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He’s right on one level. I’m worriedhewill, and then I’ll be left here like the biggest dork ever, wondering what to do all over again—wondering if I’m good enough.
“I just thought you had work to do,” I murmur.
A flicker of something like disappointment enters his eyes. I almost snap at him when I see it, but then he pushes it away, looping his arm around my waist. “We’ll have to get you a dress for the party,” he says. “Something befitting a Bratva queen.”
I playfully dig him with my elbow. “I’m not queen of anything.”
He slides his hand further down my body, smoothing it over my hip as we walk through the house together. I’m still wearing my shabby clothes, sweats, and a hoodie, spattered in paint, but he doesn’t seem to care. In the large entranceway, I stop. “I should get changed.”
He smirks down at me. “My queen can dress however she wants.”
It’s all a big joke, but my cheeks turn red anyway. “Seriously…”
“What is the king’s woman if you’re not a queen?”
“I can’t be your woman at the party, though,” I murmur, trying not to think of him and Mila together.
“Youaremy woman,” he growls passionately, “and I’m not going to hide it.”
His words send those tantalizing shivers dancing through me. My core pulses almost urgently as if my body is screaming at me to give in to the lust right here. “I do want to get changed, though,” I tell him.
“I’ll wait for you,” he says. “Ania wants us all to eat together before I leave.”
I head up the stairs, feeling his eyes on me, his gaze burning into me. Even walking out of his sight triggers a change in me, the voice whispering to be alone.Run. Find a way out. Now.In the bedroom, I get some jeans and a more presentable shirt, then walk over to the window, looking past the long garden, the walls, and the dusty desert. Even if I got out of here, where would I go? What would I do?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says from the other side of the room, his voice deep and commanding in a way that makes me feel like he owns me, whichshouldbe a bad thing.
“Nothing,” I whisper.
The floorboards creak as he approaches me, his footsteps heavy and confident. From behind, he wraps his arms around me, pressing his body against mine. I can feel his heart thudding high up in my back, his stiffness pressing against me. He shifts as though redirecting his stiff rod.
“What are you feeling?” he says, like he wants me to know just because he’s hard, he still wants to keep this emotional.
It’s like his body can’t help it. He sees me, feels me, and he lights up. He gets solid. Ready for my…
“I’ve been alone for so long,” I mutter.
“Me too.”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve had Mikhail. Ania. The Bratva.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “I was still alone. I was waiting for you.”
“Okay, fine, maybe poetically,” I murmur, staring out the window at the desert. This feels easier to discuss when we’re not looking at each other. “But realistically… this is all new for me.”
“Do you want to run?” he says, his tone getting darker.
“If I said yes, what would you do?”
His arms tighten around me. The trapped feeling is there, but it’s warm and tingly. I sink against him, feeling his hard body, his security. “I’d ask why,” he says after a long pause, but somehow, I know he’s thinking more than that. He’s thinking about taking me, locking me up, all for himself. I canfeelit in his body.
“I don’t want to run,” I tell him. “It’s more like… I want to want to. Like I think I should. I was determined to make my own way and be my own person.”
“We’re better together,” he says passionately. “I was the same. I thought I had to be alone. Distant. Even with my brother. Our father called him thespare, and Mikhail never liked that, but it meant he got to pursue his dreams. That’s why I felt alone. I was the only one with all that responsibility.”
I gently slide my hand over his clasped ones. “Weren’t you tempted to turn it down?”
“I could have run,” Dimitri says, “but that would’ve meant abandoning Mikhail and the city.”
