Chapter 15
Mina
I blinked awake, sunshine spilling across the bed like a golden invitation to start fresh.
The sheets were ridiculously soft—nothing like the scratchy ones I’d had back at the apartment.
For a second, I just lay there, limbs tangled, stretching like a lazy cat while warmth spread across my skin and something fluttered in my chest.
Oh, my gosh. The kiss.
A tiny squeal tried to escape my throat, but I bit it back, lips pressing into a smile even as my heart did somersaults.
I could still feel it—his mouth on mine, soft and intense and all-consuming.
It wasn’t just heat; it was something else.
Something that had me grinning into the pillow like a total maniac.
Get it together, Mina.
I sat up, the hoodie I’d borrowed (okay, maybe stolen) from Nikolai slipping off one shoulder.
It smelled like him—clean and cold and a little like cedarwood—and I wasn’t even embarrassed at how deeply I inhaled.
I pulled it tighter around me, nerves humming with leftover adrenaline and something dangerously close to butterflies.
Padding into the kitchen, I opened the fridge, fully intending to find something to ground me—coffee, maybe yogurt. Was it weird to feel this giddy over a kiss? Probably. Did I care? Not even a little.
Then came the voice, low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet: “Good morning.”
I spun around, clutching a carton of orange juice like it might protect me. And there he was—Nikolai in all his post-sleep, messy-haired glory, leaning in the doorway like a dream that wandered out of a romance novel.
“Hey,” I breathed, the word lighter than air.
He gave me that smirky-little-smile thing that made my stomach dip in the best way. “Did you sleep well?”
I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face. “Yeah. You?”
His smirk deepened. “Better than usual.”
And just like that, the moment wrapped around us—soft and glowing, like a secret we hadn’t fully admitted yet but both quietly cherished.
Before I could even fully process what was happening, Nikolai leaned down and kissed me.
Like, kissed me.
His lips brushed mine so softly at first I almost thought I imagined it—but then the warmth bloomed, rushing from my mouth all the way to the tips of my toes like I’d been hit by lightning. A very attractive, broody, hockey-playing bolt of lightning.
My fingers found his bare chest (oh hello muscles, again), curling into him instinctively because I needed something—anything—to keep me from floating away.
His mouth moved slowly against mine, coaxing and teasing like he had all the time in the world, and oh goodness, I was kissing Nikolai Volkov in his kitchen wearing his hoodie.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in close, and I swear my brain short-circuited. It was warm and dizzying and impossible not to sink into. I didn’t even care that my feet were freezing on the tile because I was basically melting in his hands.
When I finally pulled back (barely, breathlessly), I blinked up at him, heart doing pirouettes in my chest. “Wow,” I whispered, because my brain had stopped producing anything else useful.
His lips quirked into a smile that should’ve been illegal. “Wow, indeed.”
I laughed—awkward, giddy, probably sounding like someone who’d just mainlined hot chocolate. “So… what does this mean? Are we… like, friends who kiss? Or is this just some extended part of the bet and I missed a rule somewhere?”
The way his expression shifted made my stomach flip. The amusement faded, and he looked at me like he was peeling back all the layers I’d carefully wrapped around myself. “This isn’t about the bet anymore,” he said, voice low and serious. “It’s about us.”
Us. That word dropped into my chest like a stone and sent ripples everywhere.
I glanced down at the floor, because eye contact was dangerous and my heart was already misbehaving. “But… Mikel—”
“Forget him.” His voice sharpened, but not in a scary way—more like a no-nonsense, I’d-move-mountains-for-you kind of way. He tilted my chin up gently, and his eyes were so intense it made me feel like I couldn’t hide anything.
And honestly? I didn’t want to.
My breath caught as he kissed me again, slower this time—so tender it made something in my chest ache in the best way. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise. A beginning.
And for once, that didn’t terrify me. Not completely.
“Why must we label it?” Nikolai asked, his voice a low murmur, his breath brushing warm against my neck.
I shifted just a little—partly from nerves, partly because…
wow, that was distracting. “Because,” I said, trying not to sound like I was unraveling from the inside out, “labels set expectations. They make things clear. Safe.” I swallowed, wishing my voice didn’t shake.
“It’s easier to know what we’re getting. ”
His lips grazed the curve of my neck in slow, reverent kisses, and I swear I forgot what words were for a second. Every brush of his mouth sent a cascade of shivers rippling through me, like my whole body had suddenly become a live wire.
“I know I like kissing you,” he murmured, and then—oh. His hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, his palms warm and grounding against my skin. I gasped—a breathy little sound that I couldn’t hold back even if I tried.
And all I managed to whisper was, “Okay.”
“Okay?” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye, like he needed to see if I meant it. His gaze was so intense it made my knees want to melt.
I nodded—tiny, uncertain, but also certain enough. “Yeah. Okay.” My voice was soft and breathless and probably sounded like a squeaky cartoon bird, but I didn’t care.
His lips curved into that devastating smile of his, and then he kissed me again—deeper this time, like he was trying to claim every part of me with just his mouth.
My thoughts scattered like confetti. This wasn’t just kissing.
It was emotional combustion. Urgent and tender and way too much in the best way.
And then, just when I thought I might actually burst into a puddle of swoon, he pulled back again, forehead resting gently against mine.
“You’re still thinking about him,” he said, voice soft—not accusing, just knowing. Like he’d peered into the part of my brain where I shoved the stuff I didn’t want to deal with.
I bit my lip, a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to,” I admitted, my words wobbling. “But sometimes it’s like… a reflex. I compare everything. And then I wonder if I’m just—broken.”
His hands on my waist tightened, grounding me again. “Don’t,” he said gently, but there was steel in it too. “You’re not broken. You don’t have to carry any of that.”
I blinked, swallowing hard as his words curled around me like something safe. Something solid.
“I’m here now,” he said. Just three words, but they struck something deep in my chest—like a door creaking open.
I let out a shaky breath. “Okay.” That time, it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like a choice.
And as he kissed me again—slow, sure, like we had all the time in the world—I let myself believe it.
Maybe we didn’t need a label right now. Maybe this—whatever this was—was already enough.
“But what if you like kissing someone else?” I blurted out before my brain could slam on the brakes. My heart jackhammered in my chest. “Does that mean I get to kiss someone else?”
Nikolai’s eyes narrowed, the air around him shifting like a thundercloud just cracked open. His entire body went still—tight, coiled, dangerous. A flicker of something possessive passed over his face like a shadow.
“Absolutely not,” he growled, voice low and dark and very much not joking. “I’m the only one you kiss.”
And then—then—his lips grazed my neck, and I swear my entire nervous system short-circuited. A gasp leapt out of me before I could catch it.
“The only one you think about,” he murmured against my skin.
I opened my mouth to say something—maybe argue, maybe tease, maybe laugh it off like I always did when things got too intense—but I didn’t get the chance.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, just swooped me up and placed me on the counter, and oh. My breath caught. My legs dangled. My brain fizzled. This man was casually defying gravity, and now I was seated on cold granite, warm hands on my thighs, trying so hard not to combust.
“I’m the only one, yes?” he asked, voice all smooth command and quiet promise. His gaze bore into me, heat and hunger coiled just beneath the surface.
For a beat, my brain tried to short-circuit again. Doubt flickered through me—because Mikel had trained me to second-guess every sweet thing, every good moment. But this didn’t feel like a trap. This felt… like him. Nikolai. Intense and infuriating and real.
So I opened my mouth to answer—
But he kissed me before I could speak.
And oh. It wasn’t a kiss built for questions or conversations. It was a kiss meant to claim—fast and wild and too much and not enough. My fingers tangled in his hair as heat surged through me. His hands slid to my waist, holding me like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t keep me tethered.
Time spun sideways. The world narrowed to just his mouth on mine, my body pressed against his, the taste of cinnamon on his lips and the raw need braided into every heartbeat.
When he finally—finally—pulled back, our foreheads rested together, both of us breathing hard.
“Okay,” I whispered, voice shaky, lips tingling. “You’re the only one.”
He didn’t smile, not exactly. But his eyes softened, his chest rising and falling like he’d been holding something in and finally let it go.
“Good,” he said simply.
Then he kissed me again—slower this time. Like sealing a promise.
And as I sat there on the counter, his hands warm on my skin, the weight of his words echoing in my chest—I didn’t feel claimed.
I felt chosen.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run.