Page 98 of Nemesis

“You don’t have to say that…”

“I’m not just saying it, Octavia.”

I stop pulling away at his unusual use of my full name.

“I doubt Siderov or my uncle were going to allow me to leave New York to visit Anya, anyway. That’s why I saved so much for her security details and nannies. I put every cent I could into planning for this eventuality, which is absolutely not your fault.” His eyes lower to the ground. “Do you know what my life was like before you?”

My throat bobs. I’ve heard him talk about his past in bits and pieces, but I never wanted to pry the information out of him. I know what it’s like to bury fissures in your skin.

“I was fucking lost,” he whispers with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Every day, there was a new list of meaningless orders and victims, but it wasn’t my place to know the context of why. I’d spend hours in the darkness, milking information free from desperate veins. Random addresses were sent to my phone, delivering a new victim for my chair. And then I’d go home to an empty apartment and drink until the call came in, telling me to do it all again the next day.” His voice breaks on the last words.

My hand cups his cheek, smooth from his shave this morning. “You won’t have to live like that ever again, Vas.” His forehead lowers to mine. “You’re capable of doing so much more than sitting in the dark.”

“I wasn’t just sitting in the dark…”

“I know,” I interrupt. “I know what you were doing. I’ve been in one of those rooms, remember?”

“I remember.”

“We’ve already experienced hell together,” I say, brushing the vein in his neck with the tip of my index finger. “There’s nothing you can tell me that will scare me off.” My lips press to the corner of his in a teasing kiss. “I’ll always be right by your side, helping you dig the graves.”

He steals my next breath, lips consuming mine with a desperation that scratches an itch deep inside my mind. He still tastes like mint from his afternoon tea, and I seek out the flavor. A low growl responds to the touch, vibrating down my spine.

“Octavia,” he gasps into my mouth, pulling back when I nip his full lip. “Fuck…I need…we should take a break.”

“I don’t want a break,” I say, molding my body to his. He reads my need, instantly lifting me into his arms so I can wrap my legs around his hips and grind right where I need him most.

I go still as he lowers me. The hard outline of his cock grows stiff between us. I grind down on the stiff length below me, desperate for some friction to silence the need.

“You sure?” he breathes, maneuvering our bodies onto the bed below.

“I’m sure.” I pull at his shirt. He shrugs off the garment, exposing inches of his carved, tattooed chest for my hands to run over. Then he’s pulling off my top, too, revealing the sports bra I wore to the shooting range. Lips trace a devious line down my collarbones, followed by a wet trail of heat that laps down between my breasts.

“Fuck, these are gorgeous,” he whispers, palming both in a gesture that wrenches a moan free from my mouth.

“More,” I gasp, arching into the touch.

A breathy chuckle is the only response before he draws the fabric down, sucking one of my nipples into the heat of his mouth. I arch even further, pressing his head into my chest, desperate for more sensation. My legs tighten around his hips, grinding up as his lips lift off my breast, kissing a line back up to my sensitive neck.

Then the split happens.

My body continues to writhe beneath his, desperate for more—more of his touch, more of his warmth, more of everything.

But at the same time, my brain registers the weight pressing into me from above. A cold trickle runs down my neck, slamming the same two words into my brain over and over.

Not safe, not safe, not safe.

“You okay?”

I hear his voice above, but all I see is that massive shadow. Suddenly, I feel small and entirely too exposed. The moment barely lasts a second before my vision tilts, and I’ve been deposited on top of a chest. A comforting hand runs over my bare spine, lulling me into a gentle, calming rhythm.

And then the embarrassment catches up, flushing all the way to my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to sit up on his body. “I…it wasn’t you…” Fuck. “It was⁠—”

“Me being on top?” he guesses. He doesn’t sound angry at all that I ruined everything.

“Yeah.” I look away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”