Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ANTON
The entire drive over, I tell myself this is a mistake. A momentary lapse caused by turning her camera feed back on after spending the past week refusing to look.
I’d just finished a job and was sitting in my SUV outside a warehouse when I opened the feed for what was supposed to be one quick glance. Then I saw her stretched across the bed touching herself, and that was the end of whatever control I thought I still had.
At first, I didn’t know who she was thinking about, and jealousy drove straight through my chest.
Jealousy is pathetic. Dangerous. Men like me can’t afford it.
Then she said my name. After that, every reason why I’ve spent seven days keeping my distance stopped mattering. The need in her voice destroyed every one of them.
My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I turn onto her street, already furious with myself for giving in this easily. But I have to see her. Touch her. Breathe her in until the restlessness crawling under my skin calms the hell down.
Fuck. I’ve become as bad as my brothers, losing my shit over a woman. If they ever find out, I’ll never hear the end of it. I can already picture the fun Aleksei alone would have with this.
Good thing none of them will ever know.
I park across from her house and kill the engine, staring at the dark windows before getting out. I should get back in the car and remember exactly who the hell I am. Instead, I head up the steps and knock once.
The door opens almost immediately, and there she is.
Those wide, innocent eyes find mine before my attention drops to the pink lips I haven’t stopped thinking about for a fucking week.
Then I take in the tiny yoga shorts and tight tank top she’s wearing, and every thought in my head goes straight to the gutter.
She looks made for my hands. Like she’s been waiting for them. Waiting for me.
Chyort. Damn it.
“Hey…” She bites the edge of her bottom lip, and I have to swallow back a groan.
V kogo ona menya prevratila? Who has she turned me into?
“Hey.” I stand there not knowing what to say, what to do, or where the hell to put my hands when all I want is to touch her.
“Wanna come in?”
I want a lot of things. None of them good.
“Okay.”
She steps aside, and I walk in, telling myself to keep my hands off. Under no circumstances am I touching her. Or worse, fucking her. That’s off the table. Permanently.
Nu blyat. Things were much easier when I was a virgin.
She clears her throat and walks ahead of me, glancing back once as she leads me toward the living room, where two simple cream leather sofas sit across from each other with a glass coffee table between them.
Before she can sit, she turns around with a sharp little huff, appearing almost angry with herself. “This is such a bad idea. I don’t even know why I let you come here. I shouldn’t trust you. Hell, it sounds like you’ve already been here, which should absolutely terrify me.”
“But it doesn’t.” I step closer, the backs of my fingers stroking along the underside of her jaw.
Finally.
“You’re not scared of me, are you, printsessa?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes staying fastened on mine. “But I’m prone to making poor life choices, so there’s that.”
A rough chuckle breaks from me. “Clearly, so am I.”
“I’m your poor life choice?” Her brows furrow, and I wonder if that hurt her feelings.
I don’t want to do that.
“You are.” I grip her hips, pushing her body against the nearest wall so she’s unable to escape me. “But I can’t help myself. You’re all I think about. All I want. Ya tebya iz golovy vykinut’ ne mogu.” I can’t get you out of my head.
Her eyes widen like a little Bambi. My little Bambi.
Well, there goes the plan of keeping my hands off of her. With Thora, I seem to break every rule I’ve ever had.
“Anton…” She studies my face before her attention settles on my mouth.
I know exactly what she wants. The problem is, I want it too. The need to kiss her overtakes me, until I can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel. To taste her, to feel her tongue on mine.
My eyes close as I fight the urge, but then her palm slides against my cheek, her lips pressing to the corner of my mouth, and I want more. More of her mouth, her touch. More of whatever this is that keeps dragging me in. And for one weak second, I let myself feel it.
Then she does it again, her lips brushing the edge of my mouth, and my eyes snap open as my hand closes around her throat.
“Don’t.”
“Why?” Her thumb brushes over my jaw with a tenderness I don’t understand.
“Because…” My molars clench. “I don’t like it.”
A faint laugh escapes her. “How many times are you going to tell yourself that before you believe it?” Her thumb strokes my lips. “It would feel really good if you let go.”
“Don’t fucking do that.” I lean closer until our foreheads nearly touch. “Don’t analyze me.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and I don’t get why.
Am I hurting her?
Is she…sad? For me?
But then her fingers trace my jaw again, and just like that, everything in my head starts to quiet. My father’s voice, the constant need to be exactly what he made me…none of it seems as loud when she’s touching me like this.
Her mouth moves up to my cheek and she kisses me there, her fingers sliding into my hair while I let myself fall into her. My palms slide up her top, her skin soft and warm and mine in all the ways it was never meant to be.
But right now, I have it. I have all of her, and she has all of me. More than anyone ever has.
A shaky breath leaves her as my hands travel higher, my fingertips tracing her ribs before the fabric bunches in my fists. She gasps when I yank it over her head and toss it aside, then drag those tiny shorts down her legs.
The instant she stands naked before me, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, staring at me as though I’m the only thing in the room, I unravel.
“You’re beautiful.”
She grabs the hem of my shirt and tugs at it with impatient fingers.
I help her drag it over my head, then kick off my sneakers.
The fabric barely hits the floor before her palms are moving over me, exploring every inch she can reach.
My muscles tighten when I find her examining my scars—the thick, marred lines crossing my chest and stomach.
There are more where those came from. I’m covered in them. They’ve always been a part of me, and I don’t know who I would be without them.
Her attention fastens on one near my ribs, and the sadness crossing her face makes rage spiral through me.
I don’t want her pity. I never want her looking at me that way again.
Hooking my fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her face toward mine. Tears cling to her lashes, but she refuses to look away. Instead, her hands drift to my waistband, gentler now as she unfastens the button and lowers the zipper. She eases my pants and boxers over my hips until I step out of them.
A growl leaves me as I lock an arm around her waist and haul her against me, her bare skin pressed to mine while my cock throbs against her stomach. The longer I touch her, the more desperate the need becomes, and those brown eyes remain fixed on me, seeing through every lie I’ve tried to believe.
I spent days avoiding her, pretending I didn’t need this. Didn’t need her. But it was all bullshit.
My mouth travels along her throat while her nails scrape over my shoulders and rake down my back, leaving a sting I fucking love.
“Anton…”
The sound of my name on her lips strips away whatever sense I have left, because nothing has ever sounded that good.
I grip the backs of her thighs and lift her against the wall in one hard motion. She locks herself around me as I bury my face against her neck, trying to remember who I was before she came into my life.
Touching her only makes it worse. Each moment with her strips away another piece of the man I was taught to be until I barely recognize what’s left.
I draw back, and the way she looks at me says she wants everything I’ve never known how to give.
My fingers dig into her hips as I carry her toward the bedroom, her legs secured around my waist while her stare reaches past every defense I have.
When we reach the bed, I lower her onto it and cover her body with mine.
Her palms cradle my face, her fingertips tracing my features as though she’s memorizing someone she’s afraid to lose.
Maybe I’m doing the same. I can’t look away from her, half convinced she’ll disappear the instant I do. She feels like another gift destined to be taken from me, the way my father used to give us things long enough to make us care before punishing us for wanting them.
Attachment was weakness to him. Loyalty belonged to him and the family, even when it came to my brothers.
After my…accident, he took a particular interest in what I became. His weapon. His perfect killer. I felt nothing when I ended a life. I still don’t. That made me his favorite, but his favor always came at a price.
When her fingertips pass over a scar on my chest, I seize her hips and try to turn her onto her stomach. I need her hands somewhere else and her attention far from the parts of me I don’t know how to reveal.
But she grips my arm. “Don’t.” She searches my face, refusing to let me hide. “Don’t push me away.”
Then she lifts her head and presses her lips to the scar she touched.
My entire body goes rigid.
“Let me in,” she says softly before kissing another.
A ragged curse tears from me as my palm slides to the back of her head. My eyes fall shut while her mouth travels over every mark she can reach, offering tenderness to wounds that have never known anything but pain.
She kisses the scar near my ribs, then moves higher until her cheek rests over my heart. And the traitorous thing pounds harder for her.
When she draws back, my mother’s words return to me.
Do not be afraid of the light, moy malchik. Because she is yours.