Page 41 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
Irina was being too quiet, he realized. Not the comfortable quiet of contentment, but the careful quiet of someone trying to figure out how to act, what to say, how to be. She was probably regretting it already, probably trying to find a way to make it mean less than it had, to protect herself from the implications of what they’d just shared.
The thought made something cold settle in his stomach. He’d known this was a risk, had known that crossing this line would complicate everything between them in ways neither of them was prepared for. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself, hadn’t been able to resist the pull of her trust, her desire, her willingness to let him be the first to touch her like this.
“We should get cleaned up,” she said finally, her voice carefully neutral as she started to pull away from him.
“Irina.” He caught her hand, stopping her retreat. “Look at me.”
She did, reluctantly, and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she was trying to build walls around what had just happened between them.
“Don’t,” he said, echoing her earlier words. “Don’t try to make this into something casual. Don’t pretend it didn’t mean anything.”
“I wasn’t—” she started, but he cut her off.
“You were,” he said gently. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re trying to figure out how to minimize this and make it safe. But it’s not safe, Irina. What just happened between us... It changed things.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “Maybe I don’t want things to change.”
“Too late,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her palm. “They already have.”
He could see her struggling with that, could practically watch her mind working as she tried to process the implications. But instead of pushing her to talk about it, instead of demanding promises or declarations, he simply stood and scooped her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked, startled.
“Taking care of you,” he said simply, carrying her toward the door. “The way you deserve to be taken care of.”
The master bathroom was one of his favorite rooms in the mansion, all marble and glass with a shower big enough for four people and a tub that could have been a small swimming pool. He set Irina down gently on the marble counter, then moved to start the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise from the glass enclosure.
“You don’t have to—” she began, but he silenced her with a look.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I do.”
He helped her into the shower, his hands gentle as he washed her hair, as he smoothed soap over her skin with a reverence that seemed to surprise them both. This wasn’t about sex, wasn’t about desire or possession. This was about worship, about showing her that what had just happened between them was precious, worth honoring.
She relaxed under his ministrations, the careful walls she’d been trying to build beginning to crumble as he demonstrated through touch what he couldn’t yet say with words. By the time he wrapped her in one of his oversized bathrobes, she was looking at him with something that might have been wonder.
“Hungry?” he asked, and when she nodded, he led her to the kitchen.
Cooking wasn’t something Matvei did often. He had staff for that, but tonight felt different, like something that required his personal attention. He made her scrambled eggs with herbs from the garden, toast with butter and jam, and coffee strong enough to chase away any lingering effects from the alcohol. Simple food, comfort food, the kind of thing his mother used to make when he was young, and the world felt too big and complicated.
Irina sat at the kitchen island, wrapped in his robe with her damp hair falling around her shoulders, and watched him cook with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. There was something domestic about the scene, something that made his chest feel tight with emotions he wasn’t ready to name.
“This is nice,” she said quietly when he set the plate in front of her.
“Good,” he said, settling beside her with his own plate. “You should eat.”
They ate in comfortable silence, and Matvei found himself memorizing the moment, the way she curled her feet under her on the stool, the way she hummed softly when she tasted the eggs, the way she seemed so perfectly at home in his space, wearing his clothes.
“Can I ask you something?” she said when they’d finished eating.
“Anything.”
“Why are you being so...” She trailed off, searching for the right word. “Careful with me?”
He considered the question, considered lying or deflecting or giving her some easy answer that wouldn’t reveal too much. But the trust she’d shown him tonight, the gift she’d given him, deserved honesty in return.
“Because this matters,” he said finally. “You matter. And I don’t want you to ever look back on tonight and feel like it was anything less than what you deserved.”
Her eyes went soft at that, and she reached across the space between them to touch his hand. “It was perfect,” she said quietly. “You were perfect.”
