Page 102 of Dance of Devils
My brows knit as he takes me down an opulent hallway.
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t transactional.” He glances down at me, frowning. “You owe me nothing.”
My lips twist. “But…what if Iwant?—”
“You don’t want to, trust me. Not yet.” Kir’s jaw is tight, his eyes straight ahead as he carries me through the house. “You’re not ready for the way I fuck, babygirl,” he murmurs quietly.
That…shouldn’t sound as tempting as it does.
We step into a room, and he gently sets me down. When I turn, my pulse skips and my eyes open wide, my mouth falling open.
Fuck.
The guestroom or wherever I was before was gorgeous. But the vast, elegant bedroom before me is nothing short ofpure luxury.
Huge windows, draped in white, with little Juliet balconies off them. A sitting area with a couch and two chairs. A door leading to astunningbathroom, and against the far wall, an enormous, white, four-poster bed.
“What is this?” I whisper.
Kir takes a slow breath as he turns to me.
“This, babygirl, is your room.”
I blink as I stare at him. “What?”
“I told you: you live here now.”
I start to say something, but he cuts me off.
“It’s not up for discussion, Brooklyn,” he murmurs. “This is your house now. And this…” He turns to nod at the room. “Is your bedroom.”
I feel a brief pang and want to ask why I’m being sequestered in my own room instead of…well…sharing his.
But then, when his possessive, fiercelyprotectivegaze slides over me again, I get it, and my heart melts.
He’s not keeping me at a distance.
He’s giving me space to beme. To feel comfortable in this house.
And whether or not he knows it, he’s just given me what might be the most incredible gift of my life: myown bed.
Not a couch. Not a cot, or a futon. Not the back seat of Pearl.
My own bed, just for me.
I tremble when he turns to me and wraps an arm around my naked waist, his fingers splayed across my hip as he pulls me close. He reaches down to lift my chin, his eyes locking with mine.
“This house isyour house toonow,” he murmurs.
I shake my head. “Kir, I?—”
“And you owe menothing,” he growls. “Never forget that.”
23
KIR
