Chapter 20 #3
“What is it?” he asks, his perceptive gaze locked on mine.
“This is going to end badly for both of us. You know that, right?”
“Not if we don’t let it,” he says, like he’s already weighed every pro and con of us being together
“Some things are out of our control, Kill.”
“Only if we let them be,” he says with a conviction I don’t have.
“You always sound so sure… but life has a way of getting in the way.”
“Again, only if we let it. And I won’t let anything get between us, Stella. Nothing.”
“What if it’s me? What if I’m the thing that comes between us?”
“Then I’ll fight,” he says simply. “I’ll fight to remind you of what we have. I’ll fight you to the bitter end, because this… what we have… is worth keeping.”
I frown at his certainty and rest my head on his shoulder.
“We have tonight. Can’t we just… have tonight?” I whisper, trying to purge the negative thoughts that are ruining this one perfect moment.
“Yes, dusha moya. We can have tonight.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “But make no mistake, your tomorrows are mine too.”
I purse my lips, a sick twist in my stomach telling me he’s wrong. Tomorrows aren’t guaranteed to anyone, least of all to people like us.
“Come, milaya. Let’s get you washed and then fed. You’ll need your energy for what’s to come.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and let him lead me, knowing tonight is the only time I’ll allow myself to be truly his.
When I step out of the shower, Kirill is standing in the doorway, both arms stretched along the beam, staring at me like I’m something he plans to devour.
“Why didn’t you wake me so I could join you, milaya?” he asks, his voice low and sinful.
“If I woke you up to shower with me, I’m pretty sure you’d just use it as an excuse to dirty me up even more.”
The way his eyes darken, black as midnight, has my toes curling.
“And you think I won’t do that now, why?” he murmurs, closing the distance between us like a sleek predator ready to claim what’s his.
I press a hand to his chest, holding him in place before he can put his hands on me.
“Because my classes start at eight. And since I asked my sister to lie to my parents so they’d think I’m the studious little angel, it would blow my cover if I ended up failing just because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“I doubt angel is the first thing that comes to anyone’s mind when they think of you.” He licks his lips, gaze dragging over me slowly, but then reluctantly steps back to give me some space.
“Thank you,” I say with a small smile, grabbing a second towel to dry my hair. Kirill leans against the wall, watching me intently as I move to the sink and run my fingers through my damp hair so it doesn’t tangle.
“There’s an extra toothbrush in the bottom drawer,” he says, perfectly in tune with what I’m about to ask.
“And why do you have an extra toothbrush at all? Do I even want to know how many women you’ve brought here?” I interrogate him as I find the toothbrush and pull it from the box.
He lets out a deep chuckle, clearly amused.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“What’s funny,” he says, shaking his head, “is that you even think I could bring anyone else but you into my home. That’s what’s funny.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” I arch a brow at my reflection in the mirror, watching his through it.
“You believe it because you know I’m telling you the truth.”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing now? Being truthful to one another?”
“Yes.”
That’s all he has to say. Just one simple word. Enough for me to want to shut down the entire conversation, before he demands to know every last dirty little secret of mine. Not wanting to give him an opening, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and turn the faucet off.
I move toward his bedroom to get dressed, only for him to step right into my path, blocking me with that huge, immovable body of his.
“Yes?” I ask, unimpressed.
“I don’t remember getting a good morning kiss from you.”
“That’s because I haven’t given you one.”
“All the more reason for me to remedy that.”
And before I can shove him away, Kirill’s mouth is on mine.
My mind loses all perspective, all logic, all restraint whenever he kisses me. It’s like he touches something buried deep inside me, something that only wakes up when he’s close.
When he’s made sure that I’m good and breathless, he finally pulls away, running a slow finger over my swollen bottom lip.
“There. Much better.”
I don’t have it in me to curse him out or come up with a witty retort. Not when he’s looking at me like that—like he’s staring straight into my soul with so much love and adoration that saying anything now would shatter the moment.
And right now, I don’t want anything ruining the few minutes I have left with him.
“I fixed you some breakfast while you were in the shower,” he says. “Go eat before you get dressed. I’ll be there soon.”
Then, with a sharp slap to my ass, he slides his boxers down, kicks them away, and steps into the shower.
I stand there like an idiot, watching in utter fascination as he lathers his hands and drags them over his body—slow, deliberate, indecent. I only manage to look away when his hand wraps around the base of his shaft… because if I don’t, I’ll end up joining him for a round in the shower.
I force myself to walk away and head toward the kitchen. There, waiting on the counter, is a plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a bowl of chopped fresh fruit.
It’s the fruit that gives him away.
If he has a fully stocked kitchen, that means he must spend more of his free time here than he does in the city.
That’s the thought currently running through my head when Kirill walks into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, his hair still wet from his shower.
“I thought you told me you had a place in the city,” I muse, biting into a strip of bacon.
“You thought correctly.” He winks before pressing a kiss to my temple and then pouring coffee into his mug and then into mine. “If there’s a question in there, just ask, milaya. I’m an open book to you now.”
“This house feels… lived in,” I say, gesturing around. “I’m just curious why you’d make such a long commute every day. Isn’t your apartment closer to the club?”
“Yes,” he nods, leaning against the counter with that glorious smile of his. “But Kostya’s been staying with me these last few months and… let’s just say he and his friends can get a bit loud.”
I almost choke on my bacon.
“Is that your way of saying your brother is a fuckboy?” I laugh. “Figures. How is the nicer Petrov doing these days?”
“Actually, he’s grown up a bit since he’s been here. Not so nice anymore.”
“You sound surprised he’s grown up.”
“That’s because I am. Bratva business isn’t something Kostya typically gravitates toward, so yes—I’m surprised he’s taken to it the way he has under my supervision. Before he moved here, I wasn’t sure he’d ever take our work seriously.”
“Maybe it’s the carrot-and-stick scenario,” I offer.
“Maybe with Misha he doesn’t feel the need to grow up since he’ll end up getting berated with every mistake he makes while he’s trying to figure things out.
But with you, under your tutelage and supervision, he might feel safe enough to try.
Maybe you’ve finally given him something worth stepping into. ”
“You’re saying praise, not punishment, is what’s made him turn a new leaf?”
“I’m saying people respond to pressure differently. And maybe you’ve figured out how to push Kostya into becoming his best self.”
Kirill takes in my words, chewing on them to see if I could actually be on to something. His expression shifts from pensive to something intense, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rounds the small kitchen island toward me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly wary, when he parts my legs open to slide in between them and then holds my chin up.
“You can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to behave.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did.” His voice drops, heat and sincerity blending into something that steals my breath. “You just said I’m a good brother. That I bring out the best in Kostya. Do you know what that does to my head? Hearing you be proud of me?”
My throat goes dry at the intensity in his eyes.
“I’m not going to make it to my first class, am I?”
“Should’ve thought of that before you opened that pretty mouth of yours,” he growls, grabbing my waist and hoisting me over his shoulder in one effortless movement. “This is on you, dusha moya. Remember that.”
He punctuates it with a sharp slap to my ass as he carries me toward the bedroom.
Instead of cursing him out, reminding him I have responsibilities, insisting I can’t blow off my day just because he wants me to…I say nothing at all.
Absolutely nothing.
I just… giggle.
Giggle the entire way back to his room, helpless against the rush of warmth in my chest and the thrill pooling low in my stomach, knowing that I’m about to be thoroughly devoured by Kirill-fucking-Petrov.
What a difference a few hours can make.
Just five hours ago, I was sprawled across Kirill’s bed, fingers buried in his hair while he made a meal out of my body…
And now here I am, pretending to pay attention to my professor’s lecture.
Sigh.
The man has completely taken over every thought in my head.
It’s so freaking annoying how easily he did it too.
But it’s fine.
Last night was the small relapse I needed just to get my fix.
Now that it’s out of my system, I’ll go back to avoiding Kirill like the plague.
That’s what I’ll do.
That’s what I have to do.
“You got this, Stella.”
But I don’t got it. I don’t have shit.