Page 106 of Sinful Games

"Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,moya solnyshka."

My heart skipped as I grabbed his wrist, my nails digging in as he kept kissing and licking my neck. I tightened my legs, feeling the heat between them spreading.

"You killed Polanski," I whispered, feeling his teeth sink into my skin and then suck hard as I struggled to hold back a moan. I knew he was leaving a hickey.

"Da."

"Why?"

His lips moved up my neck before he planted another kiss on my cheek and let go, sitting back on the couch like nothing happened.

"And Babikiv."

My breath caught. "What?"

"I killed him too," he said, his tone casual.

Fear spread across my arms in goosebumps, but it quickly faded as Alexsei, seemingly unfazed, sipped his coffee and got absorbed in the TV, where some guys were screaming as one of them caught a ball and got tackled.

"Why?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you do that?"

He set his cup down. "Because you're my wife."

My heart leapt into my throat. I pushed back from the table and stormed into the kitchen, needing space.

He killed them.

He killed the men who hurt me.

I didn’t know what to say. Emotions churned inside me like a freaking storm. Guilt clawed at me for the lives lost because of me. Anger burned hot, knowing their deaths didn’t erase my pain.

Yet, amidst it all, there was a deep gratitude. Gratitude thatsomeone had gone to such lengths for me. And that someone was Alexsei. My husband.

As I paced the kitchen, the tension thick in the air, Alexsei came to join me, his presence looming.

"You killed them."

Alexsei closed the gap between us, so close I could almost hear the thud of his heartbeat, syncing with my own.

"And I'll do it again. No one touches my wife and gets away with it."

"Alexsei—"

"They dared to lay a hand on what’s mine; now they’ve paid the price."

"Yours?" I said, disbelief tightening my chest. "I’m not some possession you can control, hide, or show off whenever you feel like it! Stop messing with my life! If my father finds out?—"

He cut me off with a cold, fierce look. "Don’t even say that bastard’s name. Mankiev is as good as dead, and I’ll make sure he suffers for what he did to you."

A tear escaped my eye, and he wiped it away before pulling me closer, his hands firm on my hips. Without thinking, I pressed my palms against his bare chest, tracing the contours of his muscles. His closeness was intoxicating, his warmth seeping into my skin and setting me ablaze with longing.

Our gazes locked.

I loathed him so much, but I wanted him more than anything.

And, God help me, I alsoneededhim.

"I never asked you to?—"

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