Chapter 11 - Anka
His lips devoured hers, desperate and unrelenting, and she met him with the same hunger. Her back hit the wall, his body caging hers in, heat pouring off him in waves. Every kiss left her trembling, every brush of his tongue had her gasping for more.
They stumbled up the stairs, half-blind, half-mad with need. Her hands tore at his shirt, shoving it over his shoulders, greedy to feel his skin under her palms. Hard muscle, warm and alive, flexed beneath her touch.
“Anka,” he rasped against her mouth, his voice rough with want. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered back, dragging him closer. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He growled low in his throat, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her until they collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter that broke instantly back into kissing.
His mouth trailed down her neck, sharp nips and soothing licks, making her pulse race so fast she thought it might burst.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone. “Do you know that?”
“Good,” she gasped, arching under his touch. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for weeks.”
When his fingers slid under her dress, she shuddered. The fabric bunched around her hips, and she clenched the sheets tight as he pressed her down, pinning her to the mattress with his weight. His mouth claimed hers again in a kiss that promised they weren’t stopping.
“Say it,” he demanded against her lips, his breath hot. “Say you want this.”
“I want you,” she confessed, the words ripped straight from her chest. “All of you. Now.”
His mouth devoured hers, fierce and hungry, and she clung to him like he was the only thing tethering her to earth. Heat spread through her, curling low in her stomach, stealing her breath. When his tongue slid against hers, she whimpered into the kiss, every nerve ending sparking alive.
They tore at each other’s clothes, frantic and clumsy, laughing once when his shirt snagged on his shoulder before the sound was swallowed by another desperate kiss.
Her dress hit the floor in a crumpled heap, and his hands were on her immediately, mapping every curve like he’d dreamed of this a thousand times.
“Anka,” he groaned, his lips brushing her throat as his hands slid over her ribs, her waist, lower. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Good,” she gasped, arching into his touch, her nails raking down his back. “Because you’ve already ruined me.”
He lifted her and laid her across the bed, hovering over her with that barely leashed control in his eyes. His scars caught the faint light, sharp against the hard planes of muscle, and her chest ached at the sight. Her Viktor. Her beautiful, broken Viktor.
His mouth trailed lower—down her neck, across her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. She cried out when his tongue flicked against her nipple, when his teeth grazed, just enough to make her shiver. Her thighs clenched, her whole body restless under him.
“Please,” she begged, tugging at his hair, her voice breaking with need. “I need you.”
He lifted his head, his mouth glistening, his expression dark and reverent all at once. “Say it again.”
“I need you,” she repeated, breathless, desperate. “Only you.”
That was all it took for him to lose the last thread of control. His pants were gone, hers discarded somewhere on the floor, and suddenly they were skin against skin, every barrier stripped away. The hard length of him pressed against her, making her gasp at the sheer reality of it.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his hand sliding to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed her trembling lip. “I want to see your eyes when I take you.”
She forced them open, though her lashes fluttered with every ragged breath. His gaze pinned her, searing and unrelenting, and then he pushed inside.
The sensation stole her breath. Full, stretching, overwhelming. Her nails bit into his shoulders, her mouth falling open in a cry that was half pleasure, half shock.
“Easy, malen’kaya,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her throat. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
The words undid her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing more, needing everything. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
His hips surged against hers, slow at first, controlled, as if he wanted to torture them both with every deliberate thrust. The friction built sharp and hot, pleasure clawing up her spine, curling low in her belly.
“You feel like heaven,” he groaned, his mouth catching hers in a savage kiss. “So tight, so perfect… mine.”
“Yours,” she cried against his lips, meeting every thrust, her body trembling with the force of it. “I’m yours, Viktor.”
His control shattered. His pace quickened, deep and relentless, driving her higher and higher until the coil inside her snapped. She shattered beneath him, her cry muffled against his shoulder, every muscle tightening as ecstasy tore through her in waves.
He groaned her name, a raw sound from deep in his chest, and followed her over the edge. His body locked against hers, his grip bruising on her hips as he spilled into her with a curse, trembling with the force of it.
For a long moment, they just lay there, tangled together, breathing hard, slick with sweat and heat. His forehead rested against hers, his lips brushing her temple as if he couldn’t stop touching her.
“You’re mine now, Anka,” he whispered, hoarse and unsteady, his voice a vow carved into her skin. “Every part of you. Mine.”
And instead of fear, instead of hesitation, she felt only truth. She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his ear, her voice breaking with the force of it.
“Yours,” she whispered. “Always yours.”
The morning light filtering through Viktor’s bedroom windows felt different somehow, softer and warmer than it had any right to be. She lay there listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her, trying to process what had happened between them the night before.
After their kiss in the foyer, they had barely made it to his room.
The careful walls they’d built around themselves had crumbled completely, replaced by desperate hands and whispered confessions.
Viktor had been gentle but thorough, taking his time to reacquaint himself with every curve and hollow of her body like he was memorizing her all over again.
It had been different than before. Better, somehow. More intense, more meaningful, like they were both trying to pour four years of longing and regret into every touch. When he looked at her, really looked at her, she felt beautiful and wanted in a way she’d forgotten was possible.
But now, in the harsh light of morning, she could feel him pulling away.
Viktor was awake, she could tell by the change in his breathing, but he hadn’t moved or acknowledged her presence. He was staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight with tension, already rebuilding the emotional barriers between them.
The hurt that lanced through her chest was swift and sharp.
She’d known this would happen, had prepared herself for it, but it still felt like a betrayal.
Less than twelve hours ago, he’d whispered her name like a prayer, held her like she was precious and fragile and worth protecting. Now he couldn’t even look at her.
“I should go,” she said quietly, starting to sit up.
“You don’t have to.” His voice was carefully neutral, polite. The voice he used with business associates and strangers.
“Yes, I do.” She found her scattered clothes from the night before, pulling them on with as much dignity as she could manage. “We both know this was a mistake.”
He finally looked at her then, those ice-blue eyes unreadable. “Was it?”
“Wasn’t it?” she challenged, hating how vulnerable she sounded. “You can barely stand to be in the same room as me right now.”
Viktor sat up, running a hand through his dark hair. “Anka, it’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it? You got what you wanted. You proved that I’m still weak for you, still the same pathetic woman who falls apart the moment you show me any attention. Mission accomplished.”
“That’s not what this was about.”
“Then what was it about? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels an awful lot like another game.”
The words hung between them like a blade, cutting through whatever fragile intimacy they’d managed to rebuild. Viktor’s expression hardened, and she saw the exact moment he decided to retreat behind his walls.
“Maybe it was,” he said coldly.
The casual cruelty of it took her breath away. She’d opened herself to him completely, let him see parts of her she’d kept hidden for years, and he was dismissing it all like it meant nothing.
“Right,” she said, proud that her voice came out steady. “Good to know where we stand.”
She left his room with her head held high and her heart in pieces, determined not to let him see how much his rejection had devastated her. In the safety of her own suite, she finally allowed herself to break down, to acknowledge the magnitude of her mistake.
She’d known better. She’d known that getting involved with Viktor again would only end in heartbreak, but she’d done it anyway. She’d let hope overrule common sense, and now she was paying the price.
But as she sat there feeling sorry for herself, another emotion began to take hold. Anger. At Viktor for his hot-and-cold behavior, at herself for falling for it, and at the whole fucked-up situation they’d created for themselves.
She understood why he was pulling away. After what she’d done to him four years ago, after the way she’d disappeared without explanation, he had every reason not to trust her with his heart again. In his position, she probably would have done the same thing.
But understanding didn’t make it hurt less.