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Honestly, I was running from the emotions and memories that staged kiss had stirred up.

Chapter Seven

Xeniya Morozova

Age 20

Fifteen Years Ago

Iwas in Severin Volkov’s bed, and he slept shirtless, his chest tattoos on full display.

A coiling snake ran along one side of his ribcage while a spiderweb stretched across the other. Trapped within the web were human skulls. He had all the stereotypical tattoos of a mafia heir too: skulls, bullets, knives—everything you’d expect.

But over his heart was a white dandelion tattoo, its seeds blowing in the wind. My fingers hovered over it, my eyebrows drawing together and my mouth parting slightly.

I wanted to trace its edges. But I knew if I did, he would wake up, and I was not at all ready to face what we had done last night.

Well, not last night. It was like 5 a.m. when Severin asked me if I preferred my lips or my pussy.

Turns out, I preferred both.

Yet, even as I stared at this tattoo and relived last night’s memories, I knew nothing was settled.

But he had a dandelion tattoo on his chest, and he called me Moy Oduvanchik.

My dandelion.

Not Sornyachok, meaning my weed, but Moy Oduvanchik, my dandelion.

And he had this tattoo.

It could mean anything. And probably meant nothing. But…

I bit my lip, my cheeks aching from all the emotions I’d held in. I wanted to believe he wanted me. That when Severin said he thought about me every single day for the last two years, he meant it. That somehow, I meant more to him than all his flavors of the week.

But Severin was a man-whore.

For the last three years, I’d watched him fuck any and every woman, never once looking in my direction.

If I were smart, I would run far, far away from him and never look back.

But I wasn’t smart.

I was reckless, and I wanted him far too much.

My fingertips accidentally brushed the edge of his tattoo, and his eyes shot open.

His gaze narrowed on me, and he must have seen the fear in my eyes because he reacted swiftly.

Severin rolled over and pinned me to the bed with his hand on my throat. My breasts bounced with the movement because I, too, was shirtless and braless. Although I did have my panties on.

Severin squeezed my neck gently. “Stop thinking. I can feel your brain moving at a mile a minute. You cannot take this back. You are mine now. Do you understand?”

No. I did not fucking understand.

“What does mine mean, Severin?”

“It means you’re mine,” he growled. “I’m going to fuck you and keep you, and nobody else is ever going to touch you again.”