Page 37 of Gilded in Blood

I’ve imagined his mouth on me countless times. But my mouth on him? The idea makes my lips tingle and my stomach flutter wildly.

For one dizzying second, I almost lean in. Almost give in to the overwhelming urge to taste his skin, to feel the heat of him against my mouth.

Then I quickly come back to my senses.

I yank my hand away like I’ve been burned, cheeks flaming. “That was… just something childish I did with my sister. It doesn’t actually help or anything. I was just rambling.”

I stumble over my words, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. “It’s all set. You’re good.”

I don’t wait for him to respond. I push to my feet and practically flee to my bedroom, closing the door behind me a little too quickly.

Leaning against it, I press a hand to my racing heart, trying to catch my breath.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t believe I almost did it.

I press both hands to my burning cheeks. I almost leaned in and pressed my lips to his bare chest.

My body feels like it’s on fire. My mind won’t stop spinning with vivid images. What if I had actually done it? Would he have pulled me closer? Would he have kissed me? Would he have pushed me down on the couch and fucked me right there?

Would his mouth have moved lower, licking and sucking between my thighs like I’ve secretly fantasized about every night since that night?

God, I need to get a grip.

Even with the air conditioning on, I feel overheated. Restless. Aching. I quickly strip out of the leggings and Ilya’s oversized hoodie, the fabric still carrying his scent.

I change into a black bikini and throw on a silky robe, wrapping it tightly around myself before stepping back out.

He’s still sitting exactly where I left him on the couch. The first aid kit open beside him. He hasn’t moved a muscle. His intense eyes lift to me the moment I appear, watching silently.

“I’m… going for a swim,” I say, my voice sounding too breathy.

He doesn’t respond. Just keeps looking at me with that unreadable expression.

I walk past him quickly, heart racing, and head up to the rooftop pool. The cool night air hits my skin as I reach the edge. I drop the robe onto a lounge chair, step out of my slippers, and dive straight into the water.

The shock of the cool pool hits me hard. I stay under for a few long seconds, letting the water rush over me, hoping it will extinguish the heat still burning under my skin.

When I break the surface, gasping for air, it doesn’t work.

I’m still hypersensitive. Every brush of water against my body feels electric. My nipples are tight against the thin bikini top.

My thighs press together under the water as I remember the way his hand held mine against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat, the heat in his eyes when he asked if I wanted to kiss it better.

I swim a few frantic laps, trying to burn off the tension, but it’s useless.

Kirill

During dinner with her brothers tonight, something shifted.

As they talked about Michael’s growing instability, his reckless moves, the way he was burning bridges left and right, I realized they weren’t the monsters Michael had painted them to be.

They were ruthless, yes. Dangerous. But they were also loyal to each other in a way I rarely see. Protective. Strategic. They spoke about their people, their wives, their sisters with a fierce kind of devotion that went beyond power.

Every conversation I have with them chips away at the narrative Michael fed me. And every hour I spend around Milana chips away at me.

I’ve always been detached. In this line of work, attachment gets you killed. I take the job, I do it clean, I get paid, and I move on. No loyalty. No feelings. I’m nobody’s lapdog. That freedom is what I’ve always valued most.

But now? Now I’m questioning everything.