Chapter Thirteen
Arkady
She’s here.
In my bed. Warm and real against my chest, her breathing not quite steady enough to be asleep. I can feel the tension in her body—the way she’s holding herself carefully, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to be here.
Like she thinks I might send her away.
Blyad. As if I could.
My arm tightens around her waist, pulling her closer. She fits against me too perfectly—her back to my chest, my thighs bracketing hers, my cock already thickening where it presses against the curve of her ass.
“You’re not asleep,” I say into the darkness.
A pause. Then: “Neither are you.”
“No.”
Her hand covers mine where it rests on her stomach. The gesture is small, tentative. Like she’s testing to see if I’ll pull away.
I don’t.
Instead, I spread my fingers wider, claiming more of her. The fabric of her sleep shirt is thin—too thin. I can feel the heat of her skin underneath, the slight rise and fall of her breathing.
“I dreamed about Debra,” she whispers.
Guilt crawls up my throat. I swallow it down.
“Tell me about the dream,” I say, because I’m a bastard who needs to know how close she’s getting to the truth.
“She was calling for me.” Mirabel’s voice breaks slightly. “Saying my name over and over. Like she needed me, and I couldn’t reach her.”
My jaw clenches. Too close. She’s too fucking close to figuring it out.
“There’s nothing you could have done, zaychik,” I say, because it’s true.
“I know.” But her voice says she doesn’t believe it. Says she’ll never stop reliving that day. “I just… I couldn’t stay in my room. Couldn’t be alone with it.”
So she came here. To me.
The thought does something primal to my chest. Makes me want to lock her in this room and never let anyone else touch her. Keep her safe from my father, from the trafficking operation, from the complex filth of my world.
From the truth about her sister.
“You’re here now,” I tell her, my mouth against her temple. “That’s what matters.”
She shifts in my arms, turning to face me. The movement brings her body flush against mine—soft curves against hard muscle, her sleep shorts riding up so her bare thigh slides between mine.
My cock goes fully hard.
She feels it. I know she does by the way her breath catches, the way her pupils dilate in the dim light.
“Arkady—”
I don’t let her finish. My hand fists in her hair, tilting her head back, and I take her mouth.
The kiss is nothing gentle. I’m done with gentle. Done with pretending there’s any distance left between us. My tongue invades her mouth, and she opens for me with a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
Her hands come up to my chest, nails scraping over my skin. The sting of it sends heat racing down my spine.
I roll us, pinning her beneath me. My hips settle between her thighs, and I grind against her, letting her feel exactly how hard she makes me.
“This what you came for?” I growl against her mouth. “Couldn’t sleep, so you came to get fucked?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No shame. Just raw honesty that makes something dark and possessive rear up in me. “Yes.”
Blyad.
My hands go to her sleep shirt, bunching it up. She arches to help me pull it over her head. Nothing underneath. Just bare skin and peaked nipples that tighten further under my gaze.
I lower my head, teeth closing around one nipple. Hard enough to make her hiss. Hard enough to leave a mark.
“Arkady—”
“You want gentle?” I move to her other breast, biting down. “Wrong fucking man, zaychik.”
“I don’t want gentle.” Her hips buck against mine. “I want you.”
The words obliterate what’s left of my control.
I hook my fingers into her shorts and panties, dragging them down her legs. She kicks them off, already spreading her thighs wider, making room for me.
The scent of her arousal hits me—musky and sweet and completely intoxicating. My cock throbs in my briefs, pre-cum already dampening the fabric.
I shove them down, kicking free. Naked now. Nothing between us but secrets and the fucked-up need that keeps pulling us together.
“Look at me,” I command.
Her eyes snap to mine.
“I’m going to fuck you now.” I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock already slick with her. “And you’re going to take all of it. Understood?”
“Yes.”
I drive into her in one brutal thrust.
She cries out, her body arching off the bed as I fill her completely. Too fast, too hard, but I can’t stop. Can’t slow down. The feel of her around me—hot and tight and wet—wipes every thought from my brain except mine.
“Fuck,” I grit out, holding still for a second. Letting her adjust. Letting myself regain some semblance of control. “You feel—”
“Don’t stop.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Please, Arkady. Move.”
I pull out almost completely, then slam back in.
The headboard hits the wall. The sound is obscene—the slap of skin on skin, her gasps, my harsh breathing, the wet sounds of me taking her over and over.
I set a punishing rhythm. Deep, hard thrusts that make her whole body jolt with each impact. Her breasts bounce with the force of it, and I can’t look away from the sight of her coming apart beneath me.
This is what I needed. What I’ve been craving since she walked into my life wearing a torn dress and too much defiance.
Her. Completely undone. Completely mine.
One of my hands wraps around her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Reminding her who’s in control here. Who she belongs to.
“You feel that?” I lean down, my mouth at her ear. “Feel how deep I am inside you?”
“Yes—God, yes—”
“This is mine.” I thrust harder, emphasizing the point. “Your body. Your pleasure. All of it. Mine.”
She whimpers, her inner walls clenching around me.
“Say it,” I demand. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You.” The word comes out broken. “I belong to you.”
Something savage and triumphant roars through me.
My hand leaves her throat, sliding down between our bodies. I find her clit, circling it with my thumb in time with my thrusts.
She falls apart.
Her orgasm hits hard—her whole body going rigid, her pussy clamping down on my cock like a vise. She’s sobbing my name, her nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
The pain tips me over the edge.
I bury myself as deep as I can go, my hips jerking as I come. Hot pulses of release, emptying into her with a curse torn from my throat.
For several seconds, neither of us moves. Can’t move. Just locked together, trembling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Then I collapse beside her, pulling her with me. She curls into my side immediately, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine.
The intimacy of it should scare me. Should make me want to push her away and reinforce the walls.
Instead, my arm wraps around her, holding her close. We lie there breathing, the sweat cooling on our skin. My seed still inside her.
That thought should worry me more than it does.
“There are things you’re not telling me,” she says quietly. Not an accusation. Just a statement of fact.
My hand stills where it’s been tracing idle patterns on her shoulder.
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“About a lot of things,” I say carefully. Not a lie. Not quite the truth.
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “Will you tell me? Eventually?”
I think about Debra in that facility. About Yanis trying to help her heal. About the moment when Mirabel finds out I’ve known all along where her twin sister is.
“Yes,” I tell her. Another lie. Or maybe a promise I’ll be forced to keep. “Eventually.”
She shifts against me, her hand splaying over my chest. Right over my heart, like she’s trying to read what’s inside.
“The things I’m not telling you,” she whispers. “They’re not because I don’t trust you.”
“Then why?”
“Because once I say them out loud, everything changes.”
I understand that better than she knows. We’re both sitting on bombs, waiting for them to detonate.
“We can’t stay like this forever,” I say into the darkness. “Keeping secrets.”
“I know.” Her voice is small. Sad. “But can we stay like this tonight?”
I should say no. Should send her back to her room and put distance between us before this gets any more complicated.
But I’m a selfish bastard who’s already in too deep.
“Tonight,” I agree. “We stay like this tonight.”
She relaxes against me, her breathing evening out. Not sleeping yet, but something close.
My hand drifts to her stomach again. Resting there without thought, just feeling the warmth of her skin.
She tenses. Just slightly. Just enough for me to notice.
“Mirabel—”
“I’m fine.” She covers my hand with hers, holding it in place. “Just tired.”
Another lie.
But I let it stand. Let us both pretend a little longer.
The night stretches ahead—hours where we can exist in this stolen moment before reality crashes back in. Before she finds out about Debra. Before I find out whatever she’s hiding from me.
Before everything we’re building collapses under the weight of our secrets.
For now, I hold her close and pretend we have time.
Pretend this won’t end the only way it can.
In betrayal. In pain.
In the inevitable destruction of the one good thing I’ve let myself have in my entire fucked up world.