Page 39 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
Riding it out with a few languid thrusts, he eventually slows, relaxing against me while his forearms bracket either side of my head.
Dazed and completely blissed out while light pours in through the window, I blink through the realization of what we just did while my heart continues to thrum.
With his breathing just as labored, Ivan hooks a finger beneath my chin to tilt it up, forcing my eyes on his. Though he glances down at my lips, his eyes are full of so many things I can’t even begin to name.
“Damn you…”
Before I can say anything, he kisses me again, so slow and deep that my heart stammers and I can’t help but relax into it.
I already know this is one moment I’ll never forget, thanks to the last man I ever should’ve given myself to.
Chapter 13 - Ivan
There’s something unnerving about a change in routine, even when it’s subtle.
It’s been a week since Mila opened herself up to me, and now, she sleeps in my bed. Not every night, but enough to let me know she doesn’t entirely hate this, or me. The sheets smell like her more often than not, and when I wake up to an empty bed, I feel the weight of her absence, even if I shouldn’t.
Normally, this is where I step off. When I grow cold and pull away because things are starting to get too tender and familiar.
I’ve always been good at separating myself when the time calls for it. I don’t usually let this kind of thing become a habit.
I don’t soften, and I don’t linger. I haven’t done it for anyone, at least, not in any meaningful way.
Yet, I’m doing exactly that.
I’m not making demands of Mila anymore, or forcing her into spaces she doesn’t want to be. I don’t watch her through the camera anymore when she sleeps in the spare bedroom, and I knock before entering. I let her play music in the living room like she’s on some kind of getaway, even when I should be concentrating on work.
Mila’s still guarded as she should be, and watches me like she expects all of this to vanish if she makes the wrong move. But now, she laughs a little easier. She smiles when she wants to, and despite my usual ways, I find myself wanting to be the reason more often than not.
That’s a problem I’m not used to confronting, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve been home for an entire fifteen minutes when Mila corners me, standing in front of the sofa I’m sitting in with her arms crossed, and her expression firm. Leave it to her to wait until I’m stationary with a drink nearby.
“We need to talk.”
Those words never mean anything good, but with her, it piques my interest. “We’ve been talking all week.”
“No,” she says, sounding so close to scolding without quite getting there. “We’ve been avoiding things all week.”
Raising my glass, I murmur over the rim, “Is it really avoiding if I don’t know what the thing is I’m avoiding?”
She sighs and shakes her head. “If you’re going to keep me here and expect me to play nice, then I need something. Consider it an exchange.”
“You’re bargaining with me already,” I return, lips pulling at the thought, then I give her my complete attention. “Go on then.”
Mila straightens her shoulders. “I want to go out.”
“No.”
She huffs, throwing me a pointed look. “Let me finish.”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“No, you don’t, so listen,” she fires back, leaving no room for me to argue, which is both infuriating and hilarious. “I’ve spent my entire life being managed by someone else. I’ve been hidden and given things to make me shut up, and then I was almost traded by my brothers. I had to sneak out of the house just to feel normal for a few hours. If I don’t get a choice about being here, then I at least want to live.”
“You are living,” I say plainly, feeling an itch of annoyance beneath my skin at the thought of letting her go. “You’re safe.”
“Being stuck in a condo isn’t living. It’s barely surviving.”
