Page 67 of Twisted Pact
Because putting words to what just happened would make it real. It would force me to acknowledge that I just made love to Mila Andreeva instead of fucking her. Somewhere along the line, she stopped being just another woman and becamethewoman.
But I don’t say any of that. I just pull out carefully and scoop her into my arms, carrying her to the bed.
“Stay here,” I tell her.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I clean up quickly and return with a warm washcloth. She’s curled on her side, and I can see the bruises on her ribs from the attack. I clean gently between her legs first, and she makes a small sound of protest but doesn’t open her eyes.
I brush her hair back from her face, tucking the strands behind her ear with gentle fingers. My thumb traces along her cheekbone, and I reach for a bottle of water on the nightstand.
“Drink.” I help her sit up enough to take a few sips.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I set the glass aside and pull her against my chest. “Better?”
She nods against my skin, but even as she smiles, her eyes droop with exhaustion.
“Sleep, Zaika.”
“I need to go back to my room.”
“You’re staying here tonight.”
“But—”
“Sleep.”
She’s out within seconds. I pull the covers over us, and she curls into my side, draping one arm across my chest and tucking her face against my neck.
I should put distance between us before I get used to falling asleep with her in my arms.
Instead, I pull her closer, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her lips are parted slightly in sleep, and her hair is fanned across my pillow like she belongs there.
This woman is going to destroy me.
The realization settles over me like a weight. I’ve spent my adult life maintaining control, building walls, and keeping everyone at a safe distance so they can’t hurt me.
And then Mila walked into my life with her stubborn pride and her brilliant mind and a body that responds to mine like we were made for each other. She scaled those walls without even trying. She’s gotten under my skin and into my head, and now, apparently, into my heart.
I’m so screwed.
But as I watch her sleep and feel her safe and warm in my arms, I can’t bring myself to regret it. I also can’t push her away, even though every instinct I have screams that this will end badly.
For the first time in years, I feel something other than anger or emptiness. I feel alive. I feel like maybe there’s more to this existence than violence and territory and endless chess games with other criminals.
I kiss her forehead, and she sighs in her sleep and burrows closer.
I don’t deserve her trust or peace, but for one night, I’m selfish enough to take it anyway.
Yeah. I’m fucked.
My phone wakesme a few hours later.
I fumble for it on the nightstand without opening my eyes and check the screen. The caller ID shows it’s my sister, Sasha, calling from London at an ungodly hour.
