Chapter 8 #2
Her gasp hits my lips first, but when her breath spills into me it’s warm and shaky, and it’s all I need to deepen the contact.
At first, I keep it measured, just the faintest pressure, a test more than a kiss, but the second she stiffens, something sharp twists low in me.
I push in harder, claiming the sound that escapes her throat before she can swallow it back.
She tastes like coffee and defiance, like someone who refuses to break even when she’s already trembling.
Her hands come up to my chest—maybe to shove me away—but the second her palms touch me, the fight falters.
I feel the hesitation, the pause between impulse and surrender, and I press closer, my thumb sliding along her jaw, forcing her chin up so she can’t look anywhere but at me.
The air around us thickens; every heartbeat feels too loud. She exhales through her nose, a shaky, angry sound that turns into a breath against my lips. I take it. I take all of it. The kiss changes—still rough, still wrong, but hungrier now, the kind of hunger that feels like punishment.
She tries again to push me off, and I don’t move. Not an inch. I just breathe her in, her scent, her frustration, the way her body vibrates between wanting to escape and wanting to know what happens if she doesn’t.
When I finally pull back, barely an inch of air between us, her pupils are blown wide, lips parted, breath uneven.
“You—” she stammers, voice breaking on the word, “what the hell are you doing?”
My mouth curves against hers, still close enough that she can feel the whisper of it. “Practice.”
“Practice?”
“You’re supposed to be my fiancée.”
Her jaw drops. “You never make things simple, do you?”
“Never,” I murmur, leaning in again, my voice rougher than I intend.
This time she meets me halfway. The contact is hesitant at first, soft lips brushing mine like she’s testing a line she already knows she’ll cross. Then the hesitation breaks. Her breath catches and suddenly the kiss isn’t careful anymore—it’s alive.
My hand moves without thought, sliding up the side of her neck until my thumb finds the edge of her jaw, tilting her face toward me. The skin there is smooth, pulse fluttering against my fingers. I want to see if I can steady it, but it only races faster.
When she finally pushes back, it’s not to escape—it’s to match me. Her hand fists in my shirt, dragging me closer, and everything inside me tightens at once. The world shrinks to the sound of our breaths and the low hum of the engines somewhere beyond the haze of heat between us.
It’s no longer practice. It’s a challenge, a test of who gives in first, and the taste of it sits heavy in my chest. Every breath turns heavier, every heartbeat louder. I can feel the thrum of hers through the fabric between us—fast, erratic, answering mine.
I pull back just enough to catch her gaze, close enough that our mouths still brush when I speak. “Not bad,” I whisper, and it’s the closest I’ve come in years to losing control.
She glares. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet you’re still kissing me.”
“I’m proving a point.”
“Then prove it better.”
She does. The next kiss isn’t careful. Her teeth catch my lower lip. A sound escapes me—half laugh, half groan. Control slips for a heartbeat, just enough for my hand to find her waist.
The plane jolts again, almost violently. We break apart. She’s breathless, cheeks flushed. I sit back, forcing my pulse to slow, pretending it’s nothing.
Kira buries her face in her hands. “You’re unbelievable.”
I turn to her calmly. “Now you’re believable. That’s what matters.”
She mutters something about throwing me out of the plane. I ignore it.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s quiet again. When I glance at her, her eyes are closed, head tilted slightly toward me. The flush still lingers on her cheeks. She’s asleep before she realizes she’s leaned into my shoulder.
I should move. Every instinct screams for distance, but I sit perfectly still. The weight of her against me is light, almost nothing, but it roots me to the seat. Her hair brushes my jaw. My men glance back, exchanging looks they think I don’t see.
Lev catches my eye, smirking. I raise one eyebrow. He looks away fast.
Still, I can hear one of them whisper something in Russian—too low but not low enough. A joke. I don’t need to hear the words to know the tone.
The next sound is my voice, calm and cold. “Something funny?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
I let the quiet stretch until it’s uncomfortable. Then I turn back to the window. Kira shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, her fingers brushing my sleeve. I feel it through the fabric—so small, so human it almost hurts.
When the wheels touch down, I move too fast. She startles awake, eyes wide, blinking.
“Where—”
“We’re here.” My voice comes out harsher than I mean it to. I stand, shaking off the stiffness, pretending she never touched me.
She straightens slowly, disoriented. “Right. Italy.”
I reach for my jacket, not looking at her. “Sicily. Keep up.”
Lev lowers the steps, and warm Mediterranean air floods the cabin. My men file out first. Calina and Milana follow. I pause at the doorway.
Kira’s still half-asleep, brushing hair from her face. For a second, I almost reach out to fix a loose strand, then stop myself. Instead, I say, “Don’t embarrass me.”
She blinks, offended. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good,” I say, stepping aside so she can pass. “Because everyone we’re about to meet would love to see me fail.”
Her gaze flickers up, searching my face. “And I’m supposed to stop you from failing?”
“No,” I say, lips curving faintly. “You’ll make it seem like I’m thriving.”
She hesitates, then walks past me down the steps, sunlight catching in her hair.
I follow a few paces behind, the ring box heavy in my pocket—the same ring my mother wore until the day she died. I told myself giving it to Kira was strategy. Looking at her now, I’m not sure I believe it.
The Italian heat hits hard, full of salt and noise and everything I can’t control. Somewhere behind my ribs, something shifts, small but dangerous. I ignore it, because control is all I have.
And because wanting her feels like the first crack in my armor I can’t afford to let widen.