Chapter 12 - Mila
The kitchen floor is warm when I step inside, while morning light spills, moving with some caution still, but also a bit lighter than before.
And of course, Ivan’s already there.
Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t look visibly hungover like I thought he would be.
Instead, he’s sitting at the island with his steaming mug in front of him, already eating.
He looks entirely normal with a dark t-shirt on, lacking any tension or regret in his shoulders.
If anything, he’s annoyingly put together.
Regardless of the levity from last night, I put my guard back up again, well aware that I’m no longer with drunk Ivan.
“Morning,” he says easily enough, glancing at me while I move over to the coffee machine. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be up, so I went ahead. There’s food in the pan.”
Before I can grab a mug, I pause and study him as discreetly as I can, waiting for a telltale groan of pain or a painstaking breath. I don’t hear either. “You don’t look like someone who drank as much as you did last night.”
His lip barely pulls. “I’ve done worse to myself.”
“I don’t think that’s the win you think it is.”
“Not at all,” he admits, a bit more self-deprecating than usual. He reaches for his cup. “But if it weren’t for you, it would’ve been worse. So, thanks.”
“I wasn’t doing it to be nice.”
He hums skeptically, definitely not buying it. “Of course not. It was purely out of self-preservation.”
When I shoot him a look, his grin is far too unrepentant and not at all calculating. Instead, he seems relaxed, like parts of last night still exist in him.
I hate the way my chest clenches at how disarming he had been when he came home, and how I find myself wanting more of it now.
Forcing the thoughts out of my head, I pour myself coffee and lean against the farthest counter to keep a distance. “Do you remember everything?”
“Sure do.”
“Even the embarrassing parts, like drooling on yourself?”
Ivan snorts, but nods. “Especially that.”
Not meaning to, I let go of a muffled laugh, and I know he heard it too. Correcting myself, I stand a little straighter. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.”
Something about his easy agreement irks me. “You watched me without my knowledge.”
“I did,” he confirms, eventually standing once his plate is empty, and heading for the sink to rinse it off.
Shifting my position to face him, like keeping something volatile in my range of sight, I set my mug down and cross my arms. “And you lied to me.”
Still, Ivan doesn’t argue. He shuts the water off and looks at me directly with an air of unruffled coolness. “I’m not pretending all of that didn’t happen. You’re allowed to be angry.”
The simple, yet genuine way he says it catches me off guard, and I don’t have anything to counter…since he’s giving me nothing that needs countering.
Looking up at him, I can feel how different the space between us feels. There’s less hostility surrounding us this morning, and it’s unsettling, like I can’t use anger as viable armor anymore. It leaves me exposed and far too aware of the way he looks at me.
I swallow and pull back just enough to break the moment. “Why are you even up this early?”
“It’s a habit, even on the weekends, unfortunately,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter. “And I heard you humming when you woke up.”
My brows pinch at that, but being called out like that stuns me more than I want to admit while I try to push down the slight heat creeping up my neck. “I wasn’t that loud.”
“No, but it was loud enough,” Ivan says, smiling enough to be noticeable. “You have good vocal control, by the way.”
I blink back at him, not expecting any kind of compliment from him. “Humming isn’t really impressive.”
He shrugs. “Maybe not, but I’ve heard you do more than that.”
“What?”
“Your shows,” Ivan explains, like it’s obvious. “I saw you perform at the lounges even when you weren’t supposed to.”
It takes me considerable effort to manage the words and to ignore how personal this conversation suddenly seems.
“You actually went?”
He nods, looking me over, only showing quiet amusement in his eyes. “I went to a few. You were better than most acts around here.”
My pulse spikes, and I’m left speechless while I try to process it. He actually went…and he enjoyed it.
I should be furious, and definitely not standing here, indulging this topic, but my body betrays me more every second I stay. With every sliver of space that gets cut between us.
I know I should hate him more than anything, and to remind myself again and again why he is the last person I can allow myself to become comfortable around, but I can’t help it.
Knowing he was there, watching me in the crowd with the rest of the audience, makes something traitorous and warm settle in my stomach.
It’s weirdly hot.
“That’s…unexpected,” I murmur, hating myself a little more as I let my imagination get away from me.
My heart pounds too loud for me to handle, and even if I should back off, the distance between us narrows, and I don’t remember closing it. I just know that he’s close enough for me to smell his shampoo now, and for his warmth to seep into me like it was always meant to.
Tilting my head up, I meet his gaze, and despite how I expect it, there’s no triumph there. No smugness or mocking. Instead, there’s a silent and restrained anticipation that makes my skin feel hotter.
“I don’t forgive you,” I say, just above a whisper, while my resolve ebbs. “And I still don’t trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” Ivan utters, voice low and rougher than it had been. His eyes trace my features, soft and far too tempting.
Pulling in a slow, measured breath, my attention drops to his lips. “But I want to do something for myself, for once.”
Ivan blinks back at me, almost like he’s surprised by how close I’m allowing him to be, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Before I can lose my nerve, I lean in, bracing myself on his muscled forearm. Then I press my lips to his somewhat cautiously at first.
His breath catches, surprisingly unguarded, then he reaches for me, pulling me closer.
Fueled by defiance and a deeply-rooted desire I’ve never been able to fully explore before, choosing this because I want it, I press further, and that’s all it takes.
Ivan surrounds me at once, hands on my hips as we both let go, chasing the rush of pleasure that comes with being so close, mouth to mouth, and practically starving for it.
When his tongue brushes against my bottom lip, I part them instinctively, immediately hit with need at the way he claims my mouth. He tries to keep it slow and steady, but with a deep inhale, he pushes closer, seeking out more.
I let it happen as a thrill sparks within me, running up my spine and spurring me on. Shifting forward, I brush against him, feeling the strain beneath his waistband.
He wants this. He wants me.
That thought is both exciting and daunting, and even if my blood runs hot at the way he grinds against me, I pause.
Ivan stops when I tense up, breaking the kiss to meet my gaze. He breathes a little deeper with a vaguely wild look in his eyes that makes my knees weak. “What’s wrong?”
Blinking back at him, realizing I can’t escape this, I try to push back the flush creeping up my neck. “Nothing, I just…”
“Mila,” he murmurs, expression turning a bit more serious as his thumbs brush against my hips, “Tell me.”
With a shaky breath, I muster as much courage as I can. “I’ve never done this before.”
Ivan freezes noticeably while digesting my words, and his brows go up a bit. “You’ve never been with anyone?”
My cheeks warm now as I avert my gaze, and I nod.
Silence lingers between us, and just when I expect him to pull away, he takes a steadying breath but stays where he is. “Is this what you want?”
Caught off guard, my eyes snap back to his, and it takes more effort to form my response. And the longer I hold his gaze, the more appealing that thought becomes. “I do.”
Interest reflects back at me then, and despite looking ready to pounce, Ivan restrains himself as his fingers flex lightly against me. A hint of doubt lingers in his features. “And you’re sure? I don’t want to take this from you if you’re not absolutely certain this is what you want.”
Something about the way he holds himself back to get my confirmation is far more attractive than it should be, leaving me with no doubt.
“I’m sure,” I tell him without hesitation, fingers reaching for his sweatpants. “Please.”
Another wave of lust passes over his face at that, but he chuckles to himself and gently catches my wrists to pause my momentum. He leans closer, words brushing against my cheek. “Then I’m doing this properly.”
Before I can say anything, he dips down, scooping me up like it’s nothing, then he leaves the kitchen behind while adjusting me in his hold.
My breath catches, watching him the whole way, taking in the barely-restrained need emanating from him.
From this angle, the sharp lines of his features nearly make me drool, forgetting all about my hesitation.
Pushing through the bedroom threshold, Ivan brings me over to the bed, setting me down with more care than expected.
My heart pounds as I look up at him, and the reality of what I’m doing sets in. But knowing I’m choosing this, and knowing nobody else gets to control this moment, I just want it more.
Ivan leans in, lips capturing mine again with a pleased hum. He moves closer to settle above me, hands finding my waist while his lips meld with mine, sure yet still careful.
Something about it is both arousing and irritating, and in retaliation, I kiss him harder, fingers moving through his hair.
He muffles an amused huff against my mouth, letting his hands slide beneath my shirt. “So impatient.”
“I’m not made of glass,” I tell him in between kisses, melting at the way he makes me feel.