Chapter 13
Ekaterina
I saw him too.
And now I want to kiss him, just as I think I would have accepted that night if he had asked me. But the moment I open my mouth to confess that he was not the only one looking, his trousers fall onto the heated tile.
My eyes travel down the length of his perfect body, now left in nothing but black boxers, and I freeze.
He is hard.
And very thick.
“When did you undress?” The air is stuck in my chest.
“When you were thinking about kissing me again.”
“That’s not true! I was only remembering that Christmas party.”
“What exactly do you remember?”
I gulp, trying not to stare at his tempting body, standing there with his hands on his hips, waiting for my answer.
Would it be too much if I dragged my tongue over his perfect abs?
Probably.
“A man speaking to my brother,” I answer after another dry swallow.
“There were many men who spoke with Mikhail that evening.”
“But only one scared everyone there.”
He takes one careful step toward me. “Not you.”
I slowly shake my head, hypnotized by his eyes.
“And yet, that night, I was the one you should have feared the most. You still should be, because now you have seen how dangerous I can be even around you.”
He exhales heavily, with guilt, and brushes past me toward the shower.
“I don’t want to hurt you again, Katya.”
“But you stopped,” I say, following him with my gaze.
“I don’t want to put you in danger again. I am the one supposed to protect you, not hurt you.” “Can we call it an accident?”
He turns towards me.
“We cannot afford accidents like that.” I have no reply, because he is right.
“I’ll let you shower. Anthony is waiting for me,” I say instead, turning my back to him and heading for bedroom.
I don’t think I manage to take even two steps before my hand is caught by him, and I am pulled back, until my nose collides with a very hard chest marked by a tattoo I already know too well.
“Who the fuck is Anthony?”
I lift my gaze only to confirm that he is truly furious when I hear the words pushed through his teeth.
It is too easy.
There is no way I can hold back from teasing him with this.
“Are you jealous?”
“Ekaterina,” he hisses, threateningly.
“I thought you were supposed to worry about my safety, not my personal life.”
“Don’t fucking play with me, or you will not leave this room even on your honeymoon.”
As if he will be able to see me after I get married...
That thought immediately brings an unpleasant feeling, one that makes me stop pushing whatever is happening inside his twisted mind.
My desire to play vanishes, and I answer only to annoy him.
“An arrogant man, but very sensitive once you get the chance to know him.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“On Netflix,” I say dryly. “You can lock me in the bedroom. He’s already here.”
To make it more obvious, I glance toward the large screen mounted on the wall, where the image of this season’s leading couple from Bridgerton, Anthony and his future wife, has been frozen since I paused it earlier.
He follows my gaze and frowns.
“You mean the actor?” This time his voice is a little calmer.
A little.
I roll my eyes.
“Not the actor. The character.”
He freezes for a moment, while I lower my gaze and shake my head, almost amused by his reaction, even though most of my amusement has faded.
But then I realize his nakedness just keeps going, and I am pressed against his completely bare body.
Still very hard.
His long, thick length is pressed against my lower stomach, melting me with a hot fantasy that hits me from nowhere.
Him.
Inside me.
Thrusting hard.
Deep.
“You’re naked,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes turn to my face, and I feel my heart going wild again, when his warm, heavy breath touches my lips.
“One day I’ll be death because of you.” Artem’s voice is calm, as if he already knows his fate and is not troubled by it at all.
“Have you ever seen a dead devil?” I murmur, keeping my tone neutral.
But my joke does not make him smile.
“Watch something else until I get out of the bathroom. Some news or National Geographic.”
After saying it like an order to one of his soldiers, he turns back into the bathroom and slams the door behind him.
Not only is he a dangerous criminal, but the way his personality keeps shifting is giving me actual hot flashes.
Or perhaps he simply triggers hormonal surges in me that make my ovaries tremble in his presence.
No matter how I put it, the truth is that I am in deep shit.
And I become aware of that with every second that passes after I lie down with my head on my pillow, replaying what happened.
The carousel of emotions I experienced in that bathroom shook my entire existence.
I was aroused.
I felt as if I were burning. But when his fingers began tightening around my throat and air no longer reached my lungs, panic took hold of me. Part of me trusted him and knew he would stop. Another part saw that he was doing nothing about it, and I was sure I was going to pass out.
Even so, when his kiss became the air I breathed, and his arms pulled me completely against him with touches both delicate and desperate, I felt as if life had given me another chance, in the shape of a man who makes me feel things I have never felt before.
I am more confused than ever, but my lips still feel the effect of his kiss, as if it has been tattooed onto them.
I smile.
I should be afraid, but I cannot be.
My heart leaps with joy, even if it’s worn out from the chaos it’s been dragged through these past few minutes.
I lie down on the mattress, but turn off the television, having completely lost interest in it tonight.
In less than a minute, Artem comes out of the bathroom.
I can hear his silent steps as he comes toward the bed, but I cannot see him because my back is turned to him. I feel when he lies down, just as I feel the heavy breath he exhales from his chest.
My heart is pounding, and just as I prepare to tell him good night, I hear his low voice.
“Are you alright?”
I let out a heavy breath, like a silent sigh. “I don’t know.”
Artem moves closer to me, and I think I am melting completely when he wraps one arm around my waist and suddenly pulls me toward him, pressing me fully against his body. His nose disappears into my hair, and I feel like everything beyond us vanishes completely for me.
“Is this better?”
It is a thousand times better, but I don’t say that.
I only nod.
This whole thing is pure madness, and in just a few days, it has slipped completely out of control.
Trying to control at least some of the pain in my voice, I keep my voice low. “What the hell are we doing here, Artem?”
His voice is calm. “Sleeping.”
“Is that what we were doing in the bathroom?”
He sights.
“You have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself around you, dusha moya. But you saw how far I can go. And you don’t want to know what I wanted to do to you that Christmas night.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer.
This time, I turn in his arms until I am facing him, looking directly into the eyes whose incredible color I can barely see in the dark.
“Tell me.”
I can see he hesitates, but he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and answers quietly.
“To fuck you. To kill you.”
“And would you really have done all that?”
“Yes.”
He does not even blink when he confesses all of it with devastating honesty.
My stomach tightens, and I become increasingly aware of the danger I was just a few minutes ago.
“Then why did you stop earlier?”
His fingers continue to caress my cheek, tracing my face with a tenderness that feels almost unreal.
Artem speaks about death and how he would have killed me without caring about the consequences or my life. But right now, his touch and his warm gaze are telling me the exact opposite.
Maybe this is the behavior of a true psychopath, one for whom even death is an act of affection.
And in my own madness, knowing what he can do to me, I still feel safe with him.
Something is wrong with me too, because instead of running from this man, I press my cheek against his warm palm while his eyes search mine.
“Because back then, I did not care whether you existed. Now things are different.”
“Because you are responsible for my safety until the wedding,” I conclude on my own, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he presses his lips to my forehead and whispers,
“It’s late. Let’s go to sleep.”
“You’re doing it again! Ending the conversation whenever you want. That isn’t fair,” I mutter, frustrated.
“Turn around and stop talking.”
I turn only because I am upset with him and no longer want to see his face.
But when his arms wrap around me again, I let the furry dissolve and close my eyes.
“Good night, Katya.”
His voice is deep and steady, while mine still carries a hint of anger.
“Good night, Artem.”
I should not be here.
But right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else either. That is exactly why, to my surprise, sleep claims me almost immediately, in the arms of the monster who wanted to kill me a little while ago and now is giving me the peace I need to fall asleep.
When the morning comes, I wake in an empty bed, with the rays of a strong sun stroking my face. It’s much earlier than I usually wake up, but any trace of sleep disappears the second I remember the kiss from last night.
Taking advantage of the solitude of the room, I pull the pillow over my face and scream softly into it while kicking my legs.
In the daylight, everything feels much more serious, and my throat certainly confirms it.
He almost killed me.
Or fucked me.
I jump out of bed and hurry toward the bathroom, but of course, in my numb state, I slam my little toe into the doorframe.
“Motherfucker!” I curse loudly, because there is no other way to react in this moment, like any normal human being who feels the pain all the way to the brain and wonders how the fuck such a tiny toe can exist only to crash into everything in its path.
After rubbing the damaged area for a bit, I limp to the large mirror above the sink and draw a deep breath.
Then I look at my reflection.