12
So when I found Rhaegar in his room on his giant cot after taking a shower, I figured, what the hell?
I petted him for a while and then laid down next to him gingerly to see if he’d growl and chase me away, but he didn’t. He just snuggled up closer, like a giant, breathing teddy bear. And okay, maybe it was a bit cramped. But sleeping next to him made me feel less alone. And cold.
Seriously, the dog was a living water bottle. And somewhere between all of it, I fell asleep. Now it’s the morning, and sunlight pours through the windows, making me squint hard as I peel my eyes open.
I hear panting and look up to find Rhaegar circling me, his tail wagging eagerly. Was he waiting for me to wake up?
My question is answered when he notices I’m awake and bounds to me, licking at me ferociously. I laugh, trying to fight him off but it’s useless, so I just send my hand down his pelt, petting him. “Hey, big guy. Thanks for letting me crash last night.”
After a good few minutes of attention, he’s finally satisfied, and he trots back, letting me get up on my feet. I pet his head for a few more seconds, making sure to get that spot he seems to like, then sigh as I return back to reality.
When I walk out of the room, I can hear the faint sound of a shower running upstairs, and my face turns sour.
He’s here. Torren.
He must have come back last night after I fell asleep.
A slow grin touches my lips. Torren Costa is going to wish he never forced me into his house. Or his life.
I grab my toothbrush and a change of clothes from my room and pad up the stairs with bare feet, tracing my steps back to his room. The sound of the shower grows louder as I get closer, and when I’m finally at the entrance of the bathroom, I take a deep breath and enter it.
I can only see the outline of his body through the fogged up shower glass, and I try my best not to drag my eyes too far down. The masculine scent of his body wash permeates the air — fresh soap, white musk, and flashes of citrus.
His figure freezes the moment I enter, and even though his back is turned to me, he knows I’m here.
The fog makes the glass screen of the shower hazy, but there’s no mistaking the thick, corded muscles in his back and the smooth caramel skin coating them. If I didn’t have a mortal hatred for the man, I might be able to appreciate his form more.
I was expecting some sort of reaction from him, but… nothing. I could be here to kill him for all he knows, but he doesn’t seem to care as he continues showering, blatantly ignoring me.
Fine.
Two can play at that game.
I walk up to his sink and find the toothpaste, squeezing some on my toothbrush. I would’ve usedhistoothbrush to really piss him off, but I don’t know what’s been in that mouth of his, and I don’t want to catch mono or something.
I’m halfway through with brushing my teeth when he steps out the shower behind me. The room seems to shrink two sizes, suddenly too small with his dominating presence. The mirror in front of me is too fogged up for me to see much of him, and I’m actually thankful for it.
For a moment I think he’s going to walk out the bathroom, ignoring me completely, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks up to me.
I catch the faint reflection of him in the mirror.
His dark hair is wet, falling thick and heavy with water over his forehead.
He has a towel hanging low on his waist, exposing his tanned, muscled chest all way to his deep V line.
Droplets of water glisten on the surface of his smooth caramel skin, and I wrench my gaze away, staring straight ahead.
His jaw is tight, his gaze hard as he sets it one me. “You have your own bathroom.”
“It’s too small,” I lie. My bathroom is the size of a small country.
His jaw clenches tighter, but he says nothing. My lungs constrict as he walks closer to me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I can conjure to not back away.
But he doesn’t stop there.
He edges closer and closer, until he’s practically caging me against the granite sink.
I’m still facing the mirror, dressed in just a strappy black cami and a tiny pair of sleep shorts, and most of my skin is bare and exposed, so I can feel the heat radiating from the bare skin of his chest behind me.
I’m not breathing now. And for a second, my toothbrush just halts in my hand as I stop moving.
He’s close. So close I can feel his hot breath on my neck, the scent of freshly washed flesh heavenly. A droplet of water falls from his hair to my collarbone. Heat pulses between my legs and a fever breaks out on my skin as I force my hand to keep moving my toothbrush.
Then his arm rushes out, and I’m about to burst out an exclamation, but turns out he’s just reaching for his own toothbrush. And as he collects it, the skin of his arm grazes against mine. Heat explodes in my stomach at the faint touch, and I bristle, edging away.
For a second, my gaze snatches on his hand. It’s huge and calloused, with thick, long fingers and a few faint white scars, veins dancing down to his wrist.
Perfect.
I wonder how it feel if he splayed his rough hand on my stomach and palmed down into the waistband of my shorts and slid two fingers inside me, all at once.
But then I remember how it felt when he slid the ring on my finger, and a flash of irritation pulses deep inside me, both at my depraved thoughts and at the fact that I’m feeling any attraction to him at all.
His toothbrush is electric, and when he switches it on, it buzzes in a way that reminds me of last night, when I used the vibrator right in front of the camera.
He must have seen it by now. Whoever is in charge of keeping track of the footage must have notified him. So why hasn’t he said anything?
A glance into the now empty shower displays all my shampoos and body washes, untouched. And yet… not a single word of complaint from him.
It’s driving me crazy.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. It’s harsh, cold, insistent. Unyielding. And for a brief moment, we just stare at each other while we’re both brushing our teeth — a picture perfect domestic couple. If they both were trying to figure out different ways to torture and kill each other.
Touching myself in front of the security camera and shoving all my products into his shower — it didn’t work. He won’t take the bite.
I grit my teeth and chuck my toothbrush into his fancy little holder, deciding to call it quits. But when I lean forward to rinse my mouth, my ass brushes against the towel covering his dick.
He’s hard.
A soft breath leaves my lips as I swipe water over my mouth hastily and turn, brushing past him.
But just as fast, his hand comes around my waist as he pulls me back to him.
I’m only given a moment’s pause before he sets down his toothbrush, his rough hands branding my hips before he hoists my ass up on the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I grit my teeth, bracing my hands on either side of me on the cool granite. I’m about to hop off, when he steps closer, eating up the space between us and giving me no way to get off the counter.
His waist is pressed firmly against me, barring me from moving. I struggle and fidget anyway, and the fucking asshole grins — actuallygrins— as he casually leans forward to collect a glass before gulping the water and spitting it out in the sink.
For a brief, torturous second, I’m enraptured by the way his mouth moves as he spits. I quickly snap out of it, gritting my teeth.
“Move,” I growl, squirming my legs against him.
He tilts his head as he soaks up my expression, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t take orders from little Russian girls.”
His gaze is liquid heat, pupils dilating as it drops to the heart locket around my neck, and then lower, to my chest, then my exposed thighs. Then his eyes go so black I skip a breath.
Slowly, tentatively, like he can’t help it, or he’s being moved by something otherworldly, he lifts his left hand, all the ink on it disappearing as he flips it over to show an open palm.
Then, like he’s testing my limits, his inked middle finger nears my skin — at the scar on my knee cap.
He lifts his gaze to me. Watching. Waiting. For me to snap at him, to tell him to get the hell away from me.
But I don’t.
I don’t know why, but I don’t.
His lids lower, his jaw clenching like he got an answer. And then the back of his hand meets the skin just above my knee, and my breath hitches, my heart plummeting down into my stomach. He leans forward so that his face is inches from mine, and I swallow at the proximity.
His touch is wildfire, hot and searing and all-consuming as his middle finger slowly grazes up my thigh. It’s a slow, torturous descent as he trails his finger to the hem of my shorts.
And then tugs at it.
“Is this for me?” he says in my ear, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper, “To rile me up?”
So just when I decide to wear what I want, he thinks I dress for him? I scowl, pushing his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“It’s cute, how hard you try.” His eyes light up with cruel amusement. “But nothing you ever do will be remotely attractive to me.”
I clench my jaw, even as the comment draws blood. “Is that why your dick is hard?”
Anger flashes in his dark eyes, red hot, before it dulls back and swirls into smug complacency. “Just a little morning wood, baby. Don’t flatter yourself.”
His gaze flickers from my eyes to my lips and then back to my eyes. “You aren’t the object of any of my desires. Other than—”
“Other than what?” I snap, grinding on my molars.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Revenge.”
I crunch my brows. “What did my family do to you that makes you want revenge so damn bad?”
Torren tilts his head, an unplaceable emotion to his features. Something like…pain. “Maybe you should ask your father that.”’
“I will. I’m going home,” I say, “to visit.”
“Are you asking me,” he says slowly, “or telling me?”
I lift my chin slightly. “I don’t need your permission.”
His gaze darkens, a slow, dangerous smile touching his lips. “Don’t you?”
When I don?t bother replying, he speaks again. “I’d like to see you try to get past the guards at the exit of the building.”
I grit my teeth. “What do you want from me?”
“If you ask nicely,” he says, “I might just give you what you want.”
Taking a deep breath, I pause for a moment and try to think rationally. Maybe, just maybe, if I offer him an olive branch, he’ll take it and become more tolerable. I train my voice to steady, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as I ask, “Can I visit home today?”
For a second I think I’ve got him, that he’ll actually listen and stick to his word, but then a slow, lazy sort of amusement enters his eyes. “This is your home.”
I clench my jaw as a humiliation blooms in my chest. He made me ask for permission only to turn me down. “You lied.”
“That’s what I do, sweetheart,” he says. “I lie and cheat and steal. I’m a son of a bitch, but I’m the son of a bitch you chose to marry.” He pauses, his dark lashes lowering as his jaw tightens. “Do you think I didn’t notice your little stunt with my security camera yesterday?”
That’s it.
That’s what I wanted. So hedidsee it.
A slow grin splits my lips. “I think you did more than just notice it.”
There’s a flash of that anger I’ve become so well acquainted with. “Careful.”
But it’s too late. I’m already riding the high, and as my gaze falls to his warm, muscled flesh, I decide I want to test out my little theory.
Still perched on the granite sink with him in front of me, I lift my right hand and place it flat on the bare skin of his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath and clenches his jaw, and I can tell he’s about to dish out another snide instruction, but I glance up at him, lifting my brow in challenge.
And he draws back, his expression blank. He’s playing my little game with me, showing me that my touch doesn’t affect him at all. Good.
I drag my hand further down his chest, and when my nails graze his brown nipple, a deep rumble resounds from his chest, but his face is still blank, his jaw clamped shut. I press harder, tracing the ridges of his hot flesh as I draw my hand down, down, down, until—
“Carry on,” he snarls, “and I’ll fuck you right here, down the sink.”
His words send blood rushing between my legs, but I ignore the feeling and grin up at him becauseha!I win.
“I thought you said you don’t find me attractive,” I taunt, my voice high pitched and sickeningly sweet, looking up at him as I bat my lashes, “Wouldn’t be too fun fucking someone oh so unattractive, would it?”
He tilts his head as he regards me with faint detachment. “Oh, I’d have fun fucking you, little Morozov. The look on your daddy’s face when I tell him how I ruined you? I could come just thinking about it.”
Rage ricochets in my chest as I swing my arm up to slap him — but he’s too quick.
He catches my wrist in a flash, so fast I almost flinch.
He holds my wrist, not letting go, and gone is the quiet, uncomplaining version of him.
There’s only hatred in his gaze now. A deep red and bleeding hatred.
“You sleep in your bed from now on. I don’t want you near my dog. ”
And the way he said it, like I’m something diseased, makes me grit my teeth. “No.”
“You want to make this difficult, little Morozov?” Suddenly, he grabs both my wrists and pins them against the mirror above me. “We can make this difficult.”
Both our breathing is heavy, and we’re so close they mix. A heady combination of mint and rage. My chest rises and falls, and it’s a good thing he has my hands pinned, or I would have clawed out his fucking face by now.
I know what he means. The longer I resist, the longer he’ll keep me from visiting my family. He can’t stop me alone, but getting past his hoard of men will be close to impossible.
And he knows it — sees the moment all hope and humor fades from my eyes as I realize how outnumbered I am.
But there’s no trace of his usual arrogant smirk, only a strange irritation in his gaze.
He lets go of my wrists like I’m nothing but a worthless penny on the street as he turns and walks out of the bathroom.
“I want all your shit out of my shower,” he calls out, “And if I see you upstairs again, I’ll put a bullet in your pretty little skull.”
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