Page 72 of Sinful Embers

Now.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my heart to slow its frantic pounding as I carefully move, inching toward the edge of the bed. But just as I think I’m free, Radomir tightens his grip, pulling me back against his chest with a sleepy groan.

“Where do you think you’re going, printsessa?”

His voice is husky, thick with sleep, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

Shit.

Before I can answer, before I can think of an excuse, Radomir flips me onto my back, pinning me beneath him. His weight, his heat, his sheer presence swallows me whole. Blue eyes, still heavy-lidded from sleep, blaze down at me, filled with hunger, with something deeper.

Possessiveness.

He slides a hand down my body, tracing my hip before gripping my thigh, spreading me open beneath him, his lips ghosting over mine.

I should push him away. I should fight harder to get up. But when he kisses me—slow and deep, his tongue teasing mine, his body grinding against me—I’m lost.

Radomir doesn’t just kiss. He claims.

And I let him. Because I want to feel him all over and inside me one last time.

For my grand goodbye, I take control. I roll him onto his back, my hands splaying over the hard ridges of his abs as I press soft, teasing kisses down his chest. Radomir watches me, his gaze dark, heated, and filled with something primal.

I slide lower, my mouth trailing over the deep cut of muscle leading to his cock. He stiffens, his fingers threading through my hair as I wrap my lips around him, taking him deep, savoring the taste of him.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest. His grip tightens, but he doesn’t force me—he lets me take what I want.

I work him slowly, deliberately, watching the way his muscles tense, how his breath stutters. I love this—watching him unravel because of me, feeling his control slip, his body trembling beneath my touch.

Just as I feel him start to lose himself, he curses, dragging me off him. His chest rises and falls in rapid bursts, his jaw clenched tight. “Not like this,” he growls, pulling me up toward him. “I want you riding me when I come.”

I gasp as he pulls me onto his lap, positioning me above him. His hands grip my hips, guiding me down onto his cock, filling me inch by inch until I can barely breathe.

“Fuck,” I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders.

Radomir groans, his hands gripping me tighter as I start to move, rocking against him. His fingers slip between us, finding my clit, stroking it in time with our movements. The pleasure is overwhelming, and when I come apart, crying out his name, he follows with a deep, shuddering growl, his arms wrapping around me as he thrusts deep one final time.

His mouth finds mine, kissing me fiercely, as if he knows. As if he senses that after this, everything will change.

When he finally drifts off, his body sated and warm beside me, I slip out of bed.

I move quickly, my heart hammering as I wash up in the bathroom, ignoring the ache in my chest. I pack a bag—just a few clothes, essentials. I leave my wedding ring and engagement ring that I only got back last night, on the nightstand.

Then, I sit on the edge of the bed and write.

A letter to Radomir.

I pour everything into it—the truth about what happened that day. That I was the one who pulled the trigger. That I never meant to, but it doesn’t change what happened. That I love him, but I know what his code demands.

That’s why I have to leave.

I place the letter on my pillow beside him, staring at him for one last moment. Then I force myself to walk away.

Dmitri’s palace may be over the top but he has a garage of the most awesome cars of which he told me I could help myself anytime. I chose one that’s not flashy and will just blend in to my surrounding. I drive for hours, following the GPS coordinates on my new phone that I know I will have to ditch when I leave the car in a carpark near the train station then take a bust to the airport. That’s what my Uncle Mark taught me—I’m not sure I’ll ever gets used to calling him Uncle Mark even though it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Every few minutes I find myself checking the mirror expecting him to come after me. But the road stays empty.

I pull into a car park a few blocks from the bus station and along the way I call the number my father drilled into me as a child. A security protocol if I was ever in danger.

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