Page 65 of Gilded in Blood

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing.

He stays buried inside me, one hand gently stroking my thigh, the other brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead.

When he finally pulls out, he unties the ropes and removes the blindfold with careful hands.

I blink up at him, dazed, my body still trembling with aftershocks.

He looks down at me with something dark and satisfied in his eyes. “Still whirring?”

“No,” I rasp.

“Good.” He climbs off me and gathers me into his arms. “Now, go back to sleep.”

I don’t argue. I let my eyes drift shut, cocooned in his warmth.

Just as sleep begins to pull me under, I feel the softest brush against my lips.

A kiss.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Milana

I wake up slowly, wrapped in warmth and the faint scent of Ilya. For a blissful second, I don’t open my eyes.

I just let myself feel it, savoring the strange sense of peace wrapped around me. I can’t remember the last time I slept this deeply.

I let out a contented sigh, reaching blindly for the warm body beside me.

My hand comes up empty. The sheets on his side are cold.

I slowly open my eyes. The room is dim, morning light softened by the heavy curtains he must have drawn sometime during the night so I could sleep longer.

Thoughtful of him.

I sit up, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache between my thighs and the marks scattered across my body.

My eyes land on a small, folded note on the bedside table, with a single long-stemmed red rose beside it. I pick up the note.

Good morning, solnyshko.

Had to run an errand. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked too peaceful. Breakfast is in the kitchen. Be a good girl for me until I get back. No wondering outside the apartment.

— Ilya

A slow smile spreads across my face. The disappointment I felt waking up alone fades as I read the note again, tracing my fingers over his words.

I pick up the rose and bring it to my nose, inhaling its delicate fragrance. It’s just a single rose.

Yet somehow, it means more than the lavish bouquets I’ve received over the years.

Because it's from him. I read his note again, my fingers tracing the ink as warmth settles deep inside my chest.

The need to use the restroom has me getting out of bed. I spot one of his shirts draped over a chaise by the floor-to-ceiling window.

I slip it on, the fabric falling to mid-thigh, still carrying a faint trace of his scent. I lift the collar to my nose and inhale deeply, closing my eyes for a second.

I head to my own room first, using the bathroom and brushing my teeth.