Chapter 5 #2
I slid my hand to the back of her neck. I didn't grip her. I just rested it there, my thumb tracing the pulse point under her jaw. It was fluttering like a hummingbird wing.
"Those boys," I murmured, leaning down until our foreheads were almost touching. "They look at you, Mila, and they see the dress. They see the money. They see the trophy they can put on a shelf."
Her breath hitched. Her eyes were locked on mine, wide and dilated. She wasn't pulling away. She was leaning in.
"I see the mess," I whispered. "I see the brat who auctions herself off because she’s lonely. I see the artist who throws jars because she’s scared to fail."
Mila gasped, a small, wounded sound. "Theo—"
"And I don't want to fix it with pretty words," I finished, my voice rough. "I don't want to put you on a shelf, Malyshka."
"What do you want?" she breathed.
The air in the room thickened. It felt heavy, charged with static. The hum of the fridge faded away. The wind outside ceased to exist. There was only the heat of her body, the scent of peaches, and the overwhelming, irrational urge to consume her.
"I want to see if you can take it," I said.
"Take what?"
"The truth."
I moved.
It wasn't a gentle slide. It was a collision.
I wrapped my other arm around her waist and hoisted her up. She made a squeak of surprise, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself. I didn't stop. I walked her backward until her back hit the nearest wall—hard.
The impact knocked the breath out of her. I didn't give her time to recover. I pressed my body against hers, caging her, pinning her between the concrete and the hard wall of my chest.
"You want a lesson in chemistry?" I growled. "Here is the lesson."
I crushed my mouth to hers.
It wasn't a movie kiss. It wasn't sweet. It was starvation.
It was the culmination of five days of denial, of shared bathrooms and stolen glances and arguments that were really just foreplay.
Mila stiffened for a microsecond, shock seizing her frame. And then—she melted.
She made a low, desperate noise in her throat and opened her mouth.
I took it. I swept my tongue inside, tasting coffee and mint and her. She tasted like trouble. She tasted like everything I was supposed to avoid.
I groaned, the sound vibrating in my chest and transferring into hers. My hand on the back of her neck tightened, angling her head to deepen the kiss. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to breathe for her.
Mila’s hands tangled in my hair, gripping tight. She pulled me closer, as if that were physically possible. She wrapped her legs around my waist, instinctively seeking friction.
The contact was electric. Through the thin fabric of her yoga pants and my sweats, I could feel everything. The heat. The softness. The dampness that told me she wasn't just tolerating this—she was dying for it.
I broke the kiss, gasping for air, dragging my mouth down her jawline. I bit the sensitive cord of her neck, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark. Hard enough to claim.
"Theo," she panted, her head thrown back, exposing her throat to me. "Oh god."
"Is this charming enough for you?" I rasped against her skin. I moved my hands down her back, gripping her ass, lifting her higher so I could grind my hips against hers.
"It’s… effective," she choked out.
I laughed, a dark, guttural sound against her neck. "Effective. Good."
My hand slid between us. I needed to touch her. I needed to verify that this wasn't a hallucination. I slipped my hand under the hem of the hoodie, finding the bare skin of her stomach. She sucked in a breath, her stomach muscles quivering under my palm.
I moved higher, my thumb brushing the underside of her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra under the tank top.
"Theo," she whimpered, arching into my hand. "Please."
The plea shattered the haze.
Please.
It was the same word she had used in the basement. A request for help. A request for guidance.
I froze.
My hand was inches from crossing a line I couldn't uncross. She was the GM's daughter. She was my assignment. She was twenty-one and vulnerable and confused, and I was the Captain who was supposed to be protecting her.
But god, she felt so good.
I rested my forehead against hers, my breathing ragged. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
"Mila," I whispered. My voice was wrecked.
"Don't stop," she begged, her hands tightening in my hair. "Don't you dare stop, Volkov."
"I have to," I said. It was the hardest thing I had ever said. "We… this is…"
"If you say 'against the rules,' I will scream," she threatened, though her voice was breathless and shaky.
"It’s reckless," I said.
I slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor. I didn't let go of her waist immediately. I couldn't. I needed to stabilize her. I needed to stabilize myself.
She looked wrecked. Her lips were swollen and red, bitten and kissed thoroughly. Her eyes were blown wide, dark with lust. Her hair was a disaster.
She looked beautiful.
"You kissed me," she accused, breathless.
"You provoked me," I countered, stepping back. The loss of contact was physically painful. Cold air rushed into the space between us.
"I was teaching you how to smile," she said, touching her lips with trembling fingers.
"I improvised," I said. I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing her again. I needed to leave the room. I needed a cold shower. I needed to run five miles in the snow.
"So," Mila said, her voice finding a bit of its usual sass, though it was thinner now. "Does this mean we’re… what are we doing, Theo?"
"We are training," I said firmly, rebuilding the wall brick by brick. "That was… a stress test. To test your focus."
"A stress test?" She let out a hysterical little laugh. "You had your tongue down my throat, Theo. That wasn't a test. That was a takeover."
"Did you fail?" I asked, raising a brow.
Mila stared at me. She smoothed her hoodie down, regaining her composure. She lifted her chin.
"I didn't run away," she said softly. "So no. I didn't fail."
She was right. She hadn't run. She had leaned in.
"Go to bed, Mila," I said, turning away before I did something unforgivable. "Curfew was ten minutes ago."
"You’re a tyrant," she called after me.
"I’m the Captain," I shot back over my shoulder.
I walked down the hallway to my room, closing the door and locking it. I leaned back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor. I put my head in my hands.
My hands were shaking.
I could still taste her.
The deal was supposed to be simple. Discipline for Charm. Structure for Rehabilitation.
But as I sat there in the dark, listening to the blood roar in my ears, I realized the terrifying truth.
I wasn't teaching her anything. She was dismantling me.
And I was letting her do it.