Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Lily
T he morning after, everything felt heavier. The sunlight filtering through the windows felt oppressive, too bright, too intrusive. As I lay in bed, the events of the night before played over in my mind, each memory more vivid than the last—the heat of his touch, the way his voice had sounded when he said I was his, the way I had given myself to him, completely, without hesitation.
I should have felt regret. I should have felt guilty, disgusted with myself for how easily I had let my guard down, how willingly I had let him possess me. But instead, all I felt was confusion.
Nikita had shown me a side of himself that I hadn't expected. His confession about his past had shaken something inside me, made me see him as more than just the Mafia boss I had been determined to take down. For the first time since I had entered his world, I had glimpsed the man behind the power, behind the control. And that glimpse had changed everything.
I didn't want it to, but it had.
I sat up, pulling the sheets tighter around myself, as if that would somehow shield me from the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I didn't know where I stood anymore. What had started as a mission for revenge was spiraling into something I no longer had control over. I had come here with a plan, a clear goal: to make the person responsible for Alexei's death pay. But now... now I wasn't sure if I could follow through.
Because the person responsible was the man I was falling for.
My heart twisted painfully at the thought, guilt gnawing at the edges of my mind. How could I be here, in his bed, after everything? After Alexei? I was supposed to avenge his death, not lose myself to the man who killed him. But the more time I spent with Nikita, the more I found myself drawn to him. And now I had seen his vulnerability, his humanity.
I couldn't stop thinking about his confession—about the massacre, the betrayal that had hardened him into the ruthless man he was today. He had let me in, shown me a part of himself that he kept hidden from the world. And it was that vulnerability, that moment of weakness, that had made me falter.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to block out the guilt, the confusion, the weight of what I was feeling. But it was useless. The truth was that I was no longer just playing the role of Nikita's wife. Somewhere along the way, my feelings had become real.
And that terrified me.
I stood from the bed, pulling on a robe as I walked to the window. Outside, the city buzzed with life, completely unaware of the war raging inside me. I had thought that time would help me regain focus, that I could pull myself out of this spiral and remind myself why I was really here. But the more time passed, the harder it became to separate the mission from my emotions.
I needed to distance myself from him. I needed to pull away before I lost sight of my goal entirely.
Over the next few days, I did everything I could to avoid Nikita. I spent more time alone, wandering the mansion, avoiding the rooms where I knew he would be. I needed space, time to think, to process everything. But even in the quiet moments, even when I was far from him, I couldn't stop thinking about him—about his touch, his voice, the way he had taken me.
The way I had wanted him to.
I didn't know what happened with Petrov, but Nikita didn't seem worried about him any longer. Whatever message he had wanted to send apparently went through. But that didn't mean I was let loose on the city again, wild and free. An unspoken expectation quietly settled over us—I wouldn't go anywhere without him. He acted as my protection, his presence a physical threat to anyone who laid eyes on me.
That's what the dinner was about with his business associates. His eyes had been on me for most of the evening, but I suspected he was also taking me on a victory lap. No man was going to threaten what was his.
No other man would be allowed to lay a finger on me, not when he was by my side at all times out in public.
That meant there was no way I could get the poison into the mansion, not without enlisting the help of some outsider, but who could fill that role? Everyone around Nikita—around us—was properly vetted. I didn't have any friends, and Nikita knew that. I had purged them when I started this mission at my father's suggestion. I didn't need distractions, he had said.
This little issue of not being able to carry out my mission was just fine by me. I had taken it in stride, only briefly expressing agitation, and found myself resolving to come up with a different solution at some later date.
The way my mind had been pacified so quickly made me sick to my stomach.
It wasn't long before Nikita noticed the distance I was putting between us. It was impossible to avoid him completely—after all, we lived under the same roof, and our lives were now intertwined in ways that couldn't easily be undone. But I tried. I made excuses, kept our conversations brief, and avoided being alone with him whenever possible.
But I knew I couldn't keep it up forever.
And I was right.
One evening, after days of avoiding him, he cornered me in the study. I had been staring out the window, lost in thought, when I heard the door click shut behind me. I turned, my heart skipping a beat when I saw him standing there, his expression hard, his eyes narrowed.
"Funny seeing you here," he stated flatly, clearly not surprised in the least.
"Funny? I'm always here," I started, a little confused. I wasn't catching what he was getting at, and that was making me nervous. It was also hard to hold his hard gaze.
"Usually. Lately? Not so much. In fact." Nikita took a slow step toward me, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. "It's been hard to catch you anywhere."
"I'm staying out of your way," I murmured defensively, letting my eyes drop to the floor. I hated how he made me feel like a child getting scolded, but I couldn't summon the resolve I had grown so used to.
"Staying out of my way," he repeated, as if thinking over the words, but the dark glint in his eyes told me he didn't believe me for a second.
There wasn't anything to think about.
"You're running away from me," he stated.
At that, my eyes shot up to meet his, my mind racing to latch onto another lie—one I didn't have ready. My mind was blank because he was telling the truth. I swallowed hard and crossed my arms over my chest. Just because I was caught didn't mean I needed to say anything.
"You're running because you're afraid."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. He was right. I was afraid. Afraid of my growing feelings for him, afraid of what they meant for my mission, afraid of the conflict tearing me apart inside.
But what did he know about any of that?
"Afraid of what?" I scoffed.
Then Nikita was upon me at once, striking toward me like lightning so fast that I gasped—but didn't have time to react. His hands gripped my upper arms hard, and he shoved his face close to mine. The musky, manly scent of him assaulted my senses, and I breathed him in deeply.
I had missed the fresh scent of him.
"That's what I wonder about," he whispered as his hands started to roughly roam my body—over my back, down to my ass, squeezing and groping.
It was like he was trying to remind me that I was his, that I had told him I was his. And although my body screamed to crash against his again, I held back, keeping my form rigid, maintaining the small bit of distance between us.
I couldn't give in. I didn't know what it would do to me.
"What's got you running? Why? Where do you think you can run, huh?"
His whispers continued, his touch growing more demanding, and I turned my head away, whipping my hair into his face. His hand was on my jaw in a flash, gently turning me back to him. And to my horror, he wrenched my body forward against his hard frame.
I let out a shuddering breath. It felt too good.
"You don't get to run away. You don't get to pull away or do anything without my permission."
Nikita guided my eyes up to his, and I almost gasped as our eyes locked.
I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected something like fear flicker in his eyes, some hint of anxiety, and something clicked inside of me. This show of possession, it couldn't just be about control. He was here forcefully breaking down my walls for many reasons, some I probably couldn't ever guess, but one for sure.
He didn't want to lose me, didn't want to take a step backward from what happened between us in this very room.
But before I could unpack what that meant, his hand was gathering up my hair into his fist.
"Are you listening to me?" he demanded. "Do I need to make you listen?"
I almost melted, my mouth opening to release the moan of longing that rippled through me, but his lips muffled the sound I didn't want him to hear, and all at once, all the tension left my body. His arms wrapped around me as he felt the change, supporting my limp body, telling me I didn't have to keep fighting anymore.
And I didn't want to. All the guilt, the conflict, it didn't matter.
God, I wanted to be his.
Just as I was losing myself to the kiss, Nikita broke away and whipped me around, pushing me toward the window I had been looking out of. I stumbled, unsure of what he wanted me to do, and latched my hands onto the windowsill.
"Nikita—"
"You think you can run away from me, that's your problem," he growled, cutting me off.
Then his hand came down sharply on my ass.
The crack seemed to fill the room. I was too shocked to even utter a sound. My mouth just hung agape—I could see my reflection in the window.
"You think you can back out of this, don't you? Didn't you agree to be mine?"
He spanked me again, and this time, I cried out, my breath fogging up the window. The sharp sting came again, and I let the pain flow into me, a sick part of me loving the roughness of him.
He was punishing me.
I bit into my lip and arched my ass out toward him, shooting him a look over my shoulder. I didn't know if he saw the plea in my eyes, the silent request to give me another spank, to punish me for being so foolish as to think I could possibly run away from whatever was erupting between us. But he obliged with a growl, and I yelped louder, letting the momentum press my chest against the cool glass of the window.
"This is mine, all mine. You want proof?"
Nikita hiked my skirt up over my ass, making the tight fabric settle over my hips. I hissed at the sudden exposure and looked out onto his property with a panic. No one was around—for now.
He gave my ass another spank before tearing my panties down, and without warning, his fingers were pressing between my lips. I gasped, and at the same time, he let out a low chuckle, the two of us no doubt reacting to how slick and ready I was for him.
"This pussy knows it's mine," he murmured.
I couldn't protest fast enough because he was dropping into a squat and shoving his face between my thighs like a man starved.
"Nikita!" I yelled, shuddering in his face as his mouth opened to claim me.
I pressed my face to the cool glass as he lapped me, swirling his tongue, spreading my juices. I wanted to pull away, to spare myself the humiliation of being seen, but the stinging of my cheeks kept me in place—along with one thought.
I was his. I wanted to be his.
And right now, he wanted me just like this, right in front of the window while he licked my pussy.
"Say it."
His voice came muffled, and I was all too happy, lost in pleasure, to give him anything.
"I'm yours," I moaned, now pressing both my hands to the glass.
"Damn right you are."
I felt him pull away, and I heard him stand, which only made me tighten up in anticipation. I knew what was coming next. My hips swayed from left to right in anticipation, my cunt dripping at the thought of his cock.
"Fuck me," I whispered, clawing at the window. "Please fuck me. Claim me, take me," I begged.
He released his cock and buried it against me, teasing at my clit as he leaned over me, close to my ear.
"As you wish," he whispered back and dove into me.
"Ohh fuuck!"
The words spilled from my lips, my eyelids fluttering shut as he filled me, his shallow, hard thrusts getting him deeper and deeper. I spread my thighs, a gesture that mirrored my inner need to accommodate him, to help him reach as deep as he could. His panting filled my ears, my moans joining in as he made me dance on his cock. I met him thrust for thrust, and our movements became more frenzied.
He fucked me like he missed me, and I fucked him right back.
"Nikita, Nikita!" I gasped out, feeling my orgasm getting close.
I knew it would crash over me, just like I wanted it to. I wanted release, to be freed from all emotion, all guilt, everything. And at the end, I'd just have Nikita.
I'd just be his.
"Close," he grunted, pumping me hard.
I nodded my head against the window, knowing I was right there with him.
We didn't say another word, just exploded together, erupting into synchronized, frenzied jerks and spasms. I had the deep satisfaction of him filling me with his seed as his arm wrapped around my waist. Pressed against the glass with him still hovering behind me, buried so deeply and unmoving, like there was no place he'd rather be, I finally knew it with certainty.
There was no way I could kill a man I had fallen for.