Chapter 6 #2
“I… um… so what are you going to put on?” I ask, heat creeping up my neck under that piercing gaze of his.
“Nothing,” he says simply with a wink.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim as he steps closer to the icy surface in nothing but his socks. “You’ll catch your death!”
“How do you Americans say it? Ah yes… this isn’t my first rodeo, milaya. Don’t worry.”
Am I worried? I must be because my chest tightens, afraid this idiot will lose a toe to frostbite just to prove a point.
Kirill steps onto the frozen lake first, his socks whispering over the glassy surface as he tests his weight. Then he glances back at me with that infuriating little smirk, the one that says I know exactly what I’m doing, and you should trust me.
“Come on,” he coaxes, outstretching his hand to me.
I stare down at his boots, unconvinced of this being a good idea. They’re huge on my feet, even with the laces wrapped around my ankles twice, but they’re warm, and apparently, my ticket onto the ice.
“If I break my neck, yours is soon to follow. Remember that,” I warn, slipping my hand into his.
Kirill’s fingers curl around mine, steady and sure. “I’ll catch you before you hit the ground. You have my word.”
“The word of a Bratva underboss… how reassuring.”
I exhale slowly, trying to shake off the nerves crawling up my spine. This cannot be how I go out. If my fate is to die in my prime, then let it be with blood on my blades after I’ve put up a good fight and not from slipping on a damn frozen lake.
The moment my boot touches the ice, I slide—an immediate, uncontrolled swoop that rips a squeal out of me. “Oh, my God!”
He laughs, pulling me closer, moving backward with effortless control while I flail as if the ice personally hated me.
“It’s all about balance,” he says lightly. “Just hold on tight.”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse, gripping his hand harder than necessary as my feet skid out again.
“A little,” he admits, guiding me into another slide. “You’re cute when you pretend not to be terrified.”
“I am not terrified.”
Of course, that’s when I lurch straight into him. His free hand snaps to my waist as he steadies us, his body warm through his thin black shirt under his winter coat, his breath brushing my cheek.
“Sure you’re not.” he murmurs, his lips twitching with amusement.
Damn it.
Hating him would be a lot easier if I wasn’t this obsessed with watching his mouth move.
Unaware of my thoughts, Kirill pushes off again, gliding smoothly in his stupid socks while I cling onto him.
We skate-wobble-fall-skim across the lake in this ridiculous, absurd rhythm that shouldn’t work but somehow does.
The whole thing is so bizarre and so stupidly silly that I start laughing until my ribs ache.
“When you hijacked my class, this is not what I thought we’d be doing,” I manage between laughs.
“And what exactly did you think I wanted to do to you?”
“Have a guess?” I raise a brow at him.
Kirill laughs, that deep, low sound making something flutter in my stomach.
“All in good time, milaya. Let’s get to know each other before we get to know each other,” he says, the last words dripping with suggestion.
“Are you saying that if I told you I’d be okay with you taking me back to my car and fucking my brains out, you’d say no?” I joke halfheartedly, but apparently Kirill doesn’t find it funny.
Instead, he stops dead in his tracks, his black eyes narrowing—dangerous, unreadable. The shift in his gaze wipes the taunting grin right off my face.
“When I take you,” he says slowly, voice low and deliberate, “and I will take you, Stella… it won’t be in the back seat of some car.
” I swallow dryly, hating the way my heartbeat just kicked up a notch.
“Wrap your arms around my neck, milaya.” My pulse stutters as I follow his command.
“It’s time we had a proper dance,” he murmurs, one hand sliding around to rest at the small of my back while the other tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“And learn a few things about one another.”
“You first,” I order, pretending his words didn’t affect me.
Kirill’s lips tilt in a slow, knowing smile. “You just learned my greatest virtue tonight, milaya. I’m a man of patience. Because some things…are worth the wait.” I bite my inner cheek, hating that one moronic joke dropped me straight into the deep end. “Your turn.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
He brushes his thumb over my chin, his eyes flicking to my lips before finding mine again.
“Why don’t you like being called Princess?”
I shift back instinctively, since the question hits a raw nerve, but his hand tightens just enough at my back to keep me from slipping away.
“Ask me something else.”
“No, Stella. Answer the question,” he says, his voice firm.
“Fine, whatever. I don’t like it because it makes me feel weak. There. Are you happy?”
“No,” he whispers softly. “Anything that would dare to take your power away doesn’t make me happy. But it’s just a word, Stella. A small, insignificant word.”
“Well, that small, insignificant word makes me feel even smaller and more insignificant. But you wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
I meet his dark eyes and see nothing but warmth and a quiet, earnest desire to understand me. It’s so disarming that it coaxes me to do something I never thought I would—reveal a weakness to the last man who should know I have any.
“In my world,” I begin, albeit reluctantly, “Princess doesn’t mean tiaras and beautiful dresses.
Being a principessa is the same as having a leash around your neck.
A gilded cage designed to keep you exactly where they want you.
To stop you from growing, from becoming anything more.
Window dressing at best. Owned at worst. That will never be me.
That’s not the kind of woman I want to be. ”
“And what kind of woman is that?”
“Someone fearless,” I exhale. “Someone worthy of respect. Someone who won’t be pushed aside just because of her gender. A woman who commands both fear and loyalty in equal measure.”
Kirill’s obsidian eyes hood at my statement, and my heart begins to race as his gaze drifts back to my lips.
“From where I’m standing, you’ve already succeeded.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says, steady and sure.
My mouth goes dry under the weight of his stare, and yet I’m too much of a coward to confront it. Which only proves my point—I’m not ready. Not yet. But one day, I will be. All I need is my shot, and when I get it, I’ll finally prove my worth. To everyone. Including myself.
“Very well,” Kirill says, loosening his grip on me by perching his hands on my waist. “Tell me what this fearless woman wants out of life. I’m curious.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I frown. “I want to be inducted into the Outfit.”
If I expected a laugh or a snide remark, I clearly miscalculated. Kirill takes my ambition at face value, judging by his next question, “And what does your father think about that?”
“What do you think?” I snort. “He’s less than thrilled about it. But he’s not the only one I have to win over. It’s my mother I have to convince.”
“I have to admit that surprises me. After meeting your mother, I would’ve assumed she’d fight for her daughter’s happiness.”
Kirill’s words slam into me, something tight and ugly twisting beneath my ribs.
“Both things can be true at once,” I mutter. “My mom does want me to be happy. That’s all she’s ever wanted for any of us. But she wants us to be safe too.”
“Ah, I see. And your happiness doesn’t quite align with her need to protect you.”
“No, it doesn’t.” My frown deepens, only to feel Kirill’s thumb glide from one side of my bottom lip to the other.
“I hate that you have to deal with this,” he murmurs. “But I’m glad you’ve got people who love you enough to fight with you.”
“Don’t you have people too?” I ask, my voice coming out far too breathless for my liking.
Kirill removes his thumb from my lip, and the instant emptiness annoys me more than it should.
“I have my brothers.”
“Only your brothers? There isn’t a wife or fiancée waiting for you back in Moscow? Or some girl in the city living rent-free in your apartment as we speak?”
“No wife. No fiancée. And definitely no girl.” He chuckles.
“Too busy with Bratva mayhem to have time to date?”
“No. Not too busy. I just haven’t found anyone I’d actually want to spend time with.”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m not about to point out that he looks more than happy to have chosen to spend his time with me tonight. Still, something tells me he’s well aware. In fact, it’s the only thing on his mind as his eyes drop to my lips.
“Do you want to kiss me, Kill?” I ask point-blank.
“Yes. Very much.”
I lick my lips, my heart racing more at the intensity behind his eyes than his confession.
“Then what’s stopping you?”
A teasing curl pulls at the corner of his mouth. “A promise I made to myself.”
“And what promise was that?”
“That you’d be the one begging me to kiss you.”
My smile stretches wider.
“I see. And do you always keep your promises?”
“I’m having a hard time remembering,” he retorts with a low laugh, though the humor never reaches his eyes. They’re a dark abyss of want and hunger, fixed entirely on me.
“Do you want me to beg?” I ask, batting my eyelashes mockingly.
“Don’t toy with me, Stella. I’m at the brink as it is.”
I lean closer, his lips just a whisper from mine. It would be so easy to give in… to close the gap, to finally taste him. But he still needs to suffer a little more for that stunt he pulled back at school. Even if I might regret it later.
“Stella,” he murmurs, his chest rising slowly. “Are you going to take me out of my misery?”
I move closer still, my arms tightening around his neck as our mouths hover in the same sliver of air. “I would if I could,” I whisper, “but Romanos don’t beg.”
I start to pull away, intending to leave, when Kirill catches by the waist and swings me back until my chest is pressed against his.
“Romanos might not beg,” he rasps, “but we Petrovs? We take what we want.”
In the next heartbeat, his lips are on mine, one hand threading through my hair, the other tightening at my waist to hold me in place.
I’ve been kissed before. And I’ve had more than my share of fun in almost every department. But kissing Kirill is something else entirely. He’s all man. Dominant. Possessive. Hungry. His mouth claims mine, hot and certain, and for a few stolen seconds, I forget every reason I shouldn’t let him.
The kiss starts rough, as if he’d been holding it back for years, but it softens almost immediately. The pressure eases, and his lips move over mine in a rhythm that feels dangerously natural.
Kirill’s hand in my hair tightens just enough to keep me close.
The faint scrape of his stubble grazes my cheek, and the taste of him—smoke, heat, something darker—spills through me and leaves my knees weak.
I press against him without thinking, matching the hunger with my own, until the world beyond this lake stops existing.
He deepens the kiss, slow at first, then greedier, as if testing how far I’ll let him go.
My fingers slide instinctively to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and pulling him closer.
His breath mingles with mine, warm and uneven, and the cold night air becomes a distant thing.
Every shift of his mouth sends another jolt through me—want, need, mixed with something I don’t have a name for. He kisses me like he’s learning me, memorizing me, and I hate how easily I fall into the same rhythm, answering him as if my body’s known his for years.
He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s finally gotten a taste of something he’s been denied for too long. And God help me, I kiss him back with the same fervor.
Kirill’s hand slides from my hair to gently wrap around my throat, guiding me closer with a low, rough sound that vibrates against my lips.
I feel the tremor in his control, the thin line he’s balancing on, and it pulls a helpless moan before I can stop it.
I chase the heat of him without thinking, losing any sense of restraint.
We’re pressed together, breathless, yet it still feels like Kirill’s too far away.
His breath stutters when I cling to him harder, and that’s the moment the kiss shifts—no longer measured, no longer careful.
His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him, his mouth moving over mine like he can’t get enough, can’t taste me fast enough.
A low, ragged groan escapes him, shredding whatever composure I had left. I answer it without thinking, lips parting as heat floods through me in a way that terrifies and consumes in equal measure.
It’s too much. And not enough.
Instead of answering my open invitation and invading my mouth with his tongue, Kirill tears his lips away from me, breath ripping out of him as if he’d been underwater for too long. His forehead drops to mine, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate pulls.
“Stella…” His voice is raw, wrecked, barely holding together.
He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to.
If we don’t stop now, neither of us will be able to.
“I… I should probably go home now,” I whisper, my voice shaky and foreign to my own ears.
Kirill’s eyes stay on me, unreadable, but his hands fall away, leaving the ghost of his touch where they’d held me.
“You probably should,” he says quietly.
I nod, though I don’t move right away. My lips still sting from the kiss, and every part of me knows that walking away from this while I still can is the smartest thing I can do. If only my feet would work.
“Come, milaya,” he finally says, sensing my upheaval and sliding his hand into mine. “We’ve broken enough rules for one night. Let’s leave before we’re too tempted to break more.”
As he guides me back to the car in silence, I can’t help but notice how each of his steps feels too careful, too deliberate—like he’s fully aware of how close we came to teetering on the edge, to giving in to this disastrous pull neither of us can seem to escape.
More troubling still are the words we left unsaid, because the real question isn’t if Kirill will persuade me to break every rule in the book, it’s only a question of when.