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"You're safe," I growled into her ear, my voice a commanding rumble that brooked no argument, sealing the promise as I tightened my hold on her wrists.

She arched beneath me, her body responding instinctively, a tremor running through her as the blindfold amplified every sensation—the heat of my skin against hers, the scrape of my stubble on her collarbone. I released one hand only to grasp her thigh, hoisting her leg up and around my waist with a possessiveyank, spreading her open for me. My fingers dug into her flesh, kneading roughly, marking her as mine in that primal way, while my other hand kept her pinned, controlling her movements. She whimpered softly, not from fear but from the overwhelming rush of surrender, her pulse racing under my touch as if begging for more.

I shifted, my free hand sliding down her body with unyielding intent, tracing the curve of her hip before delving between her thighs. No gentleness here—I thrust two fingers inside her without warning, curling them harshly to hit that spot that made her cry out, her hips bucking against my palm. She was slick, ready, her inner walls clenching around me in desperate need, but I set the pace, slow and torturous at first, then building to a relentless rhythm that had her moaning, her blindfolded head thrashing side to side. The scarf robbed her of sight, forcing her to feel every inch of my dominance—the way my thumb circled her clit with bruising pressure, the way I leaned in to bite her shoulder, leaving a red imprint that would remind her of this moment later.

"You're mine," I whispered harshly in her ear, repeating it like a mantra but only once, my breath hot against her skin. "No one can hurt you."

Her response was immediate—a shuddering sigh of relief mixed with ecstasy, her body melting further into submission. The words seemed to unlock something deep within her, washing away the shadows of past trauma as she gave herself over completely. I withdrew my fingers abruptly, eliciting a frustrated whine from her lips, only to replace them with my cock, slamming into her in one powerful thrust that buried me to the hilt. She screamed, a raw sound of pleasure-pain, her nails digging into the sheets since her wrists were still captive in my grasp.

I didn't hold back, pounding into her with rough, unyielding strokes, each one claiming her deeper, my hips grinding against hers in a rhythm designed to overwhelm. My free hand roamed possessively—clutching her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her arch and gasp, then soothing it with a firm squeeze. She felt every impact, the way my body caged hers, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, building a cocoon of intensity where nothing else existed but us. Her breaths came in ragged pants, her body trembling with the force of it, waves of heat coiling tighter in her core as I controlled her completely, dictating the angle, the depth, the speed.

Yet through the roughness, I watched her—felt the way she trusted me, her muscles relaxing even as I pushed her limits. I leaned down again, my mouth capturing hers in a bruising kiss, teeth tugging at her lower lip before I pulled back to murmur commands in her ear, my voice a low growl that vibrated through her. "Feel this," I demanded, thrusting harder, "feel how I own you." Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body writhing under mine as the blindfold heightened the sensory overload—the sting of my grip on her thigh, the ache building where our bodies joined, the security in knowing she was utterly safe in my control.

As her climax approached, I felt it in the way she tightened around me, her legs quaking. I released her wrists at last, but only to flip her onto her stomach with a swift, dominant motion, pulling her hips up to meet mine. My hand fisted in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to expose her neck, where I planted open-mouthed bites while driving into her from behind, deeper, rougher. She pushed back against me, meeting my thrusts with eager abandon, her cries muffled into the pillow as the pleasure crested.

When she shattered, it was explosive—her body convulsing, a flood of warmth enveloping me as she sobbed my name. Ifollowed soon after, my own release a guttural roar as I emptied into her, collapsing over her back, my arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace that contrasted the earlier ferocity.

As we lay there, wrapped in each other, I felt her body finally let go completely. No more shaking, no more fear—just the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing as she nestled against my chest.

"You feeling better?" I asked, brushing my fingers through her sweat-damp hair.

"Yeah," she murmured against my chest, her voice soft, content, at peace. "With you, I'm not afraid of anything."

A warmth flooded through me, fierce and overwhelming. I'd give anything to protect her—my power, my blood, my fucking life if it came to it.

My phone sat silent on the nightstand, the world outside waiting for my orders, my vengeance. But right now, my world was this room, this woman sleeping peacefully in my arms because she trusted me.

Tomorrow, I'd make those bastards pay for touching her. I'd tear their fucking world apart. But tonight, I just wanted to guard her dreams.

I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering against her skin, "Sleep, Cassie. Tonight, tomorrow, every night after—I'll be right here."

It was a promise I could give her, a vow I made to myself. No matter how dangerous this world was, no matter how dark my life, I'd protect her. I'd make her feel safe.

Because she was my rose. My only rose.

Chapter 14

Cassie

When I woke, sunlight slipped through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. For a split second, I forgot where I was—until my eyes landed on the fresh red roses on the nightstand. Then it all came rushing back: last night's terror, Gennady's arms around me, the overwhelming safety of being completely his.

My cheeks flushed. Even after everything, the memory of losing myself in him still made me shy. But more than that, it stirred a deep, unshakable attachment. In his arms, I could let go of every defense.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

"Cassie?" The maid's polite voice came through the door. "Mr. Sokolov asked me to tell you he's arranged a leave of absence from your school. You're to stay here for now, focus on settling in."

A leave of absence?

I sat up, my brain scrambling to process it. He'd made the call without asking me, but instead of anger, I felt… relieved.Maybe it was the lingering fear from last night, or maybe I just didn't want to leave this place—this sanctuary. Or maybe, deep down, I didn't want to leave him.

When I walked into the dining room, the scene stopped me in my tracks. Gennady stood in the open kitchen, wearing a blue apron that looked hilariously out of place on his broad frame. He was focused, flipping eggs in a skillet with a practiced hand, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. The sight was so normal, so domestic, it threw me.

Anya was perched at the table, her little feet swinging, waving at me with a huge grin. "Miss Monroe! You're awake! Daddy's making us breakfast."

It was too perfect, too cozy, like something out of a dream. This man, who could kill without blinking, was frying eggs for us.

I stepped up to Gennady, playfully tugging at his crooked apron. "Morning, Cassie," he said, turning to me with a smile that held none of last night's intensity—just a rare, gentle warmth that made my heart skip. "Sleep okay?"