Chapter 17
ALINA
Ithink about our conversation for hours while I work on my sketch. Not about Kostya. I don’t care about that. As far as I’m concerned, Andrei can do whatever he pleases with Kostya. I never want to hear about him again.
The way he reacted when I told him Kostya and I never had sex, though, is living rent-free in my head.
Now he’s sitting across the space from me, focused on something on his computer, shoulders tight with the kind of tension that never really leaves him anymore. He’s coiled so tightly it feels like one wrong word might snap something loose.
I try to focus on my sketch, to get the lines just right and finally put on page the ideas for my future hotel that have been building up in my brain. I’m lying to myself, though, if I pretend it’s anything more than a distraction to stop thinking about our conversation.
I keep replaying that one moment. The look on his face when I admitted I was a virgin before him. He hid it quickly, of course. He’s not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve. It wasn’t quick enough, though.
I saw the jealousy plainly on his face. It quickly changed to something else, almost a possessiveness, before he managed to hide it completely, replacing his careful mask.
The memory sends a slow warmth spreading through my chest, down my stomach, lower. I shift slightly on the couch, pressing my knees together without meaning to. It shouldn’t feel good to think about him wanting me.
None of this should feel good.
My life is falling apart. I’m trapped in a safehouse with a man who lives in a world I barely understand. Someone is trying to kill him. My ex-fiancé is clearly involved somehow. And on top of that, I’m pregnant and terrified. Everything is completely out of control.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about that look in his eyes that felt like control of a different kind. Like being wanted so intensely it borders on danger. My pulse picks up just thinking about it.
I try to push the feeling away. It’s reckless. Stupid. The exact opposite of what I should be doing right now. If anything, I should be putting distance between us. Protecting myself from getting pulled in any deeper.
Instead, all I can think about is the way his hands felt on me the last time we had sex. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. The way everything inside me went quiet with fire when he touched me.
My breath comes a little shorter.
I glance toward him before I can stop myself.
He hasn’t noticed me watching. Or maybe he has and he’s pretending not to. With him, it’s impossible to tell. His expression is calm, but there’s something simmering just beneath it, something restless and sharp.
He looks tired. Both physically and mentally. This situation is weighing on him even more heavily than it’s weighing on me. It’s pressing down on him hard enough to show through his carefully crafted veneer.
The thought twists painfully in my chest. Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand and start walking toward him.
He senses me before I speak. His eyes lift from the screen, locking onto mine instantly. The intensity of it hits me like a physical thing, stealing the air from my lungs for a second.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “No.”
The word comes out thinner than I expect. Honest in a way that feels exposed. His gaze studies my face, searching for something. Worry, maybe. Fear. He’s always looking for threats, even the invisible ones.
“What is it?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away because I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. How do you tell someone you’re about to make a reckless decision just to feel something other than fear? My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“You looked jealous,” I say quietly.
The words hang in the air between us. He looks back at me with confusion.
“When?” he asks, but I know he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“You know when,” I challenge him.
“I don’t get jealous,” he pivots, turning his gaze from me.
“That wasn’t what it looked like to me,” I argue. “It looked like you were ready to rip Kostya’s head off just for the thought of him touching me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged. He doesn’t deny it again. Heat rushes through me, sudden and overwhelming. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like every nerve ending woke up at once.
“I never wanted him,” I hear myself say. My voice is barely above a whisper. “Not the way I want you.”
The second the words leave my mouth, everything changes.
Something dark and intense flashes across his face. It’s that same possessive expression he had earlier. It’s shadowed and dangerous, like an oncoming storm. I want to get caught in it. I want to get swept away by it.
I know I shouldn’t. I know I should stop this before it goes too far, but I can’t. Because for the first time in days, maybe weeks, the fear inside me goes quiet. It’s replaced by something hot and reckless and alive.
I take another step closer to him, placing my hand on the side of his face. All it takes it one touch to break this fragile thing blooming between us.
His hand closes around my wrist, firm and immediate, like he’s been holding himself back and finally ran out of restraint. The contact sends a sharp spark straight through me, stealing my breath.
“Alina,” he says, low and rough.
It’s both a warning and a plea. He seems conflicted, like he wants me to stay away from him but can’t make himself say the words. I’m glad for that. I don’t want him to. I don’t think I’d listen to him even if he could say them. I don’t want to stay away from him. I want to be consumed by him.
I step into his space until we’re a breath away from each other.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the solid strength of him beneath my hands. All the noise in my head disappears, replaced by one simple, dangerous certainty.
I want this. I want him. Even if it’s a mistake. Even if it makes everything worse.
His restraint breaks in a single motion. He pulls me into his lap, sudden and powerful, like he can’t stop himself anymore. His hands grip my hips hard enough to make me gasp, grounding me there, holding me in place like I belong exactly where I landed.
The intensity in his eyes steals the last of my breath. For a second, neither of us moves. The moment stretches, fragile and electric, balanced on the edge of something we both know we shouldn’t do.
Then he kisses me, hard and desperate, like he’s been starving and I’m the last food left on the planet.
Every thought disappears. Every fear I’ve been ruminating on, every consequence that this encounter could have. All that’s left is heat and the dizzying rush of being wanted so completely it feels like falling.
My hands slide into his hair, holding on like he’s the only steady thing in a world that won’t stop shifting beneath my feet. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.
For a few stolen moments, nothing outside this room exists. No danger, no past, no impossible future waiting for us when this ends. Just this. Just him. Just the fragile illusion that maybe, somehow, we can forget everything else.
I kiss him back with every ounce of passion and desire that I’ve been denying myself. I grind my hips into him, unbidden, until I can feel his thick manhood pressing into me.
My body craves him in a way I didn’t expect. Even now, when we’re just moments away from crossing the line, it’s like every cell is screaming to be touched, to be brought pleasure that only he can provide.
I’m addicted to him, I think wildly. I don’t know how to survive without touching him. That’s a problem, I know, but one I don’t want to think about right now.
He stands up, lifting me with him, and slowly carries us back to my bedroom. I feel the soft mattress against my back as he gently lays me down and moves on top of me, never once breaking our kiss. His tongue is warm and urgent inside my mouth.
I know exactly what that tongue is capable of.
Just the thought makes me moan and arch into him, hungry for more.
This seems to set him on fire, and he pulls away, just enough to start leaving hot, wet kisses against my skin.
Down my neck, and over my clothed chest. It doesn’t stay that way for long though.
His hands tangle as they work to remove my clothes. I feel like I barely blink before he’s managed to get me completely naked underneath him.
Then I feel his mouth and hands everywhere. I’m already so keyed-up and I know I won’t last long.
He frees himself from his boxers and slides his thick cock inside of me, groaning when he realizes how hot and wanting I already am.
“You’re so fucking ready for me,” he growls into my ear. “Only I make you like this.”
“Fuck yes,” I whisper, because he’s right. Kostya never made me feel so desperate.
He drills into me, moving faster than I can process. I’m holding on for dear life, desperate from the motion. I feel every inch of him plunging deep inside of me and touching places I’ve never been able to reach even with the best toys. It’s like he was made specifically for my body.
He thrusts again and it’s enough to cause me to scream out wildly, my pussy clenching tightly around him. I didn’t even know this amount of pleasure was possible. My mind is blank of every other thought but the fireworks exploding behind my eyes as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
I don’t even notice when he comes. That’s how far gone I am. I know he’s finished, though, because he nearly collapses on top of me, groaning in pleasure as he does.