Yakov sets a relentless pace, withdrawing and thrusting in a punishing rhythm that steals my breath. I respond in kind, writhing beneath him, giving myself to him without restraint. He leans down, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear, and I feel the dam inside me give way, a tidal wave of need crashing through me, his name on my lips like a prayer.
The world narrows to the points where our bodies meet, to sensation and hunger and the overwhelming rightness of the way he feels inside me, claiming me, filling me with him. I wind around him, pulling him deeper, nails scraping down his back, his breathing ragged and low against my neck.
“Mine,” he murmurs. “My Mila.”
With a ragged groan, he loses his last restraint, moving in sharp, unmeasured thrusts. I lose myself in the pulsation of his body, release building inside me, pulling him tighter. The pleasure peaks, and we soar together, muscles straining against each other, bodies molded into one single form, neither willingto let the other go. A shout tears from his lips, and the sound joins my moan, mingling in the air like the most secret language, an unspoken promise. When he spills himself inside me, he whispers my name like a sacred vow, and the sound of it—this dangerous man, so powerful and controlled—is enough to send me spiraling into the white-hot light behind my eyes.
He collapses against me, our heavy breathing echoing, his heart pounding against mine. Long moments pass, and neither of us is ready to acknowledge the moment when the world spins back into focus, when we’ll have to let each other go.
But for this suspended moment, in this fairytale castle where all of this began, the connection between us grows, solidifies, tethers us to each other despite the uncertainty ahead.
Even if we can’t define exactly what we’ve found, we have each other, and at the moment, that’s enough.
Tonight, it’s enough.
34
NEW BEGINNINGS, OLD ENEMIES
MILA
Two weeks since our new normal began, since Yakov took the position at Volkov Enterprises, and we stopped pretending this was temporary. Two weeks of attempting to build a new life while navigating waters neither of us has charted before.
I’ve spent the morning reviewing proposals from three different universities, each offering guest lecture opportunities in trauma psychology. My patient referrals are complete, every case transferred to trusted colleagues who won’t ask uncomfortable questions about my sudden career pivot. The consulting contracts are still in negotiation, but the interest is there. Corporate wellness programs, law enforcement psychological evaluations, private practice supervision—work that doesn’t require the license I’m certain will be revoked within the year.
It’s strange, dismantling one professional life while building another. But I refuse to wait for the inevitable. If they’re going to strip away my credentials, I’ll be ready with alternatives.
Yakov’s security system beeps softly as I gather my things—there’s cameras everywhere, motion sensors, direct lines toBratva security and his phone. It took a week of negotiations before they agreed to let me return to my apartment, and only with these modifications. Every window wired, every entrance monitored, panic buttons in every room. Obsessive attention to detail, all of it designed with the precision of a man who refuses to leave anything to chance when it comes to my safety.
“Excessive,” I’d called it when he’d first outlined his plans.
“Necessary,” he’d countered, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that brooked no argument. This was the compromise. “Your apartment, their terms, my execution.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
Yakov:Outside. Ready when you are.
A flutterof anticipation rises in my stomach, the same one I feel every time I know I’ll see him. It’s ridiculous. We’ve shared a bed, shared our bodies, shared pieces of ourselves that neither of us has revealed to anyone else. Yet the thought of seeing him still makes my pulse quicken like a teenager with her first crush.
When I step outside, I spot him immediately. He leans against a sleek black car, arms crossed over his chest, his posture alert despite the casual stance. The sight of him in a tailored suit instead of the simple clothes he wore at the mansion still catches me off guard. He looks powerful, dangerous in an entirely different way, less the caged predator and more the controlled weapon.
He spots me across the sidewalk, and warmth floods through me at the naked hunger in his gaze.
“Dr. Agapova,” he says as I approach, the formal address a private joke between us now. “You look beautiful.”
“Mr. Gagarin.” I match his tone, though my body betrays me by leaning toward him as if magnetized. “Punctual as always.”
He opens the car door for me, his hand brushing the small of my back in a touch that’s innocent and possessive all at once. The brief contact sends tingles skating down my spine. Even these small touches leave me breathless.
“How was your day?” he asks once he’s behind the wheel, studying every detail of my appearance, assessing my mood with the same precision he once used to plan Bratva takedowns.
“Productive.” I watch his hands on the steering wheel, remembering those same hands on my body last night, and desire pools between my thighs. “Yours?”
“Interesting.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Nikolai has me analyzing security protocols for all Volkov and Sokolov properties. The existing measures are…inadequate.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure you told him that with your usual diplomatic touch.”
“I was professional.” His hand finds mine across the console, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy. “I simply outlined the seventeen critical vulnerabilities that could be exploited by a determined adversary.”
