Chapter Thirteen
Nikolai
I slam my door shut harder than necessary, tension coiled tight in my body as I sift through the crowd inside Roscoe’s. The music pounds in my ears, each beat a pulse of irritation thrumming under my skin. The air is thick—liquor, sweat, and the faint burn of cigarettes, clinging to everything.
My eyes lock on the back patio doors, where I spot her through the glass.
Dawn.
She’s standing near the edge of the patio with Cassidy, a drink in her hand, the condensation dripping down the side of the glass. Her weight is tipped slightly to one side, leaning into the railing, her balance just loose enough to serve as evidence of the alcohol’s presence.
She knows I’m coming. Yet she hasn’t moved.
Her gaze meets mine through the glass, unwavering, sharp despite the buzz in her system. There’s no surprise in her expression, no flicker of her usual hesitation. Just open defiance. Annoyance.
Cassidy shifts beside her, uneasy. Her gaze darts between us, but she says nothing.
I push open the door and step outside, the cool night air wrapping around me, thick with the scent of salt and smoke. The patio lights cast a glow, flickering over Dawn’s face, highlighting the stubborn set of her jaw, the arch in her brow.
I stop in front of her, close enough to see the way her fingers tighten around her glass. “We’re leaving.” I say, my voice even.
She exhales through her nose, tilting her head upward. “No, you’re leaving.”
I arch a brow. “Let’s go.” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Dawn crosses her arms over her chest. “Make me.”
I swear I feel the challenge like a physical thing, humming between us. A push. A test. She knows exactly what she’s doing, knows how to press against the control I keep tightly wound.
Fine.
I reach forward, grabbing her wrist in a firm grip. Her skin is warm, pulse fluttering beneath my touch. Her breath stutters, just for a second. Her body tenses, but she recovers fast, yanking against my hold.
“Nikolai, let go!”
I don’t.
She tries again, digging her heels in, resisting, eyes burning into mine. “I’m not leaving!”
I don’t argue. I don’t entertain her defiance. I just turn and pull her with me, my grip steady and unyielding.
She stumbles slightly, cursing under her breath, her free hand coming up to push at my shoulder. “Seriously? Nikolai—”
I ignore her and turn toward Cassidy, whose expression is now filled with shock and disbelief. “Are you coming?”
She nods once, then follows.
Dawn huffs sharply but stops fighting.
Smart girl.
. . .
The car rolls to a stop, headlights cutting through the dark. The engine hums for a moment before falling silent, leaving nothing but the sound of crickets in the distance and the low rustling of trees swaying in the night.
I step out without a word, rounding to the back to pull Cassidy from the seat. She’s out cold, deadweight in my arms, her head lolling slightly against my chest. The scent of alcohol and cigarettes clings to her, faint and sticky.
Dawn stumbles out after me, the ground crunching under her unsteady steps. “What the hell? Where are we?”
I don’t answer. I just shift Cassidy’s weight in my arms and start up the stone steps, pushing open the front door with ease. The hinges glide smoothly, silent.
Dawn’s footsteps hurry behind me. “Oh, so now you’re just going to ignore me?” Her voice is sharp, but slurred at the edges, that mix of frustration and intoxication making her words looser than usual. “You can’t just drag people out of bars like some fucking kidnapper, Nikolai!”
I keep walking.
“You didn’t even tell me where we were going! You—” She huffs, voice catching on irritation. Then, silence. A sharp inhale.
She’s seeing it now.
The grand staircase. The high ceilings. The sheer size of the estate.
Golden light spills from the recessed fixtures overhead, casting a soft glow over the sleek marble floors.
The entryway is massive, open, leading seamlessly into a living space that looks like something out of a designer’s catalog—minimalist yet incredibly expensive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch against the far wall, revealing the sweeping view of the land in the estate.
She lingers in front of the doorway, her eyes scanning everything, taking in the sharp lines of the modern architecture, the way everything seems deliberate—meticulously designed, impossibly clean.
I don’t give her time to react. I carry Cassidy down the hall and push open the door to one of the guest rooms, laying her gently on the bed. She doesn’t stir. Good. She won’t remember any of this tomorrow.
Dawn will.
I close the door as I exit and turn back just in time to catch the way Dawn storms after me, eyes blazing, her movements fueled by adrenaline and liquor, her chest rising and falling too fast.
Good. Let her be angry.
“You,” she seethes, jabbing a finger toward my chest, “are out of your goddamn mind!”
I arch a brow, muscles tense, jaw like iron. “Am I?”
“Yes!” she throws her arms up, a sharp, exasperated movement. “You don’t just show up at a bar, drag someone out against their will and expect them to be fine with it!”
“I told you I was coming.” I say flatly, shoving my hands into my pockets. “You just didn’t want to listen.”
Her lips press together, the argument dying before she can speak it. Instead, she exhales sharply, shifting on her heels. “You didn’t have to.”
I tilt my head, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “You really think I was just going to leave you there?”
Silence.
A flicker of something crosses her face, something that almost looks like hesitation. But then—her jaw tightens, and she squares her shoulders. “I would’ve been fine.”
I exhale sharply, disbelief curling in my chest. “Is that what you told yourself while you were downing drinks and refusing to call a ride?” My voice is low, too calm, but the frustration is sharp underneath it.
“Because I’m having a hard time believing that, Dawn.
Look at you. Look at where you were. You think no one would’ve tried to take advantage of you tonight? ”
She stiffens, hands balled into fists. “I can handle myself.”
I huff a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Dressed like that, drunk, clearly pissed off for god knows why?” I shake my head, my jaw flexing. “You really think some asshole wouldn’t have seen an opportunity?”
Her nostrils flare. “God, you’re such a controlling bastard.”
I step closer, cutting the space between us. “And you’re reckless.”
Her eyes flash, her breath quickening. “No, you just hate that I’m not doing whatever you say.”
I hold her gaze, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I hate,” I say smoothly, too calmly. “That you’re acting like yesterday didn’t happen.”
She freezes. For a second, I see her mask slip. Then, she shakes her head, looking away. “I don’t know what you want from me, Nikolai.”
I drag in a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to relax, my hands to stay at my sides. “Go to bed, Dawn.”
She scoffs, but it’s thinner than before, like she’s running out of fight. “Right. Really?”
“Really.” I say, my voice colder than I mean for it to be.
She swallows, chin tilting defiantly. “Fine.”
She turns sharply, taking a few steps away before stopping. Her fingers twitch at her sides. For a second, I think she’s going to snap at me again, but instead, she exhales, voice quieter, her tone still bitter. “Last night was a mistake.”
I go still.
Something dark and electric surges through me, slow and lethal.
A mistake.
That’s what she’s calling it.
I stare at her, unblinking, but she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t see the way my fists clench, the way my breath locks in my chest. The way her words sink into me like a slow, dull knife.
Because I know she’s lying.
I know it because I saw the way she looked at me in the morning light—soft, like she was still caught in something she didn’t want to let go of.
I remember the way she laughed, the way her fingertips skimmed over my skin like she wanted to commit it to memory.
The way she reached for me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
A mistake.
I move before I realize it, stepping up behind her. Close. Too close. My fingers thread into the hair at the base of her head, gripping tight—not enough to really hurt her, but enough to make her inhale sharply.
Her body goes rigid.
“I dare you,” I murmur, my voice a low, dangerous hum, “to say that again.”
She gasps, hands flying up to claw at my wrist. “Let go!”
“You don’t get to rewrite history just because you’re drunk and pissed at me.”
Her breath stutters. But she doesn’t stop. “You don’t care Nikolai!” She mutters, voice strained. “You never did! You don’t get to decide—”
I tighten my hold just enough to cut her off. “Careful, angel.” My voice drops even lower, ice creeping into the edges. “You’re about to say something you’ll regret.”
Her breath is ragged, her nails digging into my skin. “Why? Because it’s true?”
Something inside me snaps.
I don’t think. I don’t give her a chance to react.
I grab her by the nape of her neck, my fingers digging into the soft skin as I drag her across the room.
She stumbles, trying to keep up, her nails digging into my wrist, but I don’t let up.
Not when she fought me every step of the way.
Not when she fucking dared to call it a mistake. To speak to me this way. Act this way.
Her breath shudders as I shove her down onto the couch. Not gentle. Not careful. I press forward before she can scramble back, my hand shifting from her nape to her throat, pinning her down beneath me. Her chest rises and falls fast, her lips parting, a sharp gasp escaping.
Good. Let her feel what she fucking does to me.
“You don’t get to call it a mistake” I growl, tightening my grip just enough that she swallows hard beneath my palm. My other hand slides down, yanking up the short leather skirt she dared to wear out tonight, exposing the little scrap of lace underneath. Black. Fucking see-through.
She whimpers, fingers gripping at my wrist. “Nikolai—”
I tear the panties clean off.
Her cry is lost in my mouth as I kiss her hard, sinking two fingers inside her in one swift thrust. She's dripping wet, her body clenching around me instantly, and I groan against her lips.
“So fucking ready,” I mutter darkly, pumping my fingers in deep, curling them against that spot that makes her tremble.
“Was this for them? Hm? The men at the bar?” My teeth scrape down the side of her jaw, biting at the sensitive skin there as I force her thighs open wider. “Or was it for me?”
She gasps, head tipping back against the couch. I don’t let her.
I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me, my fingers still moving inside her, fucking her with slow, deep strokes. “Don’t you fucking look away. I want your eyes on me when I’ve got your little cunt in my hands.”
Her brows pinch together, her lips quivering as I press my thumb to her most sensitive spot, circling it just enough to make her body tighten beneath me. “Niko—”
“Say it.” I demand, voice thick with need and anger. “Call it a mistake again.”
She doesn’t. She can’t.
Not when her legs start to shake. Not when I push her higher, my fingers relentless, my grip on her jaw keeping her exactly where I want her.
“You don’t get to doubt me,” I grind out, speeding up, curling my fingers just right. Her thighs snap shut around my wrist, her body twisting beneath me, her moans turning desperate. “You don’t get to question how much I want you, how much I—”
Her body arches, her hands flying up to clutch at my wrist, and then she breaks apart underneath me, hard and messy, gushing over my fingers, soaking my hand completely.
A guttural groan tears from my throat as I watch it happen, the way her body loses control, the way she gasps my name, her voice broken and breathless.
“Good girl,” I rasp, dragging my soaked fingers up, pressing them against her swollen clit as she twitches. “Good fucking girl.”
She shudders violently, eyes still locked onto mine, her pupils blown wide. But I’m not done with her.
Not even close.
Before she can recover, I grip her waist and flip her over, pressing her knees into the couch, forcing her hands against the backrest. She doesn’t resist, still panting, her thighs trembling as she braces herself.
I push her skirt further, dragging my palm over the curve of her ass before delivering a sharp slap.
She jerks, gasping. “Fuck, Niko—”
I grab her hips, pulling her against me as I shove my joggers down just enough to free my aching cock.
I drag the thick head along her slick entrance, groaning at how ready she is, at how she’s still pulsing from her first orgasm.
“You’re mine.” I murmur darkly, pressing forward, just enough for her to feel the stretch before pulling back again.
She whimpers, pressing back against me, her knuckles white where she grips the couch. “Please,” she breathes.
I snap.
I slam into her, driving myself to the hilt in one thrust, burying myself so deep inside her that she cries out, her body clenching around me so fucking tight I almost lose it here and now.
“Fuck,” I growl, fingers bruising against her hips. “You take me so well, angel.” I pull back, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in, setting a punishing rhythm, chasing the pleasure we both crave.
She moans, pressing her forehead against her arms, her back arching, her body accepting every brutal snap of my hips. “More—”
I grip the back of her neck, forcing her down, keeping her right where I want her. “More?” I sneer. “Like you deserve it with the shit you pulled tonight?” My voice comes out in harsh groans.
She whimpers, her walls fluttering around me, her thighs trembling. “I do,” she chokes out. “Please, Nikolai—”
I groan, slamming into her harder, the wet slap of our bodies echoing through the room, her moans turning into broken, desperate cries. She’s close again. I can feel it.
“You don’t fucking leave my sight again.” I breathe over her, sweat beading on both of us. “Understand?”
She nods frantically as she screams, “Yes!” her breath hitching, her hands clawing at the couch.
“And you never call this a fucking mistake.”
That’s all it takes. Her body tenses, back bowing, a sharp, breathless cry breaking free as she comes again, her walls milking me so fucking tight I can’t hold back.
I groan, burying myself deep one last time as pleasure crashes through me, my vision going white-hot, my entire body shaking with the force of it. I spill into her, holding her tight against me, my fingers bruising into her waist as I paint the inside of her.
For a long moment, neither of us move. We just breathe. Hearts hammering. Skin burning.
And then I press a slow, lingering kiss against her spine, my lips dragging up to the nape of her neck before whispering against her ear. “Now, do you fucking understand?”