Page 167

I sit forward, catch his wrist, and pull.

He makes a small scandalized sound as I drag him across the bed and onto my lap, one leg falling on either side of me before he can properly protest. His hands land on my shoulders, and I tighten one arm around his waist.

I kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

He melts by degrees. I feel it happen, and it’s not just this time. The guarded look he’s been wearing since I met him begins to fray each time we spend more time together.

I press a kiss just below his ear as his fingers tighten in my shirt. “My throat hurts.”

I laugh against his skin. He shivers against me, and it instantly makes me hard again, but I will behave.

“That isn’t funny,” he mutters, though there is no real bite in it.

“It’s a little funny.” He has this habit of complaining after we have sex. I think he is seeking aftercare, and it’s really cute.

He pulls back and glares. “You’re awful.”

“My, oh my.” I brush my nose against his. “Was I too rough, my prince?”

He recoils, looking personally attacked. “Shut up.”

I chuckle and press another kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t even realize he leans into it until he’s already done it. I know he loves the attention. Whenever I dote on him, he turns soft.

Well. Normally he does. But now his gaze drifts away from me. His shoulders pull tight, and some private calculation starts behind his eyes.

I frown as my hand comes up to cup his face. “Ilya.”

I don’t ask what’s wrong, because I don’t think I’ll get an answer, but he keeps looking toward the door, so that’s my cue to get us out of here. I swallow whatever instinct rises first and say instead, “How about we go to my place?”

His eyes snap fully back to mine. “Your place?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Hana won’t be there, so I’ll have fewer homicidal tendencies.”

He laughs, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day. I smile and brush my thumb over his cheek. “Let’s go.”

I slide one hand under his thighs and stand with him still in my arms before he can make a scene.

He gasps and grabs my shoulders properly.

“You’re so light.”

“I’m not light. You’re just built like a fucking gorilla.”

I chuckle as he mutters abuse into my neck the whole way through the hallway, but he doesn’t ask to be put down, and by the time I get him to the car he’s more annoyed than resistant.

When we reach my house, he looks a little wrung out beside me. We make it three steps into the house, and something small darts across the floor near the hallway bench.

Ilya shrieks, and he jumps back until he nearly collides with me.

I catch him around the waist. “What—”

He points at the floor like he’s identifying a crime scene. “What the fuck was that?”

And then the thing in question trots back into view. It’s a small cat with bright eyes, tail held high.