Page 81 of Cruel Paradise

But maybe… not right away.

I end up on the loveseat facing her, staring at the way her breasts tremble with every breath she takes. She looks so damn peaceful that even an hour later, I can’t bring myself to wake her. Instead, I carry her tenderly into my room and settle her on one side of the bed.

This bed has seen a lot of things, none of which involved sleep. That realization sends a little chill up my spine. But it’s still not enough to convince me to wake her.

Mainly because that chill isn’t exactly bad, per se.

I take the armchair by the window, but at no point do I actually appreciate the view of the city. I’m focused on the view of Emma in my bed.

I watch her for so long that my dilemma doesn’t become obvious until long after the moon has risen. It’s not that I don’t want to wake her up.

I just don’t want her to leave.

The way she writhed on my cock; the way she screamed my name… I thought I’d done what I set out to do tonight. But watching her asleep in my bed, it hits me—

This victory may not be mine at all.

31

EMMA

I wake up feeling like I’ve been swallowed by a cloud.

I stretch against the velvety soft sheets and moan into my pillow. This pillow might just have superpowers. Which is good timing, too, because when I roll onto my side, I realize with a grimace that everythinghurts.

My thighs? Agony. My ass? Like I got branded with a cattle prod. Between my legs—

My eyes fly open. “Oh my God,” I gasp, looking around the massive, sleek, bachelor pad that I should have been out of a long time ago. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

I jerk out of bed so fast that I trip on my own panic, collapse in half like a folding chair, and end up with my face smack dab in the carpet. Luckily, like everything else in this apartment, it cushions my fall with its plush luxuriousness.

“My clothes!” I stammer, running naked around the room like a headless chicken. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

And where is Ruslan?

I imagine his deep, gravelly voice booming through the penthouse.Fee, fi, fo, fum—I smell the blood of a lazy bum.I cringe at my own rhyme. I’m blamingJack and the Beanstalkfor that one. I read it to the girls a couple of weeks ago.

“Focus, Emma!” I snap at myself.

I’m very well aware that I’m dissociating so I don’t focus on the terrifying fact that I’m awake in the penthouse, all by myself, after breaking the contract and potentially ruining everything. If I spend even a nanosecond dwelling on that, I’ll have a full-on meltdown, so I just concentrate on the immediate next step.

First up: getting dressed.

Since my clothes are nowhere to be found, I grab the fluffy white bathrobe in the bathroom and scramble into it as I sneak into the living room. I move gingerly, terrified that he’s going to be lurking behind every corner, every closed door, ready to bellow at me for overstaying my welcome.

But honestly, why would he let me sleep in? Hell, why would he let me sleep at all?

Wasn’t he the one who insisted the contract needed to be upheld? Wasn’t he the one who had insisted on the ‘no sleepovers’ rule? All of that was fine with me! I don’t exactly have the time to languish around my fuck buddy’s palace like a kept woman. I have a life. A job.Kids.

Oh my God, the kids!

He doesn’t seem to be around but I do spot my clothes. They’ve been folded up neatly and left on the white sofa.

I can’t find the green blouse he ripped off me but I do see a small white note sitting on top of the pile of clothes, right next to my phone. Ruslan’s handwriting matches his personality. Confident, powerful, surprisingly elegant.

Be at the office at noon. There are coffee vouchers on the kitchen table if you’re interested. And since I ripped your blouse, feel free to borrow whatever you need from my closet. The driver will be waiting for you outside when you’re ready to leave. –Ruslan.

I’m genuinely stunned. He’s giving me the morning off? Not just that—he’s giving me permission to go into his closet and take one of his shirts?

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