Page 62 of Stalk Me

The familiar rush of being right wars with fury that someone dared target the Ivanov family. I’d known keeping Sofia close wasn’t mere possessiveness—real threats lurk, waiting to strike.

“The compound’s in lockdown.” I move to the windows, watching automated barriers slide into place. “We’re secure here.”

Sofia joins me, pressing her palm against the bulletproof glass. “How long will we be contained?”

“Until the threat’s neutralized.” My fingers brush her shoulder, steadying her. “My brothers have it handled.”

Gunfire echoes in the distance. Sofia flinches but holds her ground, that steel I first noticed in her gallery shining through. Pride swells in my chest that mymalishkais no wilting flower.

“The compound’s a fortress,” I explain, leading her away from the window. “Reinforced walls, independent air system, emergency supplies. We could survive here for weeks if needed.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”

“Prepared.” I tap my security tablet, bringing up compound-wide camera feeds. “Watch.”

On-screen, Erik and Dmitri’s teams move with military precision, herding the intruders into a kill zone. Alexi’s cyber defenses have already disabled their communications.

“Your safety isn’t paranoia, Sofia. It’s a necessity.” I pull her close, breathing in her scent. “I hope you’re beginning to understand why I took extreme measures to protect you.”

Sofia’s eyes meet mine, sharp and questioning. “Why now? After all these years, why are they suddenly coming for me?”

The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. I’ve faced down rivals, enemies, and death without flinching, but her direct gaze makes me want to look away.

“Because I started digging.” The words taste bitter. “When you came into my life, I needed to know everything. Your background, your adoption records, every detail.” I move closer, cupping her face. “My investigation stirred things that should have stayed buried. I led them to you.”

The admission burns. I, who pride myself on protecting what’s mine, put her in danger through my obsessive need to possess every facet of her existence.

“I’m sorry,malishka.” The apology feels foreign on my tongue because I never apologize. But for her... “My actions brought this threat to your door.”

I brace for anger, for accusations, for the fury I deserve. Instead, Sofia’s expression softens. Her hand covers mine where it rests against her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I freeze, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”

“I’ve wanted to know who I am my entire life. Where I came from. Why I was given up.” Her thumb traces my knuckles. “You gave me that chance, even if it came with complications. So, thank you.”

Her voice’s simple acceptance steals my breath. This woman continues to surprise me and defy every expectation. When I should be her villain, she treats me as her savior.

The tension humming between us shifts, charging the air. In her eyes, I see the spark of excitement I recognize. Mymalishkacraves the edge, skirts danger deliberately, and now understands this side of me—the darkness lurking beneath my controlled exterior.

Her fingers skim my shirt as she steps closer, eyes never leaving mine. “How dark can you get?”

I catch her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “As dark as you let me. Always.”

“Show me.” She nips at my lower lip, a challenge and invitation in her eyes. “Please.”

My body tightens in response, needing no further prompting. I lead her to the center of the room, heartbeat thrumming in my ears. From the nightstand, I retrieve the items carefully prepared in anticipation of this moment: a length of black silk, a bottle of massage oil, a knife, and a branding iron bearing my initials.

Sofia’s eyes widen at the display, but she doesn’t step back. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly beneath the silk robe, anticipation and fear combining in a heady mix.

“Trust,” I murmur, securing her hands above her head with the silk. “You’ll always be safe with me. This is about exploring our boundaries and pushing the limits of pleasure. Say the safe word, and I’ll stop.”

She nods, eyes shining. “I trust you, Nikolai.”

The words give me pause and a foreign warmth spreads through my chest. Mymalishkatrusts me with her body, her secrets, and now the depths of her desire. This realization both exhilarates and terrifies me.

I slick my hands with massage oil and begin to glide them over her body, working the oil into her skin with slow, deliberate strokes. At the first touch, she shivers, her breath catching. I cover every inch of her, savoring her reactions: the arch of her back, the tilt of her head, the throaty moans that escape when I find a particularly sensitive spot.

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