Chapter 63
L uca stayed up plying his new soon-to-be brother-in-law with vodka and questions well after the others went to bed. Rowan had stopped imbibing shortly after her Kings and Arselings victory, one I was certain she and Kirill had conspired on.
I followed suit, mostly because I was becoming concerned about the wisdom of sharing her bed without a clear head. Not that my head necessarily felt clearer without it, especially once we were back in my rooms, and she grabbed one of my shirts to change into in the closet.
It wasn’t even a shirt she had brought. She plucked it directly from my drawers, the same way she had named my cat. Like this was her space, too. Like she belonged here.
“How did negotiations go?” she called through the door.
She hadn’t shut it all the way, so I could see the shadows shifting as she pulled off her dress.
Der’mo.
I ran a hand over my face before changing out of my clothes as quickly as I could while I thought of literally anything but Rowan changing less than five feet away from me, or how her body looked in the sauna.
Her smirk when her lips were close to mine.
Her green eyes on me every time I looked at her.
“They went well,” I finally answered her, my throat dry.
Outdated Socairan breeding laws. Ancient bloodlines. Estate taxes. Public floggings.
I reached up to tie the laces of my shirt, wondering if she was doing the same.
Think of literally anything else.
Maybe if I had let myself think about her instead of trying so hard not to, I would have been more focused on the sound of the closet door, or the motion of it swinging open. Maybe then I would have avoided the added temptation of her body running directly into mine.
She started to rebound onto the floor and I reached out to stop her, one hand firmly on each side of her ribcage. That was my first mistake.
She was warm, soft, and peering up at me like she saw every twisted piece of my soul and didn’t flinch from them. There was a question in her gaze, a challenge, a demand.
Her chest moved rapidly with her rushed breaths, and I noted distantly that she had not, in fact, tied the laces of her shirt yet.
Where were the old Socairan gods when you needed one?
I should let her go, should let this moment burn along with all of the others on the pyre of all the things we would never be to each other.
My fingers curled around the fabric of her shirt, as if my subconscious was rebelling at the thought.
Then she leaned in.
I was a soldier. I prided myself on control. I had done unspeakable things for the only greater good that I believed in, and still I had drawn my line with her. And I was so, so tired of denying myself the only thing I had allowed myself to want in as long as I could remember.
Especially when the damage was done.
She was already mine.
My lemmikki.
Even as my thumbs traced the lines of her hips, I was still telling myself all of the reasons this was wrong. She was my captive. She was my enemy.
My lemmikki.
Her perfect lips parted, and I knew I had already lost this war. I gripped her tighter, bracing her against the wall in a single motion. She gasped, and I faltered for a fraction of a second, wondering if I had injured the wounds I had agonized over.
My worry was in vain, since there wasn’t a single trace of pain in her features. Only the same unending need I felt coursing through my very soul.
“ Der’mo , Lemmikki.” The words escaped me in a growl. Then my mouth was on hers.
I had imagined more times than I cared to admit what she might taste like, and still, I hadn’t come close to the reality. Her lips molded perfectly to mine, warm and compliant and perfect.
She tilted her head, her heady breath skating over my mouth tasting of honey and spices from the medovukha earlier. Only better.
So much better.
My hand traced the lines of her curves, working from her waist, down to the swell of her hips before gripping her thigh.
She pressed herself against me, her hips rocking against mine as she let out another gasp.
Der’mo.
Lightning crackled between us, so bright and sharp I could almost see it. Every one of my nerve-endings was on fire, an inferno that raced through me. It was a wildfire that no amount of her would be able to extinguish.
Her hands fisted in my shirt like she could sense it too, like she couldn’t get close enough. Then her delicate fingers were skimming along my arms and shoulders almost as if she was attempting to memorize each ridge and muscle.
It wasn’t enough.
I traced my tongue along the seam of her mouth, needing more of her. In turn, she grinned and clamped her teeth around my bottom lip just as I had watched her do to her own so many times.
She was more intoxicating than any vodka could ever hope to be.
“Two can play at that game, Lemmikki,” I breathed, moving my mouth along her jawline and up to her ear, pulling the skin between my teeth.
My fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh as I raised it up around my hip. She let out a breathy sigh that had me forgetting my own name. I buried my face in her neck, grazing her skin with my tongue and teeth.
Rowan’s grip tightened around my shoulder in response, and she rocked her hips against mine again. She scraped her nails along my skin, up through my hair all while tilting her head so I had more access to her neck.
Her scent surrounded me, amber and citrus and Rowan , while everywhere we touched was engulfed in flames.
Of course it was. Because we were destructive and perfect and?—
And maybe that’s why I didn’t notice when we hit the glass of water until it shattered on the ground at our feet. Tiny drops of water splashed up from the carnage, along with a few jagged shards of glass.
I went still.
What in the storms-damned-hell was I doing?
I removed the hand that had been precariously high on Rowan’s thigh, easing her all the way to the ground before I straightened. My breath was still coming in pants, my mind still muddled with the combination of euphoria and need that I had only ever felt with her.
Her lips were swollen, and she stared up at me like she, too, was wondering how we had gotten here. Was she regretting it already? Or…feeling guilty about it?
Somehow, I had let myself forget about Korhonan and the betrothal she fought for. That for all she was technically mine, she had never chosen to be.
Time and time again, she had chosen him , until she had been given literally no choice but to rely on me. That was why this was never supposed to happen.
“Apologies,” she began, lending evidence to that theory. “I?—”
“Think nothing of it,” I cut her off, already pulling my mental wall into place. “I know you like to kiss all of your captors.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into my tone
Her lips parted in offense, and I had a visceral flashback of the desire that had caused them to do that just moments ago. I forced myself to look away.
“Shall I assume you like to kiss all of your pets, then?” she demanded. “I’ll be sure to warn Boris when we return.”
Storms . At least I could have displayed an increment of self-control if she had left well enough alone. Now she was acting like I made a merry habit of kissing people who had no say.
“ You leaned in first,” I reminded her.
“And then you threw me against a wall ,” she shot back.
Her eyes blazed with the same want that coursed through me at the reminder, something that wasn’t helped by the way her shirt was still askew from our…activities.
Yes, Lemmikki, I did, and I would damned well do it again if I could exist within a single moment the way you so often seem to do.
Der’mo .
“Regardless,” I bit out. “All that matters is that it can’t happen again.”
She shifted, and the light of the fire danced along a crimson scar that wound around her bare shoulder. The lashmark was a stark reminder of all of the truths I had let the peace of this cabin bury.
She was not in a position to make choices like these, and if she had been, she still could not have chosen Bear. It wasn’t safe.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said, her tone far more agreeable than the rigid set of her shoulders communicated.
Though I knew it was completely irrational, it irked me that she agreed.
“Wonderful,” I lied. “I’ll just get something to clean up this glass.”
“Perfect,” she said shortly, averting her gaze. “And I’ll just…be asleep by the time you return.”
At least one of us would be sleeping. I wasn’t sure I would ever sleep again.
“Great,” I told her. “Then tomorrow we can just…” exist in this strange cycle of hatred and comfort and desire until you go the hell back to Lochlann. “Continue as normal.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t want things to be awkward or anything.”
I had no idea how to respond to that since I suspected strongly we had both reached the end of our ability to pretend. Then again, what choice did we have?
“Indeed,” I agreed.
Before we could go in any more circles of amicably agreeing with one another, I spun around to leave, going in search of something to clean up the glass.
And perhaps another bottle of vodka or two.
Maybe then I could vanquish her taste from my lips.