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I’ve been cooped up in this house for over two weeks, and I’m losing my mind, despite my very fancy new art studio, courtesy of my husband.
I cringe at the thought.
I know I shouldn’t have blown up at Alexei like I did when he showed me the space he had set up for me, but the rage that’s constantly bubbling just beneath the surface is starting to frighten me.
Everything is out of my control—from what I wear down to what I eat.
I went from living in a studio apartment in the center of New York, seeing my friends multiple times a week, going to museums and coffee shops, to being stuck in a house with one of the most dangerous men in New York.
Who also happens to be one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen.
I thought I’d escaped a lifetime of control. My father was exactly the same—always wanting to know where I was at all times, who I hung out with. It’s a miracle I even had any friends before I turned eighteen and went away to college.
But it seems all I’ve done is swap one controlling man for another.
A shiver runs down my spine as Alexei fills my thoughts.
My fingers automatically move to my lips, the phantom feeling of him still lingering there even two weeks later. That’s how incredible of a kiss it was.
The way he kissed me was possessive, and I hate that I’ve thought about it every night since.
His rejection of my advances still stings, and it doesn’t help that he likes to bring it up at every given opportunity. I think the asshole actually enjoys the fact that he turned me down and took a knock to my ego. Though I know it’s probably for the best.
This marriage is purely for business, and I can’t afford to give my heart away to a man who will likely tear it into shreds.
Alexei Koslov doesn’t scream relationship material.
Ignoring the heat pooling low in my belly, I screw my eyes shut and try to think of anything other than Alexei. I won’t give him the satisfaction of fantasizing about him.
He doesn’t deserve my orgasm when he stole away my freedom.
So, I try to sleep.
When the clock turns two, I decide enough is enough. It’s clear I need to give my brain something else to think about.
Throwing back the covers, I slip on the pink silk robe that hangs on the back of my door and sneak out of my room. I hesitate in the hall, my eyes wandering to Alexei’s door.
There’s no light coming from the crack beneath, so I assume he’s asleep, though I know he likes to work late into the night.
There’s been a few times where I’ve heard him creep past at all hours of the morning, the sound of his footsteps making me hold my breath.
On a few occasions, I swear he paused outside of my room, and I silently wished he would open the door and slip into the bed beside me.
I dreamed he would climb on top of me, enveloping me in his strong arms as he sank his cock deep inside my throbbing heat.
My thighs automatically rub together, snapping me back to reality.
“Get a grip, Bianca,” I mutter under my breath as I turn my back on Alexei’s room and head down the stairs to my studio.
I quietly open the door and flick on the light, illuminating the space in a warm glow.
A few finished canvases already line the wall on the far left, though I’m still waiting for the oil paint to dry on a picture of the view from the window. I know Alexei picked this room specifically for my studio because of the view, and I’ve spent many afternoons this past week sitting on the balcony with a sketchbook on my lap taking in the vast expanse of greenery surrounding my new home—in particular, the cherry blossom tree.
It’s breathtaking, and I know it must mean something to Alexei.
There’s only one, and I caught him and one of his brothers sitting below it the other day.
Even if I stood all the way up here, the sadness on their faces was still so clear as they talked. Eventually, they disappeared inside the house, and I didn’t see Alexei again until breakfast the next morning, with him choosing to skip our evening meal.
