Page 25 of Santa Daddy
Our mouths crashed together, and everything I’d been trying to repress roared back to life.
He moved.
This was hungrier. Deeper. His lips slanted over mine, his tongue sweeping in like he had every right to be there, and my body answered with equal ferocity.
My hands tunneled into his hair, tugging him closer, deeper. His fingers gripped my waist, dragging me up the bed toward him, dragging a sound from my throat I didn’t recognize as my own.
He kissed me like he was claiming something. Staking territory.
And I kissed him back like I wanted to be branded.
When he finally pulled away, both of us breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine for a heartbeat. Just one.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and I hated how the praise arrowed straight between my legs.
I was about to say something utterly brilliant and cutting—I’m sure—when he pulled back further. The warmth that had been in his face a second ago shuttered. The killer slipped his skin back on over the man.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he said.
The words dropped between us like a weight.
Cold, flat, utterly at odds with the way his hands were still curved around me, his thumb skimming the space under my breast like he hadn’t noticed he hadn’t let go.
It shouldn’t have hurt. What did I expect? A declaration of love? A happily ever after? A shared Christmas stocking?
I’d known exactly what I was doing last night when I’d clung to him and begged for more. When I’d spread my legs for a man whose hands knew how to end lives without flinching.
Of course it didn’t change anything.
Except everything had changed.
I’d crossed a line you didn’t uncross. Given a piece of myself to a man who could crush it or throw it away without a second thought.
And the worst part was I wasn’t sure I cared.
“You’re right,” I lied, forcing my features blank. “It doesn’t change anything.”
He didn’t call me on that one.
Just stepped back, breaking all contact. The distance he put between us felt like blowing out a candle and watching the room go dark.
“Get dressed,” he said. “Food is in the kitchen. Natasha will bring more clothes later.”
“That’s it?” My voice cracked. I coughed to cover it. “No more post-kidnapping customer service?”
His eyes flicked to the window. Outside, fat snowflakes had started drifting down, softening the hard lines of the city.
“Don’t mistake this bed for mercy, kotyonok.” His tone had gone back to steel. “Or what happened in it for anything more than what it was.”
My chest went tight. “And what was it?”
His answer was immediate. Brutal.
“Necessary.”
He left before I could decide whether to hit him, scream at him, or drag him back to bed.
The door closed with a soft click. The sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall.
