Chapter 64
Aurelia
Is this a part of the plan? Nikolai looks tense, and I can’t tell if that’s because things are going right or wrong. I’m still in shock that Adrian is at my side right now.
He takes my hand and spins me into him, the air between us charged, his palm rough and too warm against mine. My breath catches—not from surprise, but from his sick familiarity.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, low enough to scrape against my skin.
I look up at him with pure disdain, the flickering light catching the edge of his jaw, that smug little curve of his mouth that used to make me smile.
He leans into my ear. “You seemed to like me more when you thought I was dying.”
“Yeah,” I spit, the word trembling out of me, “because I thought you were a prisoner.” I look him up and down. “You’re a good liar.”
“Yes.” He hardens, but there’s a crack under it. “They had me pretend to be your friend so I could get information. But it became real for me.”
My laugh is humourless. “Aw, yay. That’s great.” The sarcasm burns my tongue.
He turns away, shoulders tense, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “It seems you and Nikolai have gotten… close.”
“Were you lying about him, too?” I ask. “Was this some kind of vendetta?”
“I hate him,” he says simply. “That part’s true. He’s the brother I told you about.”
The room feels too hot. The music thrums low and dirty through the floor, a reminder that people are watching—waiting. I glance around, irritated, half-wishing the walls would swallow us both. “So, whose side are you on right now?”
“Yours, and they need to see you’re not attached to him,” he says, dropping—more lethal. “That you’d be with anyone. It makes it easier for them to see you as less than them.”
I bite back a bitter laugh. “That’s super misogynistic. And I’m not interested in being with them and won’t play into that delusion.”
“Kiss me, Aurelia.”
I blink, stunned. “Are you fucked in the head?”
He smiles—slow, knowing, infuriating. The kind of smile that used to mean trouble.
“You are,” I whisper, my pulse thudding painfully in my throat. “I’m not kissing you. You’re a liar.”
“I’m a liar,” he says, stepping closer, his scent wrapping around me, “but I care about you, Aurelia. Let me help you, like you promised you’d do for me.”
We lock eyes, and I still can’t tell if he’s lying. His gaze doesn’t waver—steady, calm, he’s daring me to call his bluff. The noise of the room fades until it’s just us and the pulse pounding in my ears.
Then, after a long moment, he breaks the tension with a single line.
“It’s part of Nikolai’s plan.”
He slides a hand into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, his palm warm against the back of my neck. I hate how my body responds, how my breath stumbles when he pulls me closer.
And I can’t help it—I lean in.
Our mouths collide—not gentle, not asking. It’s a kiss born from frustration and memory, from everything unsaid. His lips are hot, hungry, tasting faintly of whiskey and something darker. His tongue finds mine, slow at first, testing, then deeper.
His hand tightens in my hair, angling my mouth to his, dragging a quiet sound from the back of my throat I didn’t mean to make. I hate that he hears it. I hate that I feel anything at all.
It’s not the same as kissing Nikolai. With Nikolai, it’s wildfire and ruin. With Adrian, it’s a quiet burn, slower, steadier, and it terrifies me that I don’t feel disgust.
When we finally break apart, breath mingling in the inches between us, I can taste blood—his or mine, I don’t even know. My lips feel swollen, my pulse racing.
Leftover tension hums as the music swells around us, dragging us back into rhythm. Our bodies move automatically, pretending nothing happened.
“You’re a good liar too, Aurelia,” he murmurs against my ear, edged with mockery.
I look up at him, jaw tight, nothing left to say.
“I almost thought you meant that,” he adds, a ghost of a smile curling his lips.
I bite my bottom lip hard enough to taste metal, holding his stare until the song fades. Then, without another word, he walks me back to Nikolai.
When we reach him, I’m pretty sure either Adrian or I are about to die.
Nikolai stands near the edge of the ballroom, a dark shape against the glittering chaos.
The chandelier light fractures across his suit, cold gold and shadow, but his eyes—Christ—his eyes are all storm.
The music hasn’t stopped, but it feels quieter, warped under the weight of his fury.
Every man near him takes a subtle step back.
I’ve never seen him this pissed.
He moves fast, snatching my wrists and yanking them behind my back. The motion is practiced and possessive. The edge of his ring is digging into my skin. My breath catches, but he still says nothing. Not a word.
Adrian just smiles and turns to the cluster of men nearby. Their laughter cracks, loud and ugly, jokes about how they can’t wait for their turn with me.
But their voices fade into static the moment Nikolai pulls me away.
I barely register my heels scraping the floor, the gleam of champagne flutes, and the heavy perfume and cigar smoke bleeding into the air. The ballroom disappears behind us in a blur of light and chatter as he drags me through the corridor.
We don’t even make it to the exit before he shoves open the door to the coat room.
The world narrows.
Dim amber light spills from a single bulb overhead, making his features agonize me with cruelty.
The cuffs on my wrist jingle as he closes the distance between us, the metallic sound slicing through the thick silence. His presence fills the room, pressing into me, consuming my entire body.
My back hits the wall.
My chest tightens—not fear, not exactly, but something darker. Adrenaline, heat, fury, and desire all tangled together, fighting for space beneath my skin.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I smirk, despite myself. “You’re mad about it?”
“Of course I’m fucking mad, Aurelia.”
“Well, why did you come up with this plan if you don’t like it?”
“You think I’m joking?” His Russian-laced words come out like a growl, provocative, deliberately untranslatable to anyone around us. I feel the edge in them and the threat lurking underneath.
I tilt my head, heart hammering. “Maybe,” I whisper.
He captures my lips with a rough kiss, claiming, urgent, dark. My body betrays me instantly, pressing closer and craving more. Every nerve screams and surrenders all at once.
By the look in his eyes, I’m guessing that Adrian lied once again.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Well, I didn’t enjoy it as much as being kissed by you.” I bring my body to his, my eyebrows carving with sympathy.
“But you enjoyed it,” he replies, his hand sliding along my hip, pulling my dress up so he can hook the lace of my black thong.
I look at him, heat rising between my thighs, needing him.
“Hands,” he hisses against my ear while sliding both cuffed hands to the wall above me, trapping me in place. “Stay still.”
I swallow hard, teasing a breathless laugh. “I’m hardly going anywhere, Nik.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t need to. The way his body vibrates and his eyes burn with possession, says enough. Every touch, every brush, every whispered word—he owned the space, and for a long second, he owned me.
An intense exhale escapes me when his lips move down my neck, teeth grazing, hands roaming with careful ferocity. I gasp, arching into him despite every warning in my mind.
“You don’t get to think about him,” he growls, all edge and dark intent. “Not here. Not now. Only me.”
I bite my lip, trying to protest, but failing utterly. The cuffs pinch as I try to shift, and he presses just enough to keep me pinned. His breath hot, his hands relentless. I feel dizzy with the intensity, part fear, part desire, part thrill.
Then he takes a knee, ripping my thong off and leaving me bare beneath my dress.
He puts a hand on my chest, guiding me back into the ledge so my body can rest. Then he forces my legs apart, taking a moment to admire my wetness. “You’re mine,” he whispers, rough, urgent, almost a warning.
Then he simultaneously takes my slit to his mouth and inserts a finger. The overwhelming sensation is driving me wild. Adrian’s kiss, Nikolai’s kiss, his presence and his tongue. I am overwhelmed with pleasure.
I nod, breathless, words failing. “Yours,” I manage, heart hammering in tandem with his pulse against mine.
“Fuck, Nikolai,” I whisper, knowing I have to be quiet, but struggling not to let my moans escape me.
He lifts a leg, bringing it above his shoulder and taking more of me. He inserts another finger, and my body is shaking with pleasure.
“YA sobirayus’ konchit’ tebe na litso, Nikolai.” I’m going to come on your face, Nikolai.
He keeps going, leaving me breathless, coming all over his fingers and tongue.
Looking up in awe, my juice still on him, he looks at me. “Ty tol’ko chto govoril po-russki, moya lyubov’?” Did you just speak Russian, my love?
“Ty dumal, ya potratil shest’ let na obucheniye, chtoby popast’ v tvoi ruki, i ne potrudilsya nemnogo vyuchit’ russkiy? Naivnyy mal’chik.” Did you think I spent six years studying to fall into your hands and didn’t even bother to learn a little Russian? Naive boy.
No, my Russian isn’t perfect. I haven’t been able to understand everything, especially when it’s spoken fast. But I know enough.
He stands with a grin, lifting his fingers to my mouth. “Poprobuy sebya na vkus, moya ognennaya devochka.” Taste yourself, my fiery girl.
I suck them clean, then lick his lips with my tongue, tasting my sweetness.
I look down to the bulge in his pants, ready to take my turn pleasuring him, but he just laughs.
“Later, malyshka, first we need to get you out of here.”
He leaves me with a deep kiss, sliding a small key into my palm without breaking contact, fingers brushing mine, a tether to the world outside.
My mind barely registers it. All I can feel is him.
And in that dim coatroom, with the cuffs, the key, and the weight of him, the world outside doesn’t exist. Only us and my dark, irresistible desire.