He punctuates the promise with a bite to the curve of my shoulder, a sharp sting that grounds me in the present. I arch into him, my heart finally finding a steady rhythm against his, realizing that while the world outside might be falling apart, here, in the circle of his arms, I am the only thing that matters.
He pulls back just enough to reach for the hem of my shirt again, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes the air feel thick. He lifts the fabric slowly, his lips following the path of the cotton as it rises, kissing the skin of my stomach, then my ribs, and finally the soft hollow between my breasts.
When the shirt is gone, he doesn’t stop. His hands trail over my shoulders and down my arms, his touch so light it’s almost agonizing. He moves to the waistband of my sweatpants, his fingers hooking into the soft fabric with a deliberate, steady pull. He slides them down my legs, his palms grazing the outsides of my thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
As the clothes fall to the floor, he lingers over my nakedness, his gaze traveling over me like he’s memorizing a map. He leans back in, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my hip, his hands sliding around to the small of my back to pull me flush against him.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates through my entire body.
He continues to trail his hands over the curves of my waist and the flare of my hips, his touch reverent yet hungry.
He sucks a nipple into his mouth, savoring it for a heartbeat before releasing it. Then he kisses down my body, his strong legs parting my thighs with ease.
His tongue finds my most sensitive spot, latching onto it, sending shivers through me with every flick. He sucks and teasesmy clit, his tongue sending sparks of fire through me. I gasp, whimper, and writhe under him, helpless to resist.
While he continues to tease my center with his hot tongue and lips, his hands roam upward, catching one nipple between his fingers, rolling it expertly between thumb and forefinger, drawing moans from deep within me.
I’m coming undone, my hand tangling in the back of his hair, holding him tight between my thighs as he pushes me closer to the edge.
His hands roam over my breasts, and every touch sends shivers through me. Gosh…this is too much.
He pushes his tongue inside me, and at the same time, his fingers pinch my nipple. I shatter, screaming loudly, every nerve on fire as pleasure rips through me.
Just when I think he’ll take things further, Konstantin stretches onto the bed and gathers me into his arms. I cling to him, my naked body folding against his like I belong nowhere else. My voice trembles, barely more than a whisper. “I feel…empty. Lost.”
His hand finds my hair, brushing it back gently, his lips pressing against the crown of my head. “You are not lost,” he murmurs, low and certain. “Not while I am here.”
I curl closer, fingers digging into his shirt, holding on like he’s the only solid thing left in my world. The exhaustion hits me in waves, grief spilling over, but his presence keeps the panic at bay.
I drift into sleep against him, the weight of his body anchoring me. When morning comes, I know he hasn’t moved, hasn’t slept either. But for the first time in hours, maybe days, I feel…serenity.
And dangerously tethered.
Chapter 16 – Konstantin
An hour later, Raelyn is still in my arms, and I’m not ready to leave. I can’t fall asleep—not really—so I just hold her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, tracing her skin like a map I never want to forget.
My phone buzzes against the desk. I reach for it. Nik.
“I’m outside. It’s important.”
I frown, slowly pulling away from Raelyn. I adjust the pillow, cover her so she’s comfortable, then step into the hallway where Nik waits, his expression grim.
“There’s a visitor,” he says. “Someone you should see.”
I follow him to the sitting room.
Arms crossed, leaning slightly back, a familiar presence waits. The tattoos ink-black climb up his arms, eyes cold as winter ice, yet there’s a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
Mike Rusnak.
Another relation in the long line of Rusnak sons.
Mike is many things, all of it powerful. Intelligence specialist, explosive expert, a ghost in every network, the man who sits in the center of chaos and decides who walks away alive. A reputation for settling disputes with a smile—and a bullet. Terrifying. Charismatic. Unmistakably Rusnak.
The moment our eyes meet, he tilts his head, that crooked grin widening. I can’t help the faint ease that touches my chest. I haven’t seen him in years.
We move into a quick embrace, firm hands on shoulders, a handshake that’s more ritual than courtesy. “Mike,” I say, voice rough with a mix of surprise and relief. “It’s been too long. What brings you here?”