27. Katya
Katya
Dmitri’s security consultant is installing equipment in our bedroom while pretending to protect us from government spies, and I’m the only one who knows that Pavel Romanov is FSB.
I watch from the kitchen as he adjusts what looks like a signal jammer on the nightstand, knowing damn well it’s probably a listening device disguised as countersurveillance equipment. The irony would be hilarious if it weren’t so fucked up.
“How’s the installation going?” I call out.
“Almost finished with the bedroom,” Pavel replies. “Then I’ll move on to the office.”
I almost bark out a laugh, but I catch it in time. Every device he’s installing gives the FSB better access to monitor Dmitri’s activities while maintaining the fiction that Pavel is protecting us from government intrusion.
Dmitri emerges from his office with his phone pressed to his ear, speaking Russian. When he spots me in the kitchen, he ends the call and walks over.
“Everything okay?” I ask, though I already know the answer from his body language.
“Just some territory disputes.” He stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest. “How are you feeling about all the security upgrades?”
The question carries weight I’m not supposed to understand. He’s testing whether I’m comfortable with Pavel’s presence or if I suspect anything about the real purpose of these installations.
“Better,” I lie smoothly. “Knowing we’re protected makes everything feel more normal.”
Normal. What a joke. Nothing about this situation has ever been normal.
Dmitri’s mouth finds the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and he presses soft kisses there that make my traitorous body respond despite everything I know about him. His touch still affects me the same way it did when I believed I was his wife. Maybe more now that I understand the stakes.
“Pavel should be finished soon,” he murmurs against my skin. “Then we’ll have privacy again.”
Privacy. Another lie. We’ll have privacy—on paper. In reality, every word is theirs. But Dmitri doesn’t know that, which gives me an advantage I’m not yet sure how to use.
“Good,” I breathe, leaning back against him. “I’ve missed being alone with you.”
It’s not entirely a lie. Despite everything he’s done, the psychological manipulation, and the elaborate deception, some part of me has missed the intimacy we shared at the estate.
Pavel appears in the doorway with his toolkit. “Installation complete. All devices are active and providing a full spectrum of protection.”
“Excellent,” Dmitri replies without moving away from me.
“The equipment operates continuously. You’ll have immediate notification of any surveillance attempts.”
“And your reconnaissance tonight?”
“Still scheduled. I’ll gather intelligence on their capabilities and report back in the morning.”
Dmitri and I stand in the kitchen after Pavel leaves, pretending everything is normal while we’re surrounded by devices that are probably recording our every word.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Not particularly.”
“You barely touched breakfast.”
“I’ve had other things on my mind.”
He turns me around so I’m facing him, and his green eyes search my face. “Such as?”
“You. Us. Whether this security situation is as serious as Pavel thinks it is.”
“It’s serious enough that we need to be careful about what we say and do until the threat passes. We should probably limit conversations about business or personal matters to rooms Pavel has secured.”
Which means Dmitri wants to move our important discussions to locations where the FSB will have the best audio quality. The man is unknowingly cooperating with his own surveillance.
“What about this room?”
“Pavel installed scramblers here, so we should be protected.”
Protected. Right. “Good to know.”
I step closer to him, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes and smell the cedar scent that clings to his skin. The man who kidnapped me, manipulated my memories, and has lied to me for weeks about my identity.
The man I can’t stop wanting despite everything.
“Dmitri?”
“Yes?”
I note the concern etched around his eyes and the way he holds himself like he’s bracing for bad news. He’s been watching me carefully since we returned from the estate, waiting for signs that something has changed. Something has. Everything has.
But not in the way he expects.
“I need you.”
The confession slips out before I can stop it, and the honesty in my voice surprises both of us. Because it’s true. I need him, but on my terms this time. I need to choose him instead of being manipulated into wanting him.
I need to take back some control in a situation where I’ve had none.
Or maybe I’m just fucked up enough to want the man who destroyed my life.
Either way, I’m done being his victim. If I’m going to want him and give myself to him, it will be my choice. My decision. My terms.
For once in this nightmare, I’m going to be the one in control.
“Katya…”
“Don’t think about it. Don’t analyze it. Just come with me.”
I take his hand and lead him toward the bedroom, hyperaware of the equipment Pavel installed throughout the space. Let the FSB record this. Let them document how thoroughly I’ve been compromised by my target.
Let them see what love looks like when it’s built on lies that somehow became real.
The bedroom door closes behind us, and suddenly, we’re alone in the space that’s become the center of our complicated relationship. The bed where I gave myself to him, believing I was his wife. The room where I discovered the truth about my identity.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“I’m sure about wanting you. Everything else can wait.”
I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head before dropping it on the floor beside the bed. Dmitri’s eyes darken as he takes in the crimson bra underneath, and I can see his control fraying at the edges.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
He strips off his shirt with movements that seem almost reluctant, like he’s afraid this moment might disappear if he moves too quickly. When his chest is bare, I run my hands over the muscles I’ve memorized, feeling the way his breathing changes under my touch.
I press my mouth to his throat and taste salt on his skin. His pulse races under my lips, and I know mine is doing the same thing. Whatever this is between us, it exists independent of the lies and manipulation. It’s the one real thing in a situation built entirely on deception.
His hands find the clasp of my bra and release it, and the garment falls away before his palms cover my breasts with the reverent touch I remember from the estate. Like I’m something precious he’s afraid to break.
“Touch me,” I whisper against his collarbone.
“I am touching you.”
“More. Everywhere.”
His mouth captures mine in a kiss that tastes like desperation and need and things we can’t say out loud. I open for him, letting him heighten the connection while my hands work at his belt.
“Bed,” he growls against my lips.
“Not yet.”
I push him back against the closed door and drop to my knees in front of him. His breath hitches as I free him from his pants, and when I wrap my hand around his length, he moans like I’m killing him slowly.
“Katya, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
I take him into my mouth, and the sound he makes in response goes straight between my legs. He tastes like salt and forbidden things that I want desperately. When I work him with my tongue, his hand tangles in my hair.
“Fuck, that feels incredible.”
I vary my pace, alternating between gentle suction and firm strokes that make him buck against my mouth. The power I have over him in this moment is intoxicating, like I’m the one in control despite everything else between us.
“Stop,” he pants after several minutes. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
I release him and let him pull me to my feet. His hands make quick work of my remaining clothes until I’m naked in front of him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.
“Show me.”
He lifts me easily and carries me to the bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness before he finishes stripping out of his clothes. When he settles between my thighs, I can feel how hard he is against my entrance.
“I need you to want this.” He searches my face. “ Really want it, not just…”
“I want you. Despite everything, or because of everything, I don’t know anymore. But I want you.”
The honesty breaks something loose in him. He kisses me with renewed hunger while his hand slides between my legs to find me wet and ready for him.
“So ready for me,” he murmurs against my mouth as he strokes through my folds.
“Always ready for you.”
He slides two fingers inside me, and I bow off the bed with a gasp. The stretch feels perfect, familiar, like my body was made for his touch. When he adds a third finger, I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound I make.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let me hear you.”
He works me with a steady rhythm, building pleasure with the skill of someone who’s learned exactly how to make me fall apart. When his thumb finds my clit, I cry out and grip his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
“Please,” I gasp. “I need you inside me.”
“Not yet. I want to watch you come first.”
He increases the pace of his fingers while his mouth moves down my body to capture one nipple between his teeth. The dual sensation makes stars explode behind my eyelids, and I feel my orgasm build like a storm.
“Dmitri, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can. Come for me, kotyonok.”
The endearment pushes me over the edge. I spasm around his fingers with a cry that reverberates through the room, and my inner muscles clench rhythmically as waves of pleasure crash through me.
“Beautiful,” he breathes as he works me through the aftershocks. “Absolutely perfect.”
When I can focus again, I find him watching me with something that looks dangerously close to love in his eyes. The expression should terrify me, but instead it makes my chest ache.
“My turn to make you fall apart,” I tell him.
I push him onto his back and straddle his hips, positioning myself over his length. When I sink onto him slowly, we both groan at the perfect sensation of him filling me.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he pants.
“So do you.”
I start moving with slow, rolling motions that make him grip my hips hard enough to bruise. The angle hits every nerve ending, and I can feel another orgasm building despite having just climaxed.
“Faster,” he demands.
“No. Slow. I want to feel every inch of you.”
I continue the torturous pace, watching his face transform with pleasure and frustration. When he tries to thrust up into me, I pin his hands above his head and lean down to bite his lower lip.
“My rules,” I whisper.
“You’re killing me.”
“Good.”
I increase the pace gradually, building both our pleasure with control. When I finally move faster and ride him with abandon, he sits up to capture one of my nipples in his mouth.
“Yes,” I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair. “Just like that.”
The new angle makes him hit the spot inside me that turns my vision white. I grind desperately against him, chasing the release that’s building like pressure behind a dam.
“Come with me,” I pant. “I want to feel you lose control.”
He responds by flipping us over and driving into me with powerful thrusts that make the headboard slam against the wall. The sudden change in position and pace pushes me right to the edge.
“Now,” he growls. “Come for me now.”
My second orgasm hits like a tidal wave, and I scream his name as my body convulses around him. The pulsating of my inner muscles triggers his release, and he spills inside me with a grunt.
We collapse together afterward, panting and slick with sweat. He pulls me against his chest, and I melt into his embrace despite everything I know about the lies between us.
“What was that all about?” he asks between ragged breaths.
I suck in a shaky inhale and reply, “I needed to feel something real.”
“And was it?” he asks, watching me. “Real?”
I lift my head to look at him, noting the hope in his green eyes. For a moment, he looks younger, less dangerous, like someone I might have loved under different circumstances.
“The realest thing in my life right now.”
It’s the truth, which makes it more devastating than any lie he’s told me. Regardless of how this started, the manipulation, and the deception, what I feel for this man has become genuine.
What I don’t tell him is that he matters to me, despite everything. That I’m falling in love with my captor while planning my escape. That every moment of intimacy will make the eventual betrayal more painful for both of us.
Eventually, one of us will have to choose between love and survival.
And I’m not sure either of us will make the right choice.