Page 31 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
“No.”
Her lips pull. “Good…I kind of like it.”
Something shifts within me again, shaking the foundation of my self-restraint. I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
Exhaling slowly, I hardly stop myself from pulling her away from the open floor and all those wandering eyes.
“Careful. This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“That’s your favorite kind, right?”
Closing my eyes a moment longer than usual, I force my hands not to stray lower…to stay where they are and maintain a semblance of control.
I want more than anything to pull her closer and to let her feel exactly what her teasing is doing to me, but something in me also wants her to keep going. I want her to keep pushing and tempting me.
It’s a far cry from our previous exchanges, and I don’t want to leave that tantalizing bubble.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” I murmur, not looking away from her.
“Do you hate it?”
Despite myself, I murmur, “No.”
“And is this you asking me to stop?”
No…God, no.
I don’t say anything, but her smile sharpens anyway, and she already knows. She absolutely knows without needing to hear it from me.
In the distance, I catch the sound of one of my brothers proposing something…likely shots, a game of poker, or the like, but I don’t draw closer to find out.
Instead, my entire focus is on her…on the way Victoria’s eyes seem to drink me in, and how her hand idly moves along my bicep.
Then, the other one slips into mine without needing to say a word. And I don’t pull away.
We don’t say anything to anyone else either. Instead, I hold her gaze for a moment longer as a silent understanding seems to move between us, and we’re moving.
The night air briefly clears some of the fog from my head, but as Victoria’s body brushes against mine while she stays close to me, that small reminder nearly kickstarts my heart again.
“Dragging me away from the dance floor, hm?”
More teasing…
“I didn’t drag you anywhere,” I return lowly, allowing myself to gently grip her hand in return. “You followed me.”
A soft, knowing hum comes from her. “Maybe I did…”
There’s something almost warm in her tone. Something that feels foreign, yet capable of making my veins burn.
The vehicle is already waiting, and without missing a beat or waiting for anyone to get the door, I pop it open for her, and Victoria slides in.
Watching her move without fighting me, without resisting, hits me harder than it should.
She isn’t glaring or making me feel like I’ve committed some kind of heinous act merely by looking in her direction.
Instead, she’s being compliant.
Willing.
