Chapter 12 Jessica
Jessica
I wake slowly, and for a few disoriented seconds, I don’t know where I am. The ceiling is unfamiliar, smooth and pale, the light filtered through curtains to be soft. The bed beneath me is enormous, the sheets cool and heavy, the kind of luxury that still feels borrowed rather than owned.
Then memory rolls in.
Rurik. His office. His suite. My mother’s face on the television screen. His hands. His voice. The way everything tilted off its axis in the space of a single afternoon.
My chest tightens.
I turn my head slowly, half-expecting to find him beside me, but the other side of the bed is empty. Neatly made. Undisturbed. Whatever rest I got, he didn’t share it.
I sit up, pressing my palms into the mattress, grounding myself. My body feels different. Not sore exactly, but aware. Awake in places that haven’t been before. As if something inside me has been switched on and refuses to switch off again.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, padding barefoot across the plush carpet. The bedroom opens into the rest of the suite, all dark wood and glass and quiet authority. Everything here feels intentional. Nothing wasted. Nothing accidental.
I catch my reflection in the mirror near the bathroom and pause.
I look… changed. Like the version of myself I’ve been carefully maintaining has cracked enough to let something truer show through. My eyes are clearer. Sharper. There’s a steadiness there that surprises me.
I think about the hotel refurb.
About the mood boards and layouts still sitting neatly in my portfolio in Rurik’s office. About Jasmine’s enthusiasm, the way she’d smiled and said this could be the start of something big. And it still could be. That part of my life hasn’t vanished overnight.
But it’s no longer the only thing that matters.
Rurik has shifted the ground beneath everything.
I thought this job was about momentum. About proving myself enough times that my name would finally outrun my past. Hotels. Then more hotels. Maybe travel. Maybe the kind of career that could define me in my own right. Separate from my mother and the long shadow she cast.
The irony settles heavy in my chest.
She ran all over the world for thrills and leverage. I stayed rooted for safety.
And now she’s back, wearing legitimacy like a costume, married into power as if that was always her endgame.
I don’t know how to feel about that yet.
Anger bubbles up first. She left me. She let me grow up piecing together scraps of my own life while she reinvented herself somewhere else. Fear follows quickly after. If she’s embedded this deeply, then my proximity to Rurik isn’t coincidence. It’s convergence.
And Rurik knows it.
If there’s one thing that feels undeniably true now, it’s this. I’m done running. I’m done pretending that distance alone keeps me safe. Whatever my mother is, whatever she’s done, I won’t let it hollow me out the way it once did.
I shower quickly, letting the hot water sting my skin, focussing on feelings instead of my thoughts. The room is full of steam when I finally turn off the shower and step onto the cool tiles, plucking the robe from where it hangs beside the shower door.
It’s time to face the day. Whether I’m ready or not. I head out into the living space.
Rurik is exactly where I expected him to be. At the table. Jacket off. Sleeves rolled up. Phone in hand. Screens lit with news feeds and documents, his focus sharp and unyielding. He looks up when he senses me, gestures to a spread of breakfast foods before hanging up the phone.
“You slept,” he says.
“All the way through,” I reply quietly, filling a plate with pastries and fruit.
Something like relief flickers across his face before he schools it away.
“I’ve been dealing with… everything,” he adds.
I walk closer, stopping a few feet away. “The governor.”
“And your mother,” he confirms. “She believes she’s insulated. She knew I was backing Michaelsson. She wanted Vegas again. Familiar ground. A place where power hides in plain sight.”
I wrap the robe tighter around myself. “She thinks marriage protects her.”
“She’s not wrong,” he says. “Just incomplete.”
I meet his gaze. “You’re going to dismantle her position.”
“Yes.”
My stomach turns sour. “Without killing her.”
“Yes.”
The silence between us is different now.
“Are you okay with that?” he asks finally. But I doubt it would make a difference if I wasn’t. Not in his world.
I pull apart a thick, sticky cinnamon roll as I think about the girl I was when my mother vanished. About the woman I built out of sheer necessity. About the future I want that isn’t defined by either running or ruling alone.
“Yes,” I say, meaning it.
Rurik nods once, decisive. Something clicks into place between us.
Nothing is simple anymore, but I feel like I’m standing exactly where I’m meant to be, staring down the truth instead of circling it.
“What does this mean—?” I ask, before settling on adding, “For us. I’m not even sure what we are.”
“You’re mine,” he says simply, like that answers every question that ever was. “We can stand here analysing it to death, or we can accept it.”
His eyes darken when he looks at me this time. Fatigue evident in the way his features are a little softer. A little more unguarded.
A tingling sensation starts in the soles of my feet and spreads all the way through my body.
“Come here,” he says.
I slide the plate of food onto the table, and go to him. The me before yesterday would balk at being ordered around by a man. But somewhere between his office and now, I learned I wanted to be ordered around by him.
His hands smooth up my arms, onto my shoulders and bunch in the lapels of the robe as he drags me against him. He kisses me with a hunger and possession that reaffirms his words.
“I’m not going to overanalyse this,” he says. “I think we should accept it, and move forward.”
I nod. Mostly because I don’t trust my voice not to shake, but also because I can’t bring myself to disagree with him.
Being with him feels crazy and dangerous and confusing. But it’s a so much better than the feelings of loneliness and exhaustion I’m used to.
Men might’ve come before Rurik, but none of them ever made me feel so completely desired and wanted. None of them made me feel steady in the face of uncertainty.
Rurik makes me feel like as long as I’m in his world, I’m safe from everything else, no matter what.
He releases the lapels of my robe a little, and the fabric sags, revealing the curve of my breasts before I can tighten it again.
The groan that comes from him goes straight to my core.
He sits on one of the dining chairs, pulling me onto him.
“Now let me take care of you,” I say, pulling apart his belt and sliding it from his waist.
I straddle him fully, the robe falling open completely now, pooling around my elbows as I sink down onto his lap.
His cock is already straining against his pants, hot and hard through the fabric, and the feel of it pressing up against my naked pussy makes me shiver.
I rock my hips slowly, grinding against him, savoring the friction while his hands grip my waist like he's barely holding on.
"Fuck, Jessica," he growls, his voice rough from lack of sleep and whatever battles he's been fighting on those calls. His eyes are locked on mine, dark and intense, like he can't look away even if he wanted to.
I reach down, popping the button on his pants and tugging the zipper open.
He lifts his hips just enough to help me shove them down, along with his boxers, freeing his thick length.
It springs up between us, throbbing, the tip already slick.
My mouth waters at the sight, but I want this.
I want to take control for once, to give him something after he wrecked me so thoroughly last night.
I wrap my hand around him, stroking firmly from base to tip, feeling him pulse in my grip.
He's so hot, so hard, and the low groan he lets out sends a thrill straight through me.
I line him up with my entrance, teasing us both by rubbing the head along my folds, coating him in my wetness.
I'm soaked already, aching from how much I need him inside me again.
"Slow," he warns, but his hands tighten on my hips, urging me down anyway.
I don't listen. I sink onto him in one smooth motion, taking every thick inch until he's buried deep, stretching me perfectly. We both moan at the same time, mine high and breathless, his a deep rumble that vibrates through his chest. God, he feels incredible, filling me in such a way it’s hard to believe my body wasn’t made for his alone.
I start moving, rolling my hips in slow circles at first, adjusting to the angle on the chair.
His hands slide up to my breasts, cupping them, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they're hard peaks.
I arch into his touch, riding him harder, lifting up and slamming back down, the slap of our bodies echoing in the quiet suite.
"Just like that," he mutters, his head falling back, eyes half-closed as he watches me through hooded lids. "Ride me, Jessica. Use me to take what you need like the queen you are."
The words spur me on. I brace my hands on his shoulders, using the leverage to bounce faster, grinding my clit against him with every downstroke.
Pleasure builds quick and sharp, coiling tight in my core.
He's so deep this way, hitting spots that make my thighs tremble, my breath come in short gasps.
His fingers dig into my ass, guiding me, but he lets me set the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead, his jaw clenched like he's fighting not to flip us over and pound into me. He watches me, possessive and hungry, like I'm the only thing in his world right now.
I'm close already, too close. The friction on my clit, the thick drag of him inside me, the way his eyes devour every bounce of my breasts, it's overwhelming. I lean forward, capturing his mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as I ride him harder, faster, chasing that edge.
"Rurik," I whimper against his lips, my nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm—oh God—"
"Come on my cock," he demands, one hand slipping between us to rub tight circles on my clit. "Let me feel your pussy quivering around me."
That's all it takes. The orgasm hits me like a wave, crashing hard and pulling me under.
I cry out, clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, pleasure exploding through every nerve.
My hips jerk erratically, grinding down as I ride it out, waves of heat rolling through me until I'm shaking, breathless, clinging to him.
He groans deep in his throat, his cock twitching inside me, but he doesn't come. His hands hold me steady, keeping me impaled on him as I come down, trembling and spent. His eyes are darker than ever, burning with restraint, a wicked promise flickering there.
"Good girl," he murmurs, voice strained but controlled, brushing my hair back from my sweaty face. "But I'm not done with you yet."