Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANTON
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to this.
It’s late. She should be home, far away from me, not standing in my foyer and studying a house with nothing worth seeing.
The place is large, but she grew up in one just as grand, so none of it should impress her. Beyond the size, there’s little here. A framed photo of Volchok hangs on the wall, and a vase sits on the table because Kirill’s housekeeper insisted the room needed more character.
This is my character: dark and empty. It suits me just fine, whether Thora approves of it or not.
“You have a nice home.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.
Her cheeks are still a little flushed, that scrap of fabric she calls a dress doing nothing to hide the curves of her body. Maybe I should get her a sweater. It is a bit cold in here.
My gaze drags over her bare legs instead while I wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around me.
Would I like it? Would she?
“Do you want water or something?” I ask instead.
She nods. “Sure. That would be great.”
“Come.”
Just as I say that, Volchok charges down the stairs. Probably heard her voice from the comfort of my bed.
Her entire face brightens as she drops to her knees. He barrels into her, knocking her onto her ass, but she only laughs while he covers her face in licks and she scratches behind his ears. Then he rolls onto his back like a blyatski submissive, and she rubs his belly.
“What a good boy you are. Did you miss me? Because I missed you.”
He barks once, making her giggle.
My God, what is happening? Maybe I should give her the dog. He likes her more anyway.
“Hvatit,” I tell him, but he pretends I don’t exist.
Okay, I’ll remember that the next time you want a treat.
Once they’ve had enough of each other, Volchok looks between us, his tail still wagging.
“He’s the sweetest.” She gives him one last scratch behind the ears, and I huff out a breath.
“Yeah. Sweet. That’s him.” I gesture toward the stairs. “Volchok, upstairs.”
I walk toward the kitchen while my dog actually obeys, trotting back up the stairs as Thora falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin. She looks up at me—quiet, almost shy—and I grind my jaw, hating the effect she has on me.
She’s the enemy’s daughter. Nothing more.
Then why did you bring her here?
I ignore the question. It’s easier than admitting I don’t have an answer.
Opening the refrigerator, I find it as bare as always. Water bottles take up most of the space, with a prepackaged meal that I don’t remember buying shoved in the back.
She leans in to examine the contents, her brows pulling in when she returns her attention to me. “Do you not have a cook?”
“No.” I grab a water bottle and shut the door.
“So no one’s making you real food?” Concern flanks her tone, and it irritates me.
“No. I eat at my brothers’ places or pick something up.” I twist off the cap. “Why? Are you planning to come over and cook for me?”
One corner of my mouth lifts, and I expect her to laugh it off. The thought of her in my kitchen, making herself at home, should be ridiculous.
Except now I can’t stop picturing it.
“Maybe.” She grins like she might actually do it.
Good luck. This was a onetime deal. You’re never coming here again.
I study her, trying to make sense of her concern and why she keeps looking at me as though I’m worth the effort.
What would that even feel like? Having someone care? Caring back?
A scoff leaves me.
“What was that?” A puzzled look crosses her face.
“Just wondering how you always manage to get involved in things that don’t concern you.”
Her hand lands on her hip. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?” I pin her with a hard stare and close the distance between us until barely any space remains.
“Push people away when they try to get close.”
I hook two fingers beneath her chin and angle her face up, staring at that pretty pink mouth I can’t stop thinking about. “Do you always psychoanalyze your friends, printsessa?”
“Oh, we’re friends now?” Her fingertips travel my forearm, awakening a hunger I resent myself for having. “I knew you’d come around.”
My mouth flattens as I release her and step back, irritated by how pleased she looks with herself.
“Here.” I shove the bottle toward her.
She accepts it and brings it to her lips, watching me over the rim as she drinks. Then she lets her eyes wander across the bare counters and empty corners of the kitchen.
“Do you have people who come in and clean? My parents have a full-time staff, so I figured you would too.”
“I don’t.” I lean back against the opposite counter and fold my arms, wanting to kick her out right about now. “I don’t like people in my space. When the house needs cleaning, I borrow one of my brothers’ people. They do the job and leave. That’s how I like it.”
“So no one ever stays here?”
“No.”
She gives me a slow nod. “I see.”
What the hell do you see? Hmm? Pity? Is that you pitying me? Because I’m fine. Being alone suits me.
She takes another sip, but I can see another question forming, her curiosity pushing her to dig deeper and figure me out. But there’s nothing for her to find.
“You’ve always lived alone?”
Here we fucking go.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“No.”
Her fingers curl around the bottle as she watches me, clearly debating whether to ask the next question on her mind.
“Have you ever…” She twists the cap back on and sets her drink on the counter before trying again. “Have you ever lived with a girlfriend?”
I scoff. “You ask a lot of questions. Are you planning to write my biography?”
She chuckles and moves toward me, stopping near enough that her warmth engulfs me. Then her palm cups my cheek, her thumb brushing over my stubble, and I hate how much I like it.
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“Why?” I whisper.
What the hell are you looking for?
“Because…” Her eyes hold mine. “I like you.”
The confession tears through what little logic I have left.
My arm twines around her waist and I spin her until her back meets the counter.
I press into her, trapping her between my body and the edge, making sure she feels every inch of me, especially the rock-hard erection I now have thanks to her.
Her eyes go wide, chest heaving.
Blyat, she’s beautiful. Those big brown eyes hold me captive as my hand wraps around her throat.
“You shouldn’t like me. Nothing good would come of it.”
She lifts her chin higher as her fingertips graze my jaw. “Why not? I know you feel this too.”
Because you don’t know what I am or what you’ll find once you get close enough. And when this ends, you’ll be the one who pays for it.
I search her face, trying to understand what the hell she’s doing and why I haven’t ordered her to leave. Worse, why the thought of her leaving is the last thing I want.
“I think you like me being here,” she adds, digging the knife in deeper as her touch returns to my forearm. “I think you want someone around. Maybe you’re scared you’d actually like it.”
“I’m not scared of a goddamn thing,” I snap, my grip tightening around her throat.
Her arm slides around my back. She’s not afraid of me in the slightest.
“We’re all scared of something, Anton,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving mine. “That doesn’t make it a weakness.”
“It does.” Every instinct in me fights what she’s saying.
Her lips twitch. “Do I make you angry?”
“Yes.” My face drops closer, her mouth tempting me with every pull, every drag of air that hits my lungs. “Even when you’re not here.”
“Wow. I must’ve made quite the impression.”
“You’re poison.” I lower my mouth until barely an inch separates us, close enough that the slightest movement would bring her lips to mine.
“It’s a good thing I know you don’t mean that.” Her grip tightens as her eyes fix on mine, drawing me in until there’s no room left between us.
My cock presses hard against her stomach, impossible for her not to feel, yet she refuses to react. I push into her, determined to get something, and her breath catches. Her eyes drop to my mouth before lifting to mine again.
“Kiss me,” she breathes.
A low groan escapes me as my fingers knot in her hair and tip her head back. “I don’t kiss.”
My grip loosens, trailing down to her bare thigh and finding her skin every bit as soft as I imagined.
“Never?” The word dissolves into a moan.
“No.”
I ignore the brief shock crossing her features. I hadn’t intended to tell her that, but it’s the truth and I’m not hiding from it.
She’s the closest I’ve ever come to wanting to kiss a woman, and that alone should scare me.
“Anton…” My name catches in her throat as her fingers slide into my hair and draw me nearer.
My hand glides higher until I reach the thin fabric of her panties stretched across her hips.
What would it feel like to touch her? To feel how wet she is for me?
I’ve never known a woman’s desire. Never cared to. Until her.
I drag her panties aside and press my fingers to her pussy, uncertain what the hell I’m doing, but unable to stop. I rub slowly over her clit, and her lips part as her nails dig into my arm, another moan slipping free.
“You like that?” I repeat the motion, paying attention to every tremor that runs through her until her head falls back.
She nods. “Put your fingers inside me.”
“Blyat.”
I circle her clit once more before pushing a finger into her tight hole. Her walls clasp around me, hot and wet, pulling me deeper into something that feels too much like heaven and hell at once. I don’t know where the fuck I am anymore. I only know it feels too good to stop.
She grabs my forearm and leans down to kiss my wrist, whimpering when I drive in and out of her. Her pussy drenches my hand, and I need more. I want to be the one to make her look the way she does right now, like I’m her fucking savior.
“I want to taste you.”