8. Erik
ERIK
I pace the hallway outside her room, my muscles coiled tight with tension. The memory of last night is burned into my veins—the way she yielded and fought all at once. My hands still remember the curve of her hips, the marks I left...
Fuck. I need to focus. She's a prisoner, nothing more.
But the mere thought of entering that room again undoes me.
“You look like shit.” Alexi's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
I turn to face him, noting the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Something's off about his demeanor.
“What do you want?” My tone comes out harsher than intended.
“Just checking if you're...” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “You know. Okay.”
The pieces click. My stomach drops as I study his uncomfortable expression. “You saw.”
“The feeds, yeah.” He won't meet my eyes. “Look, I wasn't trying to... I mean, I was doing my usual security check and?—”
“Delete it.” The words come out as a growl.
“Already did. But Erik...” He finally looks at me. “This isn't like you. Losing control like that.”
“I haven't lost control.” The lie tastes bitter.
“Right.” His skeptical tone makes my jaw clench. “That's why you're standing out here instead of starting your shift. Because you're totally in control.”
I slam him against the wall before I can stop myself, proving his point. “Stay out of it.”
“Just... don't let her get in your head.” He straightens his jacket after I release him. “She's dangerous in more ways than one.”
“It won't happen again.” I straighten my shoulders, squaring off against my brother's knowing look. “I've got this under control.”
Alexi's lips twitch. “Sure. And I'm the Pope.” He taps his tablet. “Just remember what she's worth to us intact. Mentally and physically.”
I brush past him, done with this conversation. My hand hesitates on the door handle for a split second before I push through.
The room is dim; the curtains are still drawn. Katarina's form lies curled under the blankets, only her dark hair visible against the white pillow. Something twists in my chest at the sight.
“Status?” I ask Viktor, who rises from his chair.
“Quiet. Too quiet.” Viktor's voice drops. “Hasn't eaten. Barely moved. Not like yesterday at all.” He glances at the bed. “Tried to get her up around nine, but...” He shrugs.
The twist in my chest tightens. I did this. Broke something in her with my roughness, my loss of control.
“Medical check?”
“Vitals normal. No injuries beyond...” Viktor clears his throat. “Surface marks.”
I wave him off, not needing the reminder of what I'd done to her skin. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with her stillness.
The clock reads eleven forty-seven a.m. She should be up, taunting me, plotting, or doing something. This silence feels wrong.
My feet carry me to the bedside before I can stop them. She doesn't stir, though I know she's awake by the tension in her shoulders.
“Katarina.” My voice comes out softer than intended.
She curls tighter into herself, and that twist in my chest becomes a knife.
I grip the edge of the nearby chair, fighting the urge to touch her. To soothe the marks I left on her skin. To claim her again.
No. Distance. Control. That's what I need.
But watching her curl away from me sets something dark and possessive loose in my chest. Each breath she takes, each subtle shift of the blankets— it all screams at my senses. The soldier in me catalogs every detail while something else entirely burns to possess.
“I...” The words stick in my throat. Apologies aren't my strong suit. “What I did last night. It was...”
She remains still, face hidden by a curtain of dark hair. The silence stretches between us like a wound.
“Tell me how to make it right.” The request comes out rough, unfamiliar on my tongue.
Katarina finally turns, her green eyes meeting mine. The emptiness there hits harder than any blow I've taken in combat.
“Make it right?” Her laugh holds no warmth. “I'm your prisoner, Erik. Nothing about this is right.” She shifts back onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter. “And nothing can make it right.”
The dismissal in her voice claws at something primal inside me. My fingers dig deeper into the chair's wood, splinters threatening to break the skin.
I want to grab her. Force her to look at me. Make her understand that this isn't...
But what isn't it? She's right. She's here because we took her. Because I'm keeping her captive.
Because I'm failing at keeping my distance in every way that matters.
I pace beside her bed, studying her curled form. This isn't the fierce woman who challenged me yesterday. This broken silence grates against my nerves.
My lips curl into a smirk. “So this is what it takes to tame the mighty Katarina Lebedev? One rough fuck against a door?”
Her shoulders tense under the blanket.
“I expected more fight from you.” I let contempt seep into my voice. “The way you stood up to your father's rivals. The way you built your company from nothing.” I lean closer. “But here you are, hiding under blankets like a scared little girl.”
She shifts, and I catch a flash of green eyes burning with familiar fire.
“Tell me, is this how you handle all your failures? Curl up and pretend the world doesn't exist?” I tap the bedframe. “I thought you were stronger than that.”
The blankets fly back as she sits up, hair wild around her face. “Fuck you.”
“There she is.” I cross my arms. “I was starting to think I'd broken that spirit of yours.”
“You wish.” She throws her legs over the side of the bed, facing me with renewed defiance. “Is that what you want? To break me?”
I hold her gaze, letting her see the challenge there. “I want to see what you're really made of, Katarina. So far, I'm not impressed.”
Her jaw clenches as she stands, drawing herself to full height. The fire is back in her eyes, burning away that empty look. “Then you're not paying attention.”
That's better. The fight in her voice stirs something in my blood. This is the woman I've been watching, the one who refuses to back down.
“Prove it,” I say.
Her lips crash against mine before I can react. The kiss blazes with fury and challenge, nothing like her seduction from before. My brain short-circuits as her fingers dig into my shoulders, pulling me closer.
Fuck. This isn't what I expected. I meant to provoke her anger, her fight—not this.
But my body responds instantly, betraying every shred of control I've built. My hands grip her waist, crushing her against me as I return the kiss with equal intensity. She tastes like fire and defiance.
The softness of her body contrasts with the aggressive way she bites my lower lip. I growl into her mouth, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair. She's using this to prove a point, to show she's not broken, but I'm already lost in her.
This is dangerous. This is exactly what I shouldn't be doing. But her tongue slides against mine, and rational thought dissolves into pure sensation.
My tactical mind tries to catalog the threat—her hands on my chest, her body pressed close enough to attempt a knee strike or grab for my weapons. But all I can focus on is the way she arches into me, the small sound she makes when I tighten my grip on her hair.
I've miscalculated badly. Thought I could push her back to that fiery defiance without consequences. Now I'm drowning in her, every careful boundary crumbling under the onslaught of her kiss.
I tear my mouth from hers, breathing ragged. We're both a mess of tangled hair and flushed skin, and her lips are red and swollen from my kisses. Her eyes are wild, but she doesn't look away.
I take a half-step back, desperately needing space to get my head on straight. “Get on the bed.” My voice comes out rougher than intended, sending a shiver down her spine.
She raises an eyebrow, a spark of challenge in her eyes. “I thought you wanted me to fight.”
“Get on the fucking bed, Katarina.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, that spark in her eyes daring me to make her. Then she turns and walks toward the bed, hips swaying. A shaft of midday light from the window catches her in profile, highlighting the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips.
Goose bumps rise on my skin as she climbs onto the bed, a lioness in my den. Damn, but she's beautiful like this, all wild and uncompromising. My fingers tighten on the edge of the nightstand, and I fight the urge to cross the room in three strides and take her hard, right there.
No. Slow. I want to erase the memory of yesterday's roughness with decadent pleasure. I need to consume her, inch by inch, until that haunted look in her eyes is replaced by heat and need.
As if reading my mind, she settles back against the pillows, arms folded beneath her head. Her posture dares me to take my time, but there's an undercurrent of vulnerability in her eyes that makes my breath catch.
Taking a steadying breath, I close the distance between us.
Lowering myself to my knees, I run a hand up her calf, watching as her breath hitches. She's not expecting this.
I hook my finger into the waistband of her leggings and slowly pull them down to expose a hint of smooth skin. Her muscles contract under my touch, betraying her anticipation. She says nothing and does nothing to encourage or deter me.
I pause, running a thumb along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She shivers, and the faint scent of her desire reaches me. My mouth waters.
Slowly, I trail kisses along her leg, watching her face for any sign of reaction. Her eyelids grow heavy, her lips parting slightly as I nuzzle the delicate skin behind her knee.
When I finally reach the junction of her thighs, she tenses. I look up, meeting her eyes. Her breath comes in short gasps as she watches me hover over her most sensitive spot.
“Tell me to stop, and I will.” My words are half a lie because I'm not sure I can.
She hesitates, then gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Don't stop.”
A surge of satisfaction courses through me. I trail kisses up her thigh, tasting the salt of her skin. Her fingers tighten in the blankets as I draw closer, but she doesn't pull away.
Finally, I press a kiss to her cunt, my breath stirring her curls. Her hips buck slightly, and a strangled sound escapes her throat. I smile against her skin, tracing patterns with my tongue before settling into a steady rhythm.
Her hands fly to her mouth, muffling her noises as her whole body arches off the bed. I grip her hips to hold her in place, devouring her with hungry strokes of my tongue. She's wet and warm and perfect, her flavor exploding across my senses.
The noises she tries to muffle only spur me on, a physical testament to the pleasure I'm giving her. I feast on her, letting her taste consume me, forgetful of everything but this act of worship between her thighs.
When her climax hits, she's sobbing my name, fingers tangling in my hair. I hold her through it, kissing her softly now, savoring the lingering tremors of her release.
As her breath starts to even out, I trail light kisses up her body until I reach her lips. She tastes different now, fuller, with a hint of the sea.
Her eyes drift open, that emptiness from earlier replaced by something else entirely. Confusion? Arousal? My thumb traces the swollen lower lip I'd bitten during our kiss.
“Better?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Katarina's mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. Her eyes search mine, questions swirling in their green depths.
Finally, she nods, a small, bemused smile playing on her lips. “Better.”
I rise from the bed, straightening my clothes. My body aches with need, but duty calls. Control matters more than desire.
Her hand catches my wrist. “Where are you going?”
I turn, studying her flushed face and mussed hair. “Back to my post.”
Katarina's fingers tighten for a moment, her eyes darkening with want. But she doesn't ask or beg. Her pride won't let her voice what her body clearly longs for.
She releases my wrist, jaw clenching as she looks away. Anger radiates from her in waves—at me, at herself, at this whole situation.
I adjust my weapons belt, watching her curl away from me. Her shoulders are rigid with tension, and she yanks the blanket over herself.
The sight stirs something in my chest, but I push it down. This is how it has to be. I'm her captor, not her lover. No matter what just happened between us.