5. Sofiya
SOFIYA
Anton breaks the kiss and rises with that sinewy grace that turns my spine molten, and something in me clicks into place. The broker isn’t coming. Fate sent Reznikov instead, and I’m already too far down this path to pretend he’s not the danger I want tonight.
“I’m not staying here,” I tell him, voice seated on the edge of a blade. “If you want to talk, it isn’t happening in this bar.”
Heat flashes in his eyes. “Get up,” he murmurs. “We’ll finish this somewhere quieter.”
He slides a hand to the small of my back, guides me down the steps, and cuts through a secure corridor.
Outside, a black sedan crouches at the curb like a sleek animal. Anton opens the rear door for me, and the etiquette is almost mocking in its civility. A second later, he slides in beside me.
I sink into the leather seat, adrenaline roaring under my skin. The moment the door shuts, the noise of Prague’s night dissolves.
Up front, the driver gets in and pulls the car into motion. A dark partition slides up behind him, cutting us off completely.
The driver rounds the car and city lights fall blue-gold across Anton’s jaw, making him look like something sculpted out of shadow.
“You decided fast,” he says, voice like smoke sliding over slate. “Careful decisions are the things you Leonidovs pride yourselves on.”
I meet his gaze. “Maybe I chose to stop being careful.” I swallow hard, shoulders pressed into the leather, heart pounding. “It’s not going to be like this for me every night.”
His eyes sweep over me, appreciation dark and unhidden. “That’s a bad idea,” he says. It sounds like the most persuasive invitation of my life.
“Try and stop me.”
He exhales and his mouth curves with a flash of hunger. The car glides onward, but I’m too occupied to worry about where. Everything is pressure—the space between us, the cold knowledge that he’s Reznikov and I’m Leonidov. That he’s the enemy. That my body doesn’t care.
Anton stretches one arm along the back of the seat, that solid wrist brushing my shoulder. “Why are you really here, Sofiya?” His voice is low, threaded with rough interest. “No guards, no handler, no cousin in your shadow this time.”
I square my shoulders lightly. “I guess I wanted to do something stupid before…” I’m not able to finish the sentence.
He laughs under his breath. “You don’t think spending the night with me is stupid. Reckless, sure, but not stupid.”
The praise hits like a touch to my bare skin. “You can’t know that.”
“I do,” he says, and his eyes drop, taking me in piece by piece. “Look at you.”
His gaze lingers at my throat, then drifts lower, to the line of my collarbone, the curve just beneath it. He doesn’t rush it. “You think I didn’t notice?” he murmurs.
A shiver runs through me. “Notice what?”
His thumb comes up under my jaw, tilting my face just enough for him to see me better. “The way your neck tightens when you’re holding something back.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “The way your lips part when you forget yourself.”
Heat floods my face, my chest.
“And those eyes,” he says, softer now, like he’s tasting the words. “You look at people like you’re deciding if they’re worth keeping alive. And tonight, you looked very hungry, Sofiya.”
My breath catches. His thumb presses lightly at my throat, right over my pulse. “And this,” he adds, almost under his breath. “You give everything away right here.”
“Is that a compliment?” I manage.
His mouth curves, dark and certain. “No.” His gaze drags lower again, deliberate, unashamed. “It’s me telling you exactly what I want to put my hands on first.”
My heart is racing.
“Does it please you?” he asks quietly.
God help me, it does, and all I manage is a helpless little nod. “Are you done with the philosophy?” I blurt out.
His eyes flash pure darkness. “You Leonidovs love to test men.” He shifts closer, heat pouring off him. “You test me, I take it as permission. There’s no going gentle once I start.”
“I didn’t ask for gentle,” I say, and I hate the way my voice shakes.
He studies me, seeing everything. “No,” he agrees softly. “You asked for the thing that should ruin us both.”
I lean in, breathing him in, hating how good it feels. “You’re very good at this, aren’t you?”
Anton’s lips curl and his voice dips. “Yes, perhaps, though I admit it’s easier with you considering I’ve been waiting since the ballroom to taste defiance on your tongue.”
My skin burns. “So do it.”
He makes a low, satisfied sound, hand tightening on my jaw. “You talk like a Leonidov princess and bait me like a Reznikov soldier.” His mouth brushes mine. I gasp. He drinks it in. “You don’t get to walk away tonight and pretend you didn’t ask.”
“Maybe I don’t want to walk away.”
He growls quietly, dragging his knuckles along my throat. “You have no idea how good that sounds.” His breath warms my lips. “I meant what I said. You looked colder in Moscow. I wanted to heat you up then.” His voice roughens. “Tonight, I’m not stopping.”
I press closer. My fingers find the lapel of his dark suit, fingers digging in, needing the solid reality of him. He slides his hand along my thigh, up, up, pausing at the edge of my hip.
“Look at me,” he commands.
“I am.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Say you know what you’re doing. Say you understand the danger.” The words are rough worship, reverent and destructive.
“I know exactly who you are,” I whisper. “You’re the enemy my family’s been warning me about since I could walk.”
“And?”
“And you’re the only man who’s made me feel alive in years.” The confession cuts between us. “I shouldn’t want you. I do anyway.”
He swallows. “Jesus, Sofiya.” His thumb presses harder into my throat. “Do you know how fucking beautiful you are when you tell the truth?”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Tell me what I am to you.”
His breath shudders. “You’re a curse I want to wear on my tongue. You’re the clean line I want to paint dirty.”
I bite my lip. It’s all the warning he needs. He groans quietly, claim and surrender mixed. “Goddamn it,” he mutters, voice dark caramel poured over sin.
His mouth descends. This kiss is worse than the one in the bar and better by an order of magnitude. He slants over me, tongue sweeping in to take and take while his hand cups the back of my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I moan into his mouth, shameless and starving, matching him stroke for stroke. He’s mint and dark vodka and threat. He tastes like the wars our families are built on. My nails bite into his suit, dragging hard enough to feel the constructor lines of muscle underneath.
He breaks the kiss and mutters, “Say my name.”
“Anton,” I breathe.
“Again.”
“Anton.”
His eyes blaze and his thumb rubs the scar hidden under my jawline. “You’re burning up, Sofiya.”
I lean forward, forehead touching his. “Then do something about it.”
“It would be smarter to stab me right now,” he answers with a dry chuckle. “That’s the rule clean Leonidov girls are supposed to follow, isn’t it?”
I smirk slightly. “I don’t follow rules I didn’t write.”
“Good,” he growls, hand sliding down, tightening on my hip. “Because I don’t know how to be gentle with you.”
His touch turns rougher. He palms my thigh, squeezes hard enough to bruise, and the pain rips a groan out of me. Heat spikes. “Tell me you like it rough.”
“I like it however you give it,” I whisper, shivering.
His eyelids lower, fierce satisfaction rolling through his shoulders. “You like being handled. You like being owned. You like the danger.” He lifts my hand, presses it to his jaw, forcing me to feel the tension there. “You want to know how deep this goes?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Then listen closely.” He bends, lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to peel your composure off piece by piece. I’m going to strip that good girl mouth down until all you can do is beg me to ruin you.”
I tremble. “Try me.”
He laughs, dark and wild. “You think I don’t know rebels when I see them? You hiding in a nice hotel, in nice clothes, thinking the world can’t taste the blood in your mouth? You’re so fucking beautiful when you pretend you’re harmless.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say, dizzy with lust.
“Liar,” he snarls, seizing my wrists and pinning them to the seat. “I saw you in that ballroom. Your eyes were wolves behind silk.” He lowers his head, teeth grazing my throat. “You’ve thought about me before this, haven’t you?”
His hand slides higher, palm pressing between my thighs. I gasp. “Don’t tell me a story unless you plan to finish it.” His fingers knead gently, deliberately, through the dark fabric of my trousers. “Tell me what you think about when you think of me, Sofiya.”
My head tips back, exposing my throat. “I think of you fucking me till I forget everything about who I am,” I confess, breathless.
He groans, filthily triumphant. “Fuck. I knew it.” He drags his hand up, pressing harder.
His teeth sink gently into my throat, right where my pulse gallops. “Your saying that is everything I ever wanted.”
I suck in air. “You didn’t even know me then.”
“I knew enough,” he growls. “I knew I wanted the Leonidov princess who stared at me like she wanted to bite. I knew I wanted to see if that mouth tasted as dangerous as it looked.”
He drags one of my hands down, presses it over the hard ridge under his trousers. “Feel what you do to me.”
I swallow. He’s hot and thick under my palm, pulse pounding through the fabric. “Shit,” I breathe.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “You did this. You lit me up.” He releases my wrists, but I keep my hand where he left it, stroking him through the tailored wool. His breath hisses, and his hips rock once, controlled and lethal.
“You going to be good for me tonight?” he asks, voice scraping low. “You going to let me remind you who you crawled into this car with?”
“I came with you willingly,” I whisper.
“You have no idea how much I like hearing that.” His hand curls around my jaw again. “You’re mine right now, Sofiya.”
I tremble, staring at him. “Your enemy.”
“My favorite problem for the night.” His fingers glide down my neck.
The car turns, gliding over cobblestones. He doesn’t look away from me once.
“We’re going somewhere,” I say, as if it matters. It doesn’t. The car might as well be hovering outside time.
His hand slides into my hair, fisting it gently but firmly, tugging my head back. He kisses my throat, leaves a hot lick over the point of my pulse. “You bruise here and I’ll know. I’ll picture it while I’m working, while I’m hunting Maks, while I’m thinking about the ways to keep you breathing.”
I stiffen. “You’re hunting him?”
He smiles. “Among other things. Now tell me what you want.”
The fact that Anton is hunting my cousin is interesting enough for a saner time, but I’m not in the place where I can process that right now. “You,” I gasp. “All of you.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sitting in your car in Prague after running for my life. What do you think?”
“I think you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” he says quietly. “And I think you’re about to find out how it feels to have Reznikov worship on his knees.”
Heat floods me. “Is this how Reznikov men show mercy?”
“I don’t have any,” he says, eyes devouring me. “But I have skill. I have hunger. I have obsession.” His mouth curves in a wicked grin. “And I have you.”
I let out a ragged breath. “Show me.”
He shifts, easing me down until my back meets the leather, hand firm on my shoulder. “Consider this the point of no return,” he murmurs. “Say my name once more, you’ll learn what it feels like to be worshiped by your worst mistake.”
I can barely breathe. “Anton.”
He smiles then. “That’s my girl.”