Page 28 of Twisted Princess

I keep talking, watching as she sinks slowly back into her dreams. And when I’m sure she’s asleep once more, I pause my story, waiting to see if the silence will wake her.

It doesn’t, so I hold my breath as I carefully ease my weight back off the bed.

I turn to creep out of the room and find Mel standing in the doorway, her hip and shoulder propped against the frame as she watches me. All I can make out is her silhouette illuminated by the light behind her.

I stride silently across the floor, and Mel takes a step back so I can slip through the small opening into the hallway without casting more light across the bedroom. No doubt Mel was waiting for me to relinquish my spot on her side of the bed. She probably wants to go to sleep now that our night has been interrupted.

An intense level of disappointment settles into the pit of my stomach, though we were only supposed to be watching a movie. But I can hardly blame her for wanting to stay with Gabby. Maybe she’s worried her daughter’s nightmare will return.

And it was hard to leave the bedroom even when I could see her sleeping soundly.

“She fell asleep,” I murmur. “I hope you don’t mind?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, Mel throws her arms around my neck once more. Her long, supple body presses against my chest, her lips finding mine with a passion that blasts through me like a grenade.

And in an instant, all the careful limitations I laid down for myself are blown to pieces.

11

MEL

My heart hammers against my ribs as Gleb’s arms wrap around my waist, holding me against his firm body. Our lips locked, we stand in the hall as if unsure of which direction to take.

His fingers splay across my back, one hand hovering tantalizingly low without actually finding its way to my ass. I can feel his excitement swelling between us, and it makes my skin tingle with anticipation.

Watching Gleb be so sweet and comfortable with our daughter blasted through my defensive walls—the way Gabby snuggled close to him as he sat with her, the rare smile he gave when she did. And hearing him tell a bedtime story in that low, silky voice of his just about undid me.

So when he stepped into the hallway, I couldn’t help myself. I threw caution to the wind.

I want Gleb. I want to trust him, and I want to show him how desperately I need him in my life. Our lives. Because I can’t imagine it without him anymore.

And god, but it feels right when I’m in his arms.

While he seemed tentative, almost resistant, to make out with me on the couch, this time, he feels more than willing to get intimate. And as I subtly guide him backward toward his bedroom, he doesn’t stop me.

Heat races across my skin as we step across the threshold into his dark room. Reaching behind me, I ease the door closed, launching us into a darkness that feels like Gleb’s natural habitat.

His hands, so strong and careful, slide down over my hips, feeling my curves as they uncurl the sleeping desire deep in my core. Without thinking, I brace against his shoulders, jumping up to wrap my legs around his waist.

Gleb groans, and I gasp, recalling the stitches I put across his ribs just hours ago. But when I try to drop back to the floor, he doesn’t let me. Instead, he carries me effortlessly toward the bed. As he lays me across the mattress, his body settling lightly on top of mine, I feel like my heart might just explode; it’s racing so fast.

Why Gleb affects me like this, I don’t know, but no other man awakens this kind of desperate hunger inside me. And the nerves that make me tremble are ones of excitement rather than fear.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Gleb rasps, the uncharacteristically roughness to his voice making my core tighten.

I gently run the tips of my fingers across the almost feline angles of his face. “Speak for yourself,” I murmur, then I comb my fingers into his dark crew cut to pull his lips to mine.

One of his hands braces against the mattress beside me as the other slowly travels up the length of my body, skirting over my freshly applied top. But I ache to feel his skin against mine, the rough calluses that remind me he’s a hard worker with an even harder job. So I release his hair to claw my way down his back, bunching his shirt as I drag it up his spine.

Our lips part as Gleb allows the fabric to slide over his head in a fluid motion. And the rippling muscle he reveals in the darkness takes on an almost ethereal glow. His fair skin stands out against the dark ink of his tattoos in this lighting, the crest emblazoned across his heart catching my eye.

And when I run my fingers over it, exploring the subtle ridges, he closes his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. A memory flashes to my mind—Gleb’s hand covering mine, his fingers gently wrapping around my knuckles as he drew my hand away from the same tattoo I pet now.

“Perhaps we can leave the past behind us tonight,” he suggested, his Russian accent growing thicker with emotion.

This tattoo has some significance in his past—as, I imagine, does the single line of Cyrillic that runs down the length of his left side. And I yearn to know what it is. But I don’t want to ruin the moment. So this time, I reluctantly remove my own hand.

Breath shuddering between my lips as I let my fingers roam down his washboard abs; I’m careful to avoid his stitches as I admire him. The masculine scent of leather and pine is stronger without Gleb’s shirt in the way, and my mouth is dry with the anticipation of where this night could end.

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