Page 81 of A War Apart

I nodded, biting my lip. He hadn’t answered my question about where he’d be, and I couldn’t ask again without drawing suspicion. But if I got word to the tsar, he’d be able to change his route and avoid the ambush—and hopefully discover the traitor, as well.

Izolda would already be in bed, but so long as I spoke with her the first thing in the morning, our message could reach Tsar Borislav before Kazimir did.

Silence filled the air, along with a strange tension. I glanced at Alexey and found him watching me.

I was wearing nothing but a long linen shirt and a dressing robe. Witness, Steward, and Prophet. No wonder he couldn’t concentrate. My cheeks blazed.

“I should put on something more appropriate,” I mumbled, but he grabbed my wrist as I stood.

“Don’t,” he said softly, pulling me onto his knee.

I let him. Otets help me, what was I doing? He smelled sweet and slightly musky, and his hands trailed up my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He stopped his ascent at my shoulders. He watched my lips but didn’t move closer. He was giving me a chance to stop him.

Did I want him to stop? It had been so long, so long since I’d been touched like this. Since Han had touched me like this.

Han was dead. He’d never touch me like this again.

No, I didn’t want him to stop. I needed to forget. Needed to lose myself in sensation.

I leaned forward, and our lips met. Lightly at first, barely brushing together, then deeper, hungrier. My robe slipped from my shoulders as his hands traveled down my back.

I shifted, and he grabbed my waist, moving so I straddled him. My shirt had bunched up above my waist, so there was nothing between us but what he wore. His hardness pressed into me, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips.

His hands roamed over my stomach and breasts, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “I want you.” His voice was commanding, so full of desire it was almost a growl.

Otets, I wanted him, too. I reached down, fumbling with the ties on his pants, but he stood, picking me up with him. He carried me to the bedroom and laid me gently on the bed. He kissed me, deep enough to leave me gasping for air, and then kissed slowly down my body, over my shirt. He stopped to press a kiss to each breast, then down my stomach, stopping before he got to where I wanted him most. As he moved upward again, I whimpered. He kissed back up my body, far too slowly, and stopped at my lips. “I have wanted to do this since the moment I met you,” he whispered against my mouth.

“I—” I started, but my words cut off when I felt his hand between my legs.

“I want to make you mine.” His finger slid inside my drenched center, and I writhed beneath him. “I want to make you moan and see stars and climax with my name on your lips.” I did moan, as his thumb traced circles where my thighs met. “And then,” he said, fingers moving in rhythm, building the tension inside me, “I want to fill you and claim every part of you.”

He touched me steadily, deliberately, until I couldn’t see or feel anything else. He whispered something; I could hear his low voice, but I couldn’t understand the words over the pounding of my heart.

My release crashed through me. He stroked me as I shuddered, coaxing every last wave. I lay there trembling, the stars he had promised fading behind my closed eyelids.

“I love you, Sofia.”

Fuck.Fuck.My eyes flew open, and I jerked away from his touch.

“Sofia?” He didn’t move closer, but worry filled his face.

I didn’t answer him. By theBlood,what had I done? I tugged my shirt over my legs and grabbed for something, anything, to cover myself. My hands found a pillow, and I clutched it to my chest like a lifeline.

Alexey stepped away from the bed until he reached the wall. His hands were by his sides, palms toward me in what was obviously intended to be a non-threatening manner. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’tnotlook at him. Why was the room so small? I couldn’t breathe. What had I done?

“Sofia, look at me.” It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a request, either. I swallowed hard and met his gaze. “I will never hurt you.”

I let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.

“What can I do?” Desperation tinged his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out.

“No!” He moved toward me, but stopped when I flinched. “No,” he said again, quieter. “It’s not your fault, Sofia.”

If only he knew.That’s not my name,I wanted to tell him.I’m using you. I’ll never be yours. I can’t be.If he found out what I was, who I was, he’d hate me. I hated myself.

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