Chapter 14
NIKOLAI
The front door of the cabin slamming shut pulled me out of whatever haze my mind had slipped into. How the hell did I even get here?
The last thing I could clearly remember was Adrianne telling me I was nothing like him before I snapped at her for poking that little nose of hers where it definitely didn’t belong.
But what infuriated me the most was not knowing if she was being truthful or if it was just a prisoner’s tactic to soften up her captor into taking pity on her.
The possibility that it was the latter was enough to have me shutting down the conversation before it affected me in ways it absolutely shouldn’t.
After that, my brain was a mess. The only clear vision was Adrianne’s panicked face as she rushed out the door.
I forced myself to remember, and soon, fragments surfaced through the fog. Adrianne’s hands on my skin, her voice soft in the darkness. The kisses to my temple. The things I’d said. The things I’d fucking felt.
Mine. Not his. Never his.
Fuck.
I’d let her see me broken. Vulnerable. Begging like a pathetic child for her not to leave me. The shame of those memories burned hotter than any fever.
Pressing my finger and thumb against my eyes, I tried to breathe through the bobbing headache that threatened to split my skull in two.
Right then, the most alluring of scents hit my nose, and when I brought my fingers closer for a deeper inhale, my cock stirred against my sticky underwear, and another flashback hit me in the chest and groin at the same time.
What the fuck?
My little Babochka came on my fingers and made me explode in my damn pants.
My underwear was wet with my cum while my fingers smelled of the sweetest of cunts. Her cum was draped all over my hand, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I pulled my index into my mouth and licked every single remnant of her that clung to my skin, repeating the process with the next digit.
They were clean all too quickly, while I was left like a rabid animal, ravenous for more.
Before I could entertain that thought for too long, realization hit me. Adrianne was my captive; she would have never allowed me to touch her like this. In the midst of my feverish haze, had I forced her?
Fuck, no. That couldn’t have happened. Right?
For the first time since witnessing Sasha being raped through the crack of a door, panic flooded my veins.
Why the hell didn’t she leave me to freeze to death? Why did she care for my wounds? I’m a fucking monster, and if there was any doubt, touching her against her will just clarified the fuck out of it. Why the actual fuck did she run away?
What? Wrong question.
That’s the logical thing to do. She should have run away at the very first opportunity. Yet, she stayed and cared for me first. So why was I so pissed that she left? Better yet, why was I so pissed that she stayed?
The sight of the bloody knife by the hearth, the strips of cloth that looked suspiciously like they’d come from the shirt I’d dressed her in, the careful way my wound had been cleaned and bandaged. It all made me sick with a fury I couldn’t understand.
I was back on my feet, roaming the cabin, trying to make sense of the mess in my head as I cleaned myself up. It was useless. The more I tried to reason with myself, the more confused I got.
Plus, how the fuck does a thirty-six year old criminal come in his pants from fingering a woman?
“Where the hell is she?”
Just when I was about to march to the door to hunt Adrianne down, it creaked open.
Adrianne stumbled through the entrance, her arms wrapped around firewood, snow clinging to her hair and jacket.
She was shivering violently, her lips tinged blue with cold, and her pants were soaked through, clinging to her legs.
She’d left in such a hurry that she went out into the cold in nothing but leggings.
“Where the hell have you been?” I snapped, crossing the room in three wide strides.
She startled slightly, almost dropping the wood as her eyes found mine. “You’re a-awake.”
“What the hell were you thinking going out in that blizzard?” I ripped the wood from her arms, dumping it by the fireplace before turning back to her again. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m f-fine,” she tried, but her whole body was shaking.
“No, you’re not,” I replied, taking in her soaked jacket, the way the flimsy fabric of those leggings stuck to her legs, the violent trembling she couldn’t control even as she tried. “We need to get you out of these clothes before you catch pneumonia.”
“What?” Her eyes went wide as I reached for the zipper of her jacket and yanked it all the way down. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you warm before you freeze to death.” I pulled the jacket off her shoulders, ignoring her protests. “Lift your arms.”
“Nikolai!”
“Lift them.” The command came out rougher than intended, but she complied, letting me pull the wet sweater over her head.
She stood there in just her bra and soaked pants, arms crossed over her chest, shivering so hard her teeth clicked together. I tried to focus on the goal: getting her dry and warm. But my traitorous eyes kept drifting to the curves barely concealed by wet lace.
I dropped to my knees in front of her, unlaced her boots, and slid them off each foot before placing my hands on the waistband of her pants.
“Hold still.”
I yanked the wet piece down in one sharp motion, the soaked fabric peeling away from her skin. She gasped at the sudden movement, but didn’t protest as I helped her unhook her feet.
Kneeling there, my hands resting on her bare calves, I looked up at her with all the fury I couldn’t contain.
“Why the hell didn’t you take that moment to run?” My voice was raw, accusing. “You could have set yourself free. It’s like you don’t have any survival instincts at all.”
I wasn’t sure what angered me the most, that she’d come back, or that she left in the first place.
Her hand came down to push a strand of hair away from my eyes, the gesture so gentle it made my chest ache. “I couldn’t leave you. You went back for me, so I couldn’t just leave you to die.”
Disappointment crashed over me like a bucket of the coldest water. My eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at her anymore. “You don’t have a debt to pay, Adrianne. Not to me, anyway.”
“I know.” Her hand slid through my hair now. Her fingers combing through my dark strands with maddening tenderness.
Involuntarily, my head fell forward until my forehead rested against her thigh, my hand sliding up from her calf to the back of her leg. The touch was electric, wrong, and yet so fucking right.
“Look at me,” She whispered.
I needed a moment to clear the disappointment from my features, to build my walls back up before I could meet her eyes again.
“It honestly didn’t even cross my mind,” She said softly. “Leaving you wasn’t an option.”
I stood slowly, my tall frame towering over her nearly naked form. “You foolish little moth. I’m the flame that burns, Addy. Not the one that saves.”
“I’m too cold to feel the burn.” She whispered so low I almost missed it.
I stepped closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me.
Her skin felt like ice against my warmth, but I could feel her pulse racing where our bodies touched.
My lips settled against her ear, and the shiver that ran down her spine had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.
“Can you feel it now?” I breathed against her skin.
“No,” she whispered. Her hand was already trailing up my arm, leaving fire in its wake. “Maybe I can’t be burned, or you’re not as damaging as you think you are.”
My lips grazed her skin, moving from her ear, over her cheek, stopping just before I reached her mouth. We were so close I could taste her breath, could feel the way she trembled against me.
“I can break you in ways you could never imagine.”
“I know. And yet, somehow you still haven’t.”
“I’m a bad man, Babochka. You should run before it’s too late,” I said, despite my free hand coming up to cup her face.
“I think it already is,” She whispered, leaning into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“When I was sick, when the fever took control, did I… did I hurt you? Did I force you to do anything?” Her eyes snapped open, taken aback by my question. Why the hell was I even asking her this? She’s my captive. My fucking prisoner. Why should I care if I hurt her or not?
Past fucking trauma. That’s why.
It almost seemed like I was an amateur criminal who had no idea what the captor etiquette should be. I’ve kidnapped other people before; this was not my first time at it, and I was a damn good kidnapper in the criminal and gory sense of the word.
Still, I was holding my breath waiting for her damn reply.
“No,” She said softly, her eyes boring into mine and not backing down for a single second. Her hand came to grip my wrist, almost to make sure I didn’t pull back from cupping her face. “You didn’t force me to do anything.”
I could feel my shoulders sagging with relief. “Are you sure? I don’t remember everything clearly.”
“You never hurt me,” She said firmly. “You were delirious, probably didn’t even mean the things you said or did, but you never forced me.” I meant it all. Every word, every touch. I just wished I was more myself in the moment to not have these stupid gaps that took away from that memory.
“I touched you.” My lips grazed hers, so fucking eager to taste her.
“I know.”
“And you let me?”
“Yes.” She exhaled in a hushed little moan, as if she were reliving it.
“Why?”
“Because you needed me, and…” Her words hang heavily in the air, and my pulse quickened with the need to know what the real reason was.
“And?”
“And because I wanted you to.” Jesus fucking Christ!
“You shouldn’t want that. Not from me.”
“But I do.” Her confession hit me right in the middle of my chest and that piece of me that beat hollow, suddenly fluttered with a hope I shouldn’t feel.
Our lips grazed again, the barest touch that sent lightning through my veins. I buried my hand in her hair, angling her head to kiss her, when–
My fucking phone buzzed harshly on the table, the sound cutting through the moment and bringing us both back to our harsh reality.
We sprang apart, the spell broken instantly, and I wanted nothing but to murder the fucker responsible. I grabbed the phone with shaking hands, seeing Adrik’s name on the screen.
“What?” I barked, not taking my eyes off Adrianne as she scrambled to cover herself.
“Brat, where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to reach you forever.” Brother.
“We had complications,” I replied, turning away from her, running a hand through my hair.
What the fuck was I thinking? She was leverage. A means to an end. I couldn’t afford to be weak.
“I know. I was in the car behind you when you were ambushed. Barely escaped myself. Are you both alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good. How long can you manage to lay low? We need to make sure Posol's men have cleared the area before we send a rescue team.” Ambassador.
I glanced back at Adrianne. She was covering herself with a blanket like it was an impenetrable shield. “No more than a couple of hours. I need to get out of here.”
I couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford to feel anything for her. The moment I went soft, the moment I let emotion cloud my judgment, I’d lose everything I’d worked for. And I couldn’t afford that.
It was already bad enough that I’d gone back for her, risking fucking everything up.
“We’ll get to you as soon as it’s safe.”
“Make it fast.” I clipped.
“Trouble in paradise?” He was preparing that stupid psych assessment speech of his.
“I’m not in the mood, Adrik. Just get me the fuck out of here so we can set up a contingency plan and get our asses back on track.”
“Got it, Boss. As for the Battaglia girl, should I set up the suite next to yours or can we send her back to Vladimir?” He was pushing my buttons, and if he were standing next to me, my fist would have connected with his jaw already.
“She’s staying in the basement. She’s our prisoner, Adrik. Not a fucking princess we’re meant to save.”
“Noted.” He mocked, as if he were checking items off an imaginary list. “Only one potentially devastating saving allowed per prisoner. Are you sure it’s not best if we backtrack and hand her over?”
“Shut the fuck up and get your job done.”
I hung up and dropped the phone onto the table like it burned.
I couldn’t afford this. One second of weakness, and I was finished.
But my fingers still tasted like her. My pants still clung damp to me after coming like a damn teenager. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t already crossed the line.