Page 36 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
It’s all so frustrating, and yet, it’s also endearing in a way.
Another short breath escapes him, and when I open my eyes again, he’s standing next to the bed. His eyes look somewhat softer than they did before.
“Sleep it off. If you need anything, shout.”
Blinking back at him, I try to make sense of the disappointment tangled with confusion and lingering desire in my chest. I try to understand how it all changed so quickly.
But Roman reaches down and lightly brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes. It’s more tender than I anticipated.
Then, without another word, he flicks the lamp off and walks out of the room.
Stunned into silence, I don’t know what to think. How to feel.
Instead, I can only lie there in the dark while my mind returns to everything that happened since we arrived at the club.
Finally, the alcohol’s glaring effects begin to wear off, and everything else around me slows into a somewhat lethargic state.
Closing my eyes again, prepared to drift, my mind gets stuck on the way he looked at me…how he seemed just as hungry as I felt.
Like denying that longing physically hurt him.
Even if I didn’t get what I wanted, I can still acknowledge the obvious care in his refusal…in the need to wait.
Chapter 13 - Roman
A week has passed since that night, and I don’t know how I’m still standing. How I’m possibly functioning despite it all.
Seven days have passed…seven days full of restraint and doing my best to be a good man regardless of how difficult it constantly feels.
Seven days of trying to forget about that damn kiss and how excruciatingly perfect it was. The way she had pursued me—wanted nothing more than to give in to me.
Every reaction of hers is still burned into my memory, along with the taste of her lips and all the quiet sounds that escaped her.
Forcing out a heavy breath, I run a hand over my face. Regardless of all my efforts, I can’t stop thinking about it. Abouther.
Worst of all, Victoria hasn’t brought it up once. She hasn’t even hinted at it. There has been no further flirting…no coy glances. Certainly no more touching. A small part of me wonders if she just doesn’t remember what happened.
She was drunk, but she wasn’tthatdrunk. Surely, she remembers. And if she does, that somehow feels even worse.
Maybe that’s my fault for not giving in to those desires and throwing all caution to the wind. For ignoring my urges and trying to be a better man.
No…I did the right thing. I couldn’t take advantage of her like that.
As easy as it would’ve been, that’s not how I want things to be between us. I didn’t want to be a pig, and that’s certainly not how I want her to view me moving forward.
If only she hadn’t been so drunk…If only she wanted me like that sober…
“Damn it,” I utter under my breath, grabbing the file full of paperwork in front of me and tossing it aside while the silent office weighs down on me.
The warehouse has been far too quiet, giving me ample opportunities to get completely lost in thought.
Still, I’m in no mood for background noise, either. I’m not in the mood for anything. I’m sour, and I know it, but as much as I try to think it’s not my fault, I’m well aware that the opposite is true.
I can’t concentrate while being this repressed.
After toeing the line of almost getting what I wanted, establishing a boundary, and enduring an entire week full of nothing but half-buried desire, I can’t think straight.
Of course, I can’t. She’s not here, and that makes it even worse. And yet, having her in the office with me would be a disaster. I’d be insatiable.
