Page 190 of Marrying the Savage

For the first time, loving him does not feel like a surrender.

It feels like the most dangerous decision I have made for myself.

28

DAMIR

Grigori texts me while Sofia is asleep against my chest.

Pressing matters. Need you downstairs.

I read the message once and put the phone face down on the bedside table.

Sofia shifts against me, her hair across my shoulder, one bare thigh over mine beneath the sheet. She’s warm, heavy with sleep, and still marked at the throat. Every time I look at those marks, I want the man from the club brought back so I can make the punishment slower.

My phone vibrates again. I don’t reach for it.

Sofia opens her eyes. “You’re ignoring someone important,” she says, voice rough from sleep.

“Yes.”

“Is that allowed?”

“I allow it.”

Her mouth moves slightly. “Convenient.”

I slide my hand over her back. “Sleep.”

“I slept.”

“For less than an hour.”

“Then I’m well rested.”

I look at her. She looks back at me, stubborn and naked in my bed, with my sheet pulled to her chest as if I have not already had my hands and mouth on every inch of her.

“You’re not leaving?” she asks.

The question is too casual. I hear the part under it.

I left last time.

“No,” I say.

Her expression changes before she hides it.

I don’t let her hide it completely. I touch her chin and turn her face back to mine. “I should not have left that morning,” I say. She goes still. “After the first time.”

Her eyes lower. “I know.”

“I thought distance would make it easier,” I murmur.

“Did it?”

“No.”

She looks at me then, and I see too much in her face. Anger. Hurt. The memory of waking alone. The fear she will not admit. The new thing between us from last night that neither of us has named.