“What about this room?”
“Pavel installed scramblers here, so we should be protected.”
Protected. Right. “Good to know.”
I step closer to him, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes and smell the cedar scent that clings to his skin. The man who kidnapped me, manipulated my memories, and has lied to me for weeks about my identity.
The man I can’t stop wanting despite everything.
“Dmitri?”
“Yes?”
I note the concern etched around his eyes and the way he holds himself like he’s bracing for bad news. He’s been watching me carefully since we returned from the estate, waiting for signs that something has changed. Something has.Everythinghas.
But not in the way he expects.
“I need you.”
The confession slips out before I can stop it, and the honesty in my voice surprises both of us. Because it’s true. I need him, but on my terms this time. I need to choose him instead of being manipulated into wanting him.
I need to take back some control in a situation where I’ve had none.
Or maybe I’m just fucked up enough to want the man who destroyed my life.
Either way, I’m done being his victim. If I’m going to want him and give myself to him, it will be my choice. My decision. My terms.
For once in this nightmare, I’m going to be the one in control.
“Katya…”
“Don’t think about it. Don’t analyze it. Just come with me.”
I take his hand and lead him toward the bedroom, hyperaware of the equipment Pavel installed throughout the space. Let the FSB record this. Let them document how thoroughly I’ve been compromised by my target.
Let them see what love looks like when it’s built on lies that somehow became real.
The bedroom door closes behind us, and suddenly, we’re alone in the space that’s become the center of our complicated relationship. The bed where I gave myself to him, believing I was his wife. The room where I discovered the truth about my identity.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“I’m sure about wanting you. Everything else can wait.”
I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head before dropping it on the floor beside the bed. Dmitri’s eyes darken as he takes in the crimson bra underneath, and I can see his control fraying at the edges.
“Your turn,” I tell him.
He strips off his shirt with movements that seem almost reluctant, like he’s afraid this moment might disappear if he moves too quickly. When his chest is bare, I run my hands over the muscles I’ve memorized, feeling the way his breathing changes under my touch.
I press my mouth to his throat and taste salt on his skin. His pulse races under my lips, and I know mine is doing the same thing. Whatever this is between us, it exists independent of the lies and manipulation. It’s the one real thing in a situation built entirely on deception.
His hands find the clasp of my bra and release it, and the garment falls away before his palms cover my breasts with the reverent touch I remember from the estate. Like I’m something precious he’s afraid to break.
“Touch me,” I whisper against his collarbone.
“Iamtouching you.”
“More. Everywhere.”
