Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kirill
My little temptress was trying to eavesdrop on my conversation. The thought should’ve pissed me off, but instead, it makes me smile.
I was on the phone when I noticed her shadow under the door. What I didn’t expect when I stepped out was her dressed in nothing but a bikini.
I watch her run off, her hips moving with every step. Fuck. This girl is really trying to kill me.
I head back inside to finish my call, and when I’m done, I make my way up to the rooftop.
I tell myself it’s just to check on her, to make sure she’s not doing anything stupid. But the moment I step outside and see her by the pool, my body reacts like a fucking traitor.
Milana is standing at the edge of the water in that tiny black bikini, the fabric clinging to every curve.
Sunlight gleams off her skin. Water droplets trail down her stomach, disappearing into the waistband of her thong.
She looks like sin wrapped in innocence, and my cock hardens instantly, painfully.
The surge of raw lust pisses me off. I stalk toward her, letting the cold mask slide firmly into place.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, eyes widening slightly.
“I need to leave the building for a while,” I say, voice deliberately sharp and cold.
She crosses her arms over her chest, which only pushes her breasts higher. “Okay…?”
“Because I caught you trying to leave earlier, I don’t trust you to behave while I’m gone.” I step closer, towering over her. “I’m locking the apartment until I return. You stay inside.”
Milana’s mouth falls open in outrage. “You’re going to lock me in? Like a prisoner? Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious.”
“This is insane!” She gestures wildly. “I’m not a child, and I’m not your captive. You can’t just—”
“I can and I will,” I cut her off, my tone ice-cold. “Your safety matters more than your tantrum. Those men who attacked us in Manchester are still out there. I’m not risking you doing something reckless while I’m handling business.”
Her cheeks flush with anger, eyes flashing with that fire I’m starting to crave. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Get used to it.” I turn toward the door, forcing myself not to look at her body again. “Don’t bother trying to leave. I’ll know.”
I walk away before she can argue more, before the sight of her in that thong makes me do something far more dangerous than locking her in.
This woman is testing every ounce of control I have. And I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending she doesn’t affect me.
Milana
After Ilya leaves, I stand on the rooftop for a long moment, gripping the edge of the pool railing so hard my knuckles turn white.
I’m furious. Livid. He locked me in like some misbehaving pet. But underneath the anger, heat simmers low in my belly, thick and insistent. The way he looked at me, he seemed cold, but those eyes were burning and it leaves me aching.
And then there’s the memory of him this morning. Nothing but a towel, water sliding over that powerful chest, the dark cross tattoo etched across his skin. It keeps flashing through my mind.
I try to shake it off. I swim a few laps, hoping the cool water will calm me down. It doesn’t. If anything, the silence only makes everything worse.
I climb out of the pool, dripping wet, and storm back inside. My skin feels too tight. My body is humming with unmet need.
Fuck him.
I decide to take a hot shower, but even the heat of the water doesn’t help. I spend the rest of the day thinking about Ilya, even during my classes. By evening, I’m wound tight with desire.
After having dinner alone because Ilya still isn’t back from wherever he went, I go straight to my bedroom and dig through my suitcase until I find the small case with my toys.
My hands are shaking slightly as I pull out the rose vibrator, the same one he mocked. The memory of his deep voice teasing me only makes me wetter.
I strip, lie back on the bed, and spread my legs. I don’t let myself think too hard. I just need this. I press the toy against my clit and turn it on.
The low buzz sends immediate pleasure shooting through me. I bite my lip, hips jerking. In my mind, it’s not the toy, it’s him. His big hands pinning me down.
That rough voice growling commands in my ear. The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me while telling me I was under house arrest.
I circle the vibrating rose faster, sliding it lower to tease my entrance before pressing it back against my swollen clit. A soft moan escapes me. I’m so wet already, so desperately turned on by the man who just locked me inside his apartment.
I imagine him walking in right now, seeing me like this, spread open, fucking myself with the toy he teased me about. Would he be cold and sharp? Or would that control finally snap?
The thought pushes me closer. I slide two fingers inside myself while keeping the rose pressed firmly against my clit, thrusting in time with the vibrations. My breathing turns ragged. My thighs tremble.
“Fuck, Ilya…” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut.
The orgasm crashes over me hard and fast. I cry out, back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure rip through me. I ride it out, hips grinding against the toy until the sensations become too much.
When it finally fades, I lie there panting, staring at the ceiling, my body limp and satisfied. I should feel ashamed for thinking about him while doing this. Instead, all I feel is a dark, dangerous craving for more.
I suddenly have the feeling that I’m not alone, and I turn my head toward the doorway. Ilya is standing there, still and silent, eyes dark and locked on me. Heat floods my face.
How long has he been standing there? What exactly did he see?
I freeze, mortified.
“Ilya—” My voice comes out breathless, barely there.
“Don’t stop.” His voice is low, rough, commanding. It wraps around me like smoke. “Keep going.”
My breath catches. Did I hear that right? He wants me to keep going? I should cover myself. But the heat in his gaze, the way he’s staring like he wants to devour me…