Chapter 5 Mila
Mila
One night won’t change anything.
That’s what I tell myself as I stand in this candlelit safe house with Alexei staring at me like he wants to devour me whole.
One night to burn it out of my system. To prove to myself that he’s just a man. Nothing special. Nothing I can’t walk away from in the morning.
If I’m going to burn, it will be on my terms.
Except my hands are shaking, and I’m pretty sure he can see it.
“Well?” The scent of cedar and whiskey wraps around me. “What’s it going to be, Zaika?”
I hate that nickname. Hate how it makes me feel small and vulnerable. I hate even more that my body responds anyway.
“One night,” I hear myself say. “That’s all this is.”
“One night,” he agrees, but something in his voice tells me he doesn’t believe it anymore than I do.
“And we don’t talk about it after. We don’t tell anyone. This stays between us.”
“Fine.”
“I’m serious, Alexei. My father can’t know. No one can know.”
My face is still in his hands, and he tilts my head back until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “No one will know. I promise.”
The gentleness in his touch contradicts everything I know about him. Everything I’ve heard. Alexei Kozlov doesn’t do gentle. He takes what he wants and destroys anyone who gets in his way.
But right now, he’s touching me like I might break.
“Stop thinking so much,” he says against my mouth. “Just feel.”
He kisses me before I can respond, and this time, there’s no wall behind me for support. No anger fueling the contact. Just his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, and the overwhelming sense that I’m making a mistake I’ll regret for months.
I kiss him back anyway.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and I taste whiskey and something darker. Something that makes me inch closer despite every instinct screaming at me to run. My hands find his shoulders, then his chest, then the buttons of his shirt.
“Eager,” he teases when I fumble with the first button.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
I answer by yanking his shirt open. Buttons fly, but I don’t care. I need to see him. To prove to myself that he’s just flesh and bone and muscle like any other man.
Except he’s not.
His torso is carved by years of violence. Scars mark his skin. A wolf tattoo stretches over his shoulder. It’s fitting, because that’s what he is. A beautiful predator.
“Like what you see?” He sounds amused.
I try for an indifferent shrug. “You’re tolerable.”
He chuckles as he pulls my sweater over my head, and then we’re both half-naked in the candlelight. His eyes roam over me, taking in the black lace bra I chose like some part of me knew I’d end up here, undressing in front of him.
Maybe some part of me did.
“Beautiful,” he says, and for once, there’s no taunt in his voice.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“Zaika, I don’t waste words.” He traces one finger along the edge of my bra, barely touching skin. “You walked away six months ago, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
“Good.”
He laughs and hauls me against him, against the hard length that’s bulging into my hip. Skin on skin. Heat and want and the terrifying realization that I’m in way over my head.
His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. Each kiss burns through me until I’m relying on his shoulders just to stay upright.
“Bed,” he says against my skin. “Now.”
I should tell him the truth—that he’s the first—but he’s cocky enough already. I won’t give him that power.
He leads me down a hallway to a bedroom that looks like it hasn’t been used in months. The sheets are clean, though, and when he lays me down, the mattress gives under my weight like it’s been waiting for this.
Alexei strips off the rest of his clothes without ceremony. No performance. No attempt to seduce. That should be a turnoff, but somehow, it makes me want him more.
Then he’s naked, and I forget how to breathe.
His cock is thick and hard, and my stomach flips with nerves as I realize what’s about to happen. What I’m about to let him do.
There’s no going back after this. No pretending I’m the same person I was before I walked through that door.
“Your turn,” he says.
My jeans and underwear come off in one motion. The bra follows. And then I’m naked in front of a man who’s seen more women than I can probably count.
“Changed your mind?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good.”
He nudges my thighs apart as he climbs over me, and I expect him to just get on with it. To take what he wants and be done. But instead, he kisses me again. Slowly and thoroughly, like we have all night instead of just these stolen hours.
His hand slides down my stomach. Lower. Until his fingers find wetness and heat that betrays exactly how much I want this despite my better judgment.
“Still wet for me,” he says against my mouth.
“Don’t gloat.”
“Can’t help it.”
He circles my clit with his thumb while one finger slides inside me. I bite my lip to keep from making noise. From giving him the satisfaction of knowing how good this feels as he slides in and out, curling as he goes.
“I want to taste you,” he says.
I open my mouth, to say what, I don’t know, but he’s moving down my body. Kissing my stomach, my hip bones, the inside of my thighs. His breath ghosts across my center, and I nearly come off the bed.
“Alexei—”
“Shh.” His tongue drags through my folds, and my mind goes blank.
He goes down on me like he’s starving. Slow at first. Then deeper. I stop thinking and just feel.
His tongue circles my clit with perfect pressure while his fingers continue working inside me.
“Oh, God,” I breathe.
“That’s it.” His voice rumbles against sensitive flesh. “Let me hear you.”
He adds a second finger, and the stretch makes me gasp. It’s not painful, just new. A preview of what’s coming that makes my stomach clench with nerves and anticipation.
His tongue never stops moving. Never gives me a chance to think or reconsider or remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea. He just keeps working me until I’m on the edge of something even more intense than what I felt the last time we were together.
“Come for me, Mila.” His voice roughens, low and lethal.
The command tips me over. My back bows off the bed as the orgasm crashes through me, stealing breath and thought and every defense I’ve carefully constructed. He works me through it, gentling his touch only when the aftershocks fade.
“You taste incredible,” he tells me when he finally pulls back.
I can’t form words yet. Hell, I can barely remember my name.
He kisses up my body until we’re face to face again. “You ready for me?” he asks.
No. Not even close.
But I nod anyway.
“Relax,” he encourages me as he positions himself at my entrance.
Easy for him to say.
He pushes forward slowly. Just the tip. And already, I can feel the difference between fingers and this. The burning stretch that makes me tense despite my best efforts to stay loose.
He pushes deeper.
The pain is immediate. Not unbearable, but enough to make my eyes water. I dig my nails into his shoulders and try to keep my face neutral. Try not to give away what this means.
He pauses. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” The word comes out strangled.
“You’re tight as hell.” He groans and adds, “It feels fucking incredible.”
I force myself to nod. To act like this is normal. Like I’ve done this a hundred times before.
He pushes forward again. Slower this time. Giving me time to adjust to each inch until he’s fully seated inside me.
Full. That’s the only word my brain can come up with. So full that I can’t tell where I end, and he begins.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel amazing.”
He starts moving. Small motions at first. Testing what works. The pain gradually fades, and in its place comes something else. Something that builds with each careful thrust until I hear myself begging, “Don’t stop.”
“Good girl,” he says, voice low and rough. “I knew you could take all of me.”
He increases his pace, and his hips roll against mine in a rhythm that has me gasping. One hand latches onto my hip while the other braces beside my head.
I watch his face as he moves inside me. Watch pleasure play across his features. He’s focused entirely on the sensations, on chasing his release.
His hand finds my breast, and his thumb circles my nipple. I suck in a gasp as they pebble under his touch, and my body starts to respond. To understand the rhythm and move with him instead of against him.
“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that.”
He slides his hand between us and finds my clit, where he circles and flicks, and suddenly, the discomfort doesn’t matter anymore because pleasure is building low in my belly with each thrust.
I come apart underneath him, biting his shoulder to muffle the sounds trying to escape. He follows seconds later, grunting my name as he buries himself deep.
We stay like that for several heartbeats. Connected. Breathing hard. When he turns back to me, something in his eyes makes panic settle in my stomach.
“Stay.” It’s not a request.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this was one night. That was the deal.”
“Fuck the deal.”
“No.” I sit up and look around for my clothes. “I need to go.”
He watches me dress without trying to stop me. Just sits there naked on the bed like an ancient god who’s amused by mortal foolishness.
When I’m clothed, I head for the door.
He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t try to convince me to stay. Just lets me leave with my dignity barely intact.
The drive home passes in a blur of streetlights and regret. My body aches in ways I’ve never experienced.
Evidence of what we did. What I let him do.
What I wanted him to do.
I park in the garage and slip inside through the kitchen entrance. The house is dark and silent. Papa must already be asleep.
I make it to my bedroom and lock the door behind me. Strip off my clothes and step into the shower. Hot water pounds my skin while I clean away the evidence of tonight. There’s blood. Not much, but enough to confirm what just happened.
Alexei Kozlov took my virginity in an empty safe house—and he doesn’t even know it.
The water runs clear after a minute or so. I dry off and climb into bed wearing nothing but an old T-shirt. Sleep should come easily after everything my body’s been through tonight.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I lie awake replaying every moment. Every touch. Every word. The way he looked at me afterward like I was something precious instead of just another conquest.
Like I already belonged to him.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to my normal life. My studies. My carefully planned routine without dangerous men with wolf tattoos and knowing hands.
Tomorrow, I’ll pretend tonight never happened.
But right now, all I can think about is the way he said my name when he came.
Morning arrives with Papa pounding on my bedroom door.
“Mila! Get up. We need to talk.”
I groan and check my phone. Seven thirty. Too early for whatever crisis he’s manufactured.
“Give me ten minutes,” I call back.
“Five.”
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. My reflection shows what I’m afraid of. Finger-bruises on my hips. A hickey I missed last night. Evidence that needs concealing before I face my father.
Concealer and foundation work miracles. By the time I emerge from my room, I look like a respectable graduate student instead of someone who just had the best and worst night of her life.
Papa waits in his study. The door is open, which means this conversation is happening whether I want it to or not.
“Close the door,” he tells me without looking up from his computer.
I do. Then I take a seat in the chair across from his desk and wait.
“Photographs are circulating.” He turns his monitor so I can see. “From the wedding.”
My stomach drops.
The images are grainy but clear enough. Alexei and me in the garden. His hand under my dress. My head thrown back in obvious pleasure.
“Where did you get these?” I manage.
“They were emailed to me this morning from a throwaway account. No message.” He closes the laptop. “Someone wants us to know they’re watching.”
“Who?”
“Good question. Could be rivals who want to disrupt any potential alliance between our families. Could be someone inside the Kozlov organization testing our response. Could be a lot of things.”
I force myself to breathe normally. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Yet.” He studies my face for a long moment. “But I need to know. Is this real or just physical?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play stupid, Mila. Are you involved with Alexei Kozlov, or was this just champagne and bad judgment?”
“It was nothing. A mistake that won’t happen again.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a stack of papers.
“Because I’ve received three threats in the past week warning us against playing nice with the Kozlovs.
Someone wants to make it very clear they’re prepared to act if we strengthen ties with Dmitri’s family.
We can’t afford to refuse an alliance with them, so it would be nice if we had their firepower behind us. ”
“That has nothing to do with me and Alexei.”
“You getting involved with him solves several problems.” He slides the papers across the desk.
I scan the documents. He’s not lying. Dates and times of suspicious activity around our property. Photographs of Papa leaving the house. A whole file documenting the fact that someone has been watching us.
“This is serious,” I say.
“Very serious. Which is why your little garden encounter might be good news.” He retrieves the papers and locks them back in the drawer. “If you and Alexei develop a genuine relationship, it gives us protection. No one would risk attacking the girlfriend of a Kozlov heir.”
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
“But you could be.”
“I told you I wanted to finish school.”
“And I’m telling you that without the right alliances, you won’t live long enough to finish your doctorate. Someone is targeting this family, Mila. We need the Kozlov connection, and fate has given us a second chance.”
“You want me to date Alexei to secure a business alliance.”
“I want you to survive. If that means getting close to a man you’re already attracted to, I don’t see the problem.”
I stand, ready to leave, and he mirrors the movement.
“Think about it, Mila. You’re already involved with him. You crossed lines you can’t uncross. Might as well make it mean something.”
He dismisses me with a wave, and I leave his study before I say something I’ll regret.
Back in my room, I stare at my phone. No messages from Alexei. No acknowledgement of last night. Just silence.
It’s louder than anything he could’ve said.
Papa’s right about one thing. I can’t uncross the lines I crossed last night.
But I can damn well pretend they don’t exist.