop wanting anyway.

But right now, with Mirabel’s hands in my hair and her body pressed against mine and her mouth moving under mine like she needs this as badly as I do— Right now, I don’t care about any of it.

Right now, she’s here, and she’s mine, and that’s enough.

Chapter Seven

Mirabel

His mouth is everywhere—my lips, my jaw, my throat—and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only feel.

Arkady’s hand grips my thigh where it’s hooked around his waist, holding me against the wall like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

Maybe I will. Maybe these last few hours were a nightmare I haven’t woken from yet. Maybe Kostya’s hand is still reaching for me on that bus, maybe—

“Mirabel.” Arkady breaks the kiss, breathing hard. His forehead presses against mine, ice blue eyes searching. “Where did you just go?”

Shit. Even now, even in this, he can read me.

“Nowhere,” I lie. “I’m here.”

“You left.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone, gentle despite the intensity in his touch. “You were with me, and then you weren’t.”

My throat tightens. The last place I want to be right now is inside my own head, trapped with memories of chloroform and rough hands and the way Kostya smiled when he blocked the bus doors.

“I don’t want to think,” I whisper. “I just want to feel.”

Something shifts in his expression—understanding mixed with something darker, more primal. “Then feel this.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine with deliberate intent. My back arches off the wall, my body remembering what my mind is trying to forget: I’m safe. I’m here. I made it back.

But kissing in the hallway isn’t enough. Isn’t private. Anyone could walk by… one of his men, God forbid Yanis—

As if reading my thoughts, Arkady breaks away. “Not here.” He shifts his grip, his arm sliding under my ass to lift me properly. My legs wrap around his waist automatically, the position forcing my dress up around my hips as he carries me down the corridor.

I should protest. Should remind him I can walk. But I don’t want to walk—I want to be carried, want to feel the strength in his arms, want the reminder that someone this capable is about to claim me.

He turns left at the end of the hall, then right, navigating with the confidence of someone who knows every inch of his domain. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. I can feel his muscles shifting beneath my touch, feel the controlled power in every step.

“Where are we going?” I manage.