“It’s not as if your seduction efforts couldn’t use a little more tact,” I told him.
He watched me for a second. “Don’t worry about my efforts, kotyonok.”
I raised a brow. “Then don’t worry about mine.”
His eyes held mine, something darker than the shadows slithering through them. Silence settled in the air, putting pressure on my lungs. Trying to find my breath, I pulled my attention from him, picked up the book, and made sure I didn’t damage the spine before putting it back in its spot.
I felt his gaze trail down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. The look seared—hot and cold, like the burn of an ice cube on skin. I skimmed my fingers across the old spines, unable to focus on anything besides his presence wrapping around my body like black silk.
The ibuprofen Yulia shoved at me every four hours kept the pain in my wrist down, but it did nothing to stop the throb between my legs. The heat inside rivaled the time I was pressed against a hotel door with Ronan’s thigh working me higher and higher.
My mind hit rewind, taking me back to that night in Moscow and my stay thereafter. Something clicked into place. The realization hit me in the chest, and my fingers slipped down the spines.
I turned to face him. “Why did you play with me for so long when you knew who my papa was from the beginning?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
I knew why he’d waited so long to follow through with his plan of revenge.
He liked me.
Every yellow, rebellious, heart-on-my-sleeve inch of me.
An hour had passed since I walked out of the library and fell into bed. Sleep was now impossible to find. If it wasn’t my heart jumping to ridiculous conclusions, it was my body growing hotter with every brush of the covers.
I kicked off the sheets, but I was still spun in a web of heat. With a groan of frustration, I rolled to my other side. My sleep shorts rode up, pulling tight between my thighs. I tried to ignore the way my clit tingled for friction, but all I could think about was how it felt when he went down on me and the roughness of his hands on my skin. My heart ran off course, my breaths becoming too tight to release.
The longer I lay there, the more the fire and resentment burned. Ronan had taken my virginity, stepped on it like garbage, and I was just supposed to say thank you. Frustration seared the back of my neck. It felt like I was in some kind of limbo that wouldn’t end until he’d finished what he started. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to feel like this for the rest of my life.
I shot to my feet and strode down the hall, determination urging me on. When I stepped into Ronan’s room, I stopped short. My mouth went dry at the sight: smooth, inked muscle beneath black sheets. He slept like a human man—lying on his stomach with one arm under the pillow.
For a moment, I second-guessed myself. He looked larger than life with so much skin visible. The sheets were down by his calves as if he’d gotten too hot and kicked them off, leaving the length of his toned back and black boxer briefs on display. All hesitation stalled at the desire to see the ink he hid behind Versace.
I moved closer until I stood beside the king-size bed. His face was turned from me, his breaths steady. The entirety of his back was covered with tattoos, from Russian letters spread across his shoulder blades, to a tiger, and a devil with wings and horns.
It was strange to see this man at his most vulnerable. Did he dream? And if he did, was it filled with blood and murder? We might not see each other ever again shortly, but a part of me hoped I’d leave him to dream of yellow.
Subconsciously, I reached out to touch the ink—though before I could, I was thrown onto my back on the bed, the coldness of a gun pressed against my temple. My chest heaved, my gaze on Ronan straddling my hips. He took me in for a second, almost as if he was confused.
I found another weakness.
He was weak right when he woke.
“Fuck, Mila,” he growled and then threw his gun across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor. “I could have fucking killed you.”
As the shock died, I became aware of all the heat pressed against me; of his legs straddling my hips; of his shirtless torso decorated with more ink. My eyes slid down his body. I had no idea why he hadn’t taken his clothes off sooner if he was trying to sleep with me. I’d like to say I was strong enough to resist temptation in all its forms, but . . . just seeing him in a pair of boxer briefs made me want to rock my hips against him and slide my hands from his pecs to his abs.
I pulled my lip between my teeth and dragged my eyes back up to his.
The confusion melted from his gaze when he saw my expression, morphing into a heat that smoldered. One hand braced beside my head, he ran the other across his face before dropping it and saying harshly, “I get enough easy pussy. I’m not in the mood for more.”
His words should dissuade any woman and send her running to find literally anyone else. But I didn’t want another. Not to mention, he was incredibly hard against me. Who was the liar now?
“You did this to me.” My eyes narrowed. “Now, fix it.”
noctilucous
(adj.) shining or luminescent in the dark
“When someone calls you a whore, you get the fuck out of their bed,” I growled. “It’s called having a little self-respect.”
Did I have to teach this girl the basics before she went home to Miami and let men degrade her? Simply the thought sent a violent fire up my back, searing me with the claim only I was allowed to degrade her.
“I don’t need your respect.” Her soft American accent crept beneath my skin, slid downward, and grabbed ahold of my cock just as I imagined her hand would.
My gaze hardened. “You don’t know what you need.”
“Maybe not, but I do know what I want.”
It was clear what that was, but I found myself asking anyway. “And what do you want?”
“Right now . . . you.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what I expected her to say. I anticipated a silent blush or for her to ask for an orgasm. Not me, her goddamn kidnapper. And right after I insulted her no less—which was a reflex to get her out of my bed before I took what she was offering. She had no reservations about putting herself out there. Her soft heart was going to get her killed. How she’d survived so long and still maintained her innocence was a mystery.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m not the one with a hard-on,” she returned.
A sliver of humor rose up my throat, but I held in the laugh. I was trying to make a point here—that you shouldn’t put your heart out for the world to see if you wanted to live—and I wasn’t going to let her ruin it with her mouth.
“This is why I don’t fuck virgins. They get clingy as hell.”
She laughed lightly. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
First off, “afraid” was the last thing I felt when it came to fucking her. Second off, what the hell? This girl could fall in love with a goddamn rock. Then my thoughts went to Ivan, and poison blistered through my veins.
“Why not, kotyonok?” I slid my thumb across her lips, my voice lowering to a warning. “Is your heart already taken?”