Chapter 6 Lily
Lily
I can't stop thinking about his hands.
It's the middle of the night, two in the morning according to my phone, and I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the way Zakhar's thumb brushed over my lower lip.
The heat of his palm against my jaw. The way he held me there, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that I couldn't look away.
You're mine.
The words echo in my head, sending heat pooling low in my belly despite my best efforts to ignore it.
This is lunacy. All of it. A week ago, I was alone, struggling, numb. Now there's a Bratva soldier on my couch who's decided I belong to him, and instead of being terrified, I'm lying here wet and aching and wanting things I have no business wanting.
I throw off the covers and pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back; flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, hair a mess from tossing and turning.
I look like a woman who is steadily losing her mind.
Fuck.
I should send him away tomorrow. Tell him he's healed enough, that the deal is done, that he needs to go back to his life and let me return to mine.
But the thought of him leaving makes my chest ache.
I dry my face and head through to the kitchen, telling myself I just need water. That I'm not hoping he's awake. That I'm definitely not thinking about what would happen if I just... gave in to whatever this is heating my blood.
The living room is dark except for the blue glow of his phone. He's awake, sitting up on the couch, shirtless with bandages wrapped around his torso. He looks up when I enter, those winter-grey eyes finding me immediately.
"Can't sleep?" he asks, voice low and rough.
"Needed water."
"Liar."
My pulse kicks up. "Excuse me?"
"You're not here for water. You're here because of me."
The arrogance would usually annoy me. Instead, it makes something clench between my thighs.
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm sure of you."
I look back at the door I just came through. The door I should retreat through, back to the safety of my room.
I stay rooted.
"What makes you so certain?" I ask, still a few feet away from him. Close enough to see the change in his attention, far enough that I can still pretend this is casual.
"The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way your breath changes when we get close. The way you haven't told me to leave even though you know you should."
"Maybe I just have terrible judgment."
"Maybe." His mouth curves. "Or maybe you finally found someone who sees you."
I scoff. "You don't know me."
"I know you're exhausted. I know you've been struggling alone for too long. I know you gave everything to a system that broke you, and now you're giving everything to a business that's failing, and no one's taking care of you."
My throat tightens. "I don't need—"
"You do. You need someone to tell you to eat. To sleep. To stop carrying everything alone. You need someone who won't let you drown beneath it all."
"And that's you?"
"Yes." The certainty in his voice makes my knees weak. I sink into the chair across from him, suddenly unable to stand.
"I’m losing my mind," I whisper, scrubbing my hands over my face and pressing my fingers against my eyes, willing away the tears that have appeared there away.
"No, you’re not. You’re grieving. It’s easy to mistake the two when you don’t want to face the things that are making you grieve in the first place."
My head snaps up. His face is entirely devoid of expression. There’s nothing there to tell me what the hell he means, and it infuriates me.
“Nursing isn’t a job. It’s a vocation. One you left for reasons beyond your control.
It’s natural to grieve that. You lost your aunt, from what I can see,” he gestures absently to the photographs around the room, “she is the woman who raised you. The grief from that would be immeasurable. Now you’re losing your business, which has a double impact, because it was originally your aunt’s. ”
He heaves a sigh and adjusts himself on the sofa with a wince. “That would be enough to crush anybody. But here you are, carrying it like your entire life depends on using it to keep everyone else out.”
A shuddering exhale is torn from my chest as his words sink in. An uncontrollable trembling began partway through his little speech, and the fact that I can’t seem to get control of myself scares me.
“It’s okay to grieve Lily. I’m sorry you haven’t been able to before now. But now I’m here, and I’ll always protect you, even from yourself.”
"Because of a debt.” The words are like broken glass in my mouth, scraping over teeth and tongue. The sudden urge to vomit makes me feel dizzy.
“Not entirely, but I think it’s easier for you to believe that’s all this is.”
My breath is coming in pants and if I don’t regain some kind of equilibrium soon, I will either pass out or have a panic attack. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, counting to ten slowly while his eyes watch me with such intensity I can feel it.
“You're talking about... what?” I whisper through gritted teeth, my throat too tight to manage anything louder. “Me leaving my entire life behind? Following you into a world I know nothing about? Becoming some kind of—"
"Mine," he finishes. "That's what you'd become. Mine. You’d marry me. Sleep in bed beside me. Wake up next to me. Carry my children. Build our future together with me. Next to me. Side by side. Always. Mine."
Heat floods through me. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building there.
"I can't just—"
"Two days left," he says, leaning forward. "That's what you gave me. Two more days to heal. But we both know I'm already healed, Lily. My wounds are nearly closed. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to."
"Then why don't you?" I demand, voice breaking as the first tears spill over my lashes. Fury, I tell myself. It’s anger and frustration, and nothing to do with grief or pain.
"Because I'm waiting for you to admit the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you want this as much as I do." He is so calm as he says it that it only adds to my exasperation.
My hands are shaking. I fist them at my sides and surge to my feet, trying to create some distance between us, which is futile in this tiny apartment. "You don't know what I want."
"Don't I?" He stands, moving toward me with that predatory grace. Stops right in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You want someone to take control. To make decisions. To tell you it's okay to stop fighting alone."
"That's not—"
"You want someone who looks at you like you're the only thing in the room that matters. Who makes you feel safe and dangerous at the same time. Who makes you wet just by standing close."
My breath catches. "Zakhar—"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
I can't. The words stick in my throat because he's right. About all of it.
"I barely know you," I say instead.
"You know I'll keep you safe. You know I'll take care of you. You know I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. What else do you need to know?"
I shake my head, because the truth is I don’t even know. His hand comes up, fingers threading through my hair, thumb stroking along my jaw. The touch is gentle but possessive, and my body responds immediately, my pulse racing, skin heating, breath coming faster.
"Zakhar," I whisper, but I don't know if it's a protest or a plea.
"Say yes," he murmurs. "Stop fighting this. Stop pretending you don't feel it."
"I don't—"
"You do. Your body's already given you away, Lily. I can see your pulse racing. See the way you're breathing. See how badly you want me to touch you."
God, he's right. I'm practically vibrating with need, and we haven't even kissed.
"This is insane," I say again, weaker this time.
"Then be insane with me."
His thumb brushes over my lower lip again, and this time I can't stop the small sound that escapes my throat. His eyes darken at the noise, something predatory and pleased flickering across his face.
"There she is," he says softly. "The woman who's been hiding under all that exhaustion and responsibility. The one who wants to let go."
"I don't know how."
"I'll teach you."
The promise in his voice makes me clench. I should push him away. Should tell him this is moving too fast, that I need time, that I can't just surrender everything to a man I met a week ago.
But when he leans in closer, when his breath ghosts over my lips, all I can think is yes.
"One kiss," he murmurs. "That's all I'm asking. One kiss, and if you want me to stop, I will. If you want me to leave tomorrow, I'll go. But I think we both know that's not what you want."
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. Those winter-grey eyes that see too much, that strip away every defense I've built.
"One kiss," I whisper.
"One kiss."
But we both know it won't be just one.
He leans in slowly. His lips brush mine, soft at first, testing. I make a small sound, need, surrender, relief. That's all it takes. His hand fists in my hair, angling my head back, and the kiss deepens.
It's not gentle. It's claiming. Possessive. A brand being burned into my soul.
I kiss him back helplessly, hands coming up to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer despite the logical part of my brain screaming that this is a terrible idea.
His free hand slides down my side, settling on my hip, thumb stroking against bare skin where my vest has ridden up. The touch sends electricity straight through me, makes me arch into him, makes me forget every reason this is wrong.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, something dangerous, and I can't get enough.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his grip on my hair not loosening.
"Still think you can send me away?" he asks, voice rough.
I can't catch my breath enough to answer. Can only shake my head slightly, trapped in his hold, trapped by the realization that everything just changed.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."
Then he kisses me again, harder this time, more demanding.
Claiming what's his. And I let him, because somewhere between opening the door and now, I stopped being Lily who struggles alone.
I became Lily who belongs to Zakhar. Who wants to belong to Zakhar, and terrifying as it is, I don't want to go back.