Page 69 of Anton

“You’re not scared of me, are you, printsessa?”

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes staying fastened on mine. “But I’m prone to making poor life choices, so there’s that.”

A rough chuckle breaks from me. “Clearly, so am I.”

“I’m your poor life choice?” Her brows furrow, and I wonder if that hurt her feelings.

I don’t want to do that.

“You are.” I grip her hips, pushing her body against the nearest wall so she’s unable to escape me. “But I can’t help myself. You’re all I think about. All I want. Ya tebya iz golovy vykinut’ ne mogu.” I can’t get you out of my head.

Her eyes widen like a little Bambi. My little Bambi.

Well, there goes the plan of keeping my hands off of her. With Thora, I seem to break every rule I’ve ever had.

“Anton…” She studies my face before her attention settles on my mouth.

I know exactly what she wants. The problem is, I want it too. The need to kiss her overtakes me, until I can’t stop thinking about how good it would feel. To taste her, to feel her tongue on mine.

My eyes close as I fight the urge, but then her palm slides against my cheek, her lips pressing to the corner of my mouth, and I want more. More of her mouth, her touch. More of whatever this is that keeps dragging me in. And for one weak second, I let myself feel it.

Then she does it again, her lips brushing the edge of my mouth, and my eyes snap open as my hand closes around her throat.

“Don’t.”

“Why?” Her thumb brushes over my jaw with a tenderness I don’t understand.

“Because…” My molars clench. “I don’t like it.”

A faint laugh escapes her. “How many times are you going to tell yourself that before you believe it?” Her thumb strokes my lips. “It would feel really good if you let go.”

“Don’t fucking do that.” I lean closer until our foreheads nearly touch. “Don’t analyze me.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and I don’t get why.

Am I hurting her?

Is she…sad? For me?

But then her fingers trace my jaw again, and just like that, everything in my head starts to quiet. My father’s voice, the constant need to be exactly what he made me…none of it seems as loud when she’s touching me like this.

Her mouth moves up to my cheek and she kisses me there, her fingers sliding into my hair while I let myself fall into her. My palms slide up her top, her skin soft and warm and mine in all the ways it was never meant to be.

But right now, I have it. I have all of her, and she has all of me. More than anyone ever has.

A shaky breath leaves her as my hands travel higher, my fingertips tracing her ribs before the fabric bunches in my fists. She gasps when I yank it over her head and toss it aside, then drag those tiny shorts down her legs.

The instant she stands naked before me, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, staring at me as though I’m the only thing in the room, I unravel.

“You’re beautiful.”

She grabs the hem of my shirt and tugs at it with impatient fingers. I help her drag it over my head, then kick off my sneakers. The fabric barely hits the floor before her palms are moving over me, exploring every inch she can reach. My muscles tighten when I find her examining my scars—the thick, marred lines crossing my chest and stomach.

There are more where those came from. I’m covered in them. They’ve always been a part of me, and I don’t know who I would be without them.

Her attention fastens on one near my ribs, and the sadness crossing her face makes rage spiral through me.

I don’t want her pity. I never want her looking at me that way again.