Page 38 of Cruel Submission

He’s not in the shadow woman’s room, after all.

But the relief is short-lived, replaced immediately by confusion. If he’s not with her, then who is she? Why is she here? And why doesn’t Arkady want me to know about her?

I should leave. Should slip back out before he wakes and finds me standing here like some lovesick fool.

But I don’t.

Instead, I cross the room and lower myself carefully to the edge of his bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and he stirs. His arm drops from his face, eyes blinking open, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“Mirabel?” His voice is rasping. “What are you doing here?”

The question is simple. Direct. But the answer is tangled up in too many things I can’t say.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I whisper. The truth, at least. “I had a dream about Debra.”

Something crosses his face—a shadow, quick and dark. His expression tightens for just a second before smoothing out again, but I catch it. The flicker of… what? Guilt? Knowledge?

I wait for him to snap at me. To tell me to get out. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up.

“You miss her, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” The words lodge somewhere painful in my chest. “There will never be a second when I don’t miss her.”

The confession comes out raw. Unguarded. More honest than I’ve been in months.

Arkady’s hand moves before I can react, closing around my wrist. His thumb presses against my pulse—finding it, measuring it. Then he tugs, gentle but insistent, pulling me down beside him.

I should resist. Should maintain some distance, some boundary. But I’m so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being strong. Tired of carrying all these secrets alone.

I let him pull me down onto the bed, into the warmth of his body, into the space against his chest that always feels like home.

His arm wraps around me, holding me close. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s wound tight even in this moment of quiet. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t push me away.

And for now, in this stolen moment before dawn, it’s enough.

Chapter Thirteen

Arkady

She’s here.

In my bed. Warm and real against my chest, her breathing not quite steady enough to be asleep. I can feel the tension in her body—the way she’s holding herself carefully, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to be here.

Like she thinks I might send her away.

Blyad. As if I could.

My arm tightens around her waist, pulling her closer. She fits against me too perfectly—her back to my chest, my thighs bracketing hers, my cock already thickening where it presses against the curve of her ass.

“You’re not asleep,” I say into the darkness.

A pause. Then: “Neither are you.”

“No.”

Her hand covers mine where it rests on her stomach. The gesture is small, tentative. Like she’s testing to see if I’ll pull away.

I don’t.