Marie
I wake up warm. Too warm.
Something heavy and hard is wrapped around me.
There’s heat at my back. A steady, deep breath against my neck. A strong arm caging me in, possessively.
I freeze.
No.
No, no, no.
Because for one blissful moment, I felt safe.
And that’s the biggest lie of all.
His scent surrounds me. Dark spice, masculine, rich and familiar.
My thighs clench, a dull ache pulsing between them—a reminder of how he touched me soft and tenderly. Of how I let him. Of how he made love to me like I was the only thing that ever mattered to him.
My chest tightens, heat prickling my skin. Because I can’t trust any of it. Can’t trust him. Can’t trust myself.
I shift against him, my breath catching when his grip tightens, pulling me closer.
His lips brush my shoulder, it’s barely a touch, but my skin burns.
A slow, deep inhale of his nose buried in my hair.
Then, a quiet rumble against my back.
“Mmm… my sweet girl’s awake.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my pulse racing.
Don’t melt. Don’t break. Don’t let him in.
His hand moves, sliding over my stomach, fingers splaying across my skin, warm and firm. He nuzzles against my neck, his lips dragging over my skin, slow, lazy. ALready making me feel warm all over.
His voice is still rough with sleep, deeper, softer. Dangerous in a different way. A way that makes me want us. But I can’t let that happen. Can’t let him win again.
I grip his wrist, trying to shove his arm away.
“Let me go.”
His body stiffens. Then, his grip tightens.
“Not yet.”
My stomach twists.
Not because I’m afraid. But because being in Viktor’s arms still feels like home. And that’s the problem. I can’t trust a man who’s been watching me. Controlling me. Hunting me. A man who never gave me a choice.
Even if my body still craves him. Even if I know I don’t want him to let me go.
I shove harder, twisting away, but he doesn’t let go.
His grip turns firm, his chest pressing against my back, his lips at my ear.
“Don’t fight me.”
His voice is like silk over steel, low and soothing.
I squeeze my thighs together, heat pooling low in my belly, betrayal stoking deep in my pussy.
No.
No.
I won’t fall for this. Not again.
I shove one last time, hard, finally breaking free.
His arm drops, but I feel his eyes on me as I sit up, pulling the sheets around myself.
I don’t look at him. I can’t. Because if I do—If I see the softness in his expression, the raw need in his gaze—I might not be able to pull away.
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy.
Then he says, “you’re still fighting me.”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to come out steady. “I’ll fight you until the day I die.”
His exhale is slow and measured.
Then, the bed shifts.