Page 71 of Deadly Knight
“You. Are not. Safe! And I fuckingrefuseto watch what almost happened yesterday occur again.”
The last thing I recall is getting taken by Ivan in the park after my date unfortunately was working for the devil. I want to ask what exactly happened, but he speaks again, and like the same crack that jumpstarted his anger, this one ends it.
In a broken whisper, his words imbedding into my skin, he murmurs, “Moya dusha, feel whatever you want about me, but if this is the only way to ensure your safety, nothing else matters. If you return to Toronto and he finds you again, he won’t hesitate to harm you worse because it’ll break me, and he’s aware of that. Please don’t ask me to watch you be hurt again.”
And there goes another brick on my wall.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Not until I get back.” Slowly, he reaches up, tentatively stroking my cheek, my body reacting to the person it’s missed for years. The person whose touch I’ve had to lock inside boxes and behind walls to move on.
The touch that chips away ten years’ worth of therapy.
It’s like this I realize precisely how close we are; how his head is almost above mine and mine is tipped to keep him in view. I’m trapped with the mattress pressing behind my legs and by his imposing form.
“How long will you be gone?”
“However long it takes.”
“That’s not a good enough answer. I have a life to return to.”
“It’s the only one I got.” His hand tightens on my face, his weight coming down heavy—possessive. Claiming. “Do you hate me?” he asks suddenly.
Do I?I don’t, even if I’m pissed as hell at him. I can’t hate someone I’m uncertain exactly how to feel about. There are ghosts of old love floating, trapped beneath the pressure placed on myself to let him go. If anything, he should hateme. For not being strong enough to stay with him and still being too weak to remain.
I don’t hate him, but like I reminded myself upon waking: I’ll fake anything to get home and put this behind me. Which means lying; hating him because it’s a reasonable feeling to have about someone stalking me for a decade.
“Yes.”
His hand shifts to my neck, the ribbon brushing my pulse. “Good. Then you won’t care about this.”
This?
He dips down, his hand angling my neck up as his mouth slashes across mine.
It’s angry. It’s explosive. It’s years of pent-up loneliness unleashed.
I shouldn’t kiss him back. I should shove him off of me. But when his tongue teases my bottom lip in that way I’ve always loved, I release logic, sanity, and hate for these few seconds.
The walls come crashing down, now rubble between our feet.
She’s kissing me back,though I’m not sure she realizes it.
She’s tense beneath me, not like the Katya from my memories. Yet, this iseverythingI’ve been dreaming of for so damn long. Everything I’ve missed. She feels right in my arms. It’s where she’s always meant to be. Maybe I’ll keep her here forever; won’t let her go even after dealing with Ivan.
I move my hand from her neck, sliding over her hip before clutching her back to pull her closer. She melts into me, highlighting the differences since I last held her. She’s softer now, her body having curves I ache to explore but won’t in fear it’ll be too much, that she’ll react and end this.
Her head tilts, deepening the kiss, and while I want nothing more than to follow her down, taste her everywhere, and kiss her like a knight receiving a favour from his maiden before heading into battle, I’m about to entice a whole other kind of war. One where she’s against me and won’t be granting favours.
Whateverit takes to keep her safe.
I twist her slightly, walking into her while directing her backwards. She follows along, having no realization we’reheaded away from the bed. I hold her close, wanting to freeze the moment because it’ll be the last time she allows me to do this, but continue towards my bathroom across the way. It’ll serve my needs with the help of the chair no one’s ever sat in off to the side.
When my tongue strokes against hers, I pull her hand up, linking my fingers in between, drawing out the moment as we pass the threshold into the bathroom. She makes a confused noise and leans back, her eyes widening when taking in the different surroundings and, before she can react, I tug away entirely, slamming the door behind me and holding it closed while reaching for the chair.
“Dimitri!” Her fists bang on the door, and the knob jiggles, but my grip keeps it immobile. “You can’t keep me in here!”
Ignoring her, I prop the chair beneath the knob, nudging the chair legs into the carpet at such an angle she won’t be getting out. After releasing the handle, it turns halfway, only to be hindered by the chair’s backing. Her growl of frustration echoes through the thin door.
