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Her hands kept moving up and down my back until she suddenly dropped them and gripped the furniture tightly, her knuckles turning white.
"I need to know, Volk," she breathed out.
Confusion swept over me as I locked eyes with her, raising an eyebrow in question. But as the lust faded and reality set in, my body tensed as if plunged into icy waters.
She's not into you; she's just using you to get what she wants.
Her touch felt like poison when she placed a shaky hand on my chest.
I pushed her away, hating myself for falling into her trap.
Turning away, I hurried to the walk-in closet and grabbed a pair of black pants and a white shirt. Once dressed, I returned to the bedroom.
She remained seated on the dark furniture, her face hidden by her hair, and her legs dangling in the air. The sight was a gut punch.
"Volk—"
"Don’t fucking say my name."
"I have a right to know," she insisted.
Her words only fueled my anger. I approached her, closing the distance until we were inches apart.
Fear flashed across her face.
"Get out. Now."
"No," she whispered, shaking her head.
No?
Fucking, no?
No one ever tells me no.
I gritted my teeth, fighting a chaotic mix of emotions. I was torn between wanting to grab her by the throat, the urge to fuck her so intensely she’d lose consciousness, or just walking out of the room altogether.
She wasn’t backing down. She stepped off the furniture and faced me head-on, standing tall with her fists clenched and chin up. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“I’m not going anywhere, Volk,” she said, her voice trembling as she brushed away a single tear. “Tell me everything, now.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
“Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.”
? Voltaire
Sofiya
His eyes darkened.
My stubbornness seemed to both irritate and provoke him, but I couldn’t back down.
I’d been trapped here for too long. The thought that my mama might be involved was tearing me apart.
I needed answers, even if it meant sacrificing my self-respect.
