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He frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“If you ever want a repeat performance, I’m easy to find. I’ll leave the bathroom door between our rooms unlocked.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t tell me to fuck off this time. That was something.

“I’m not coming to your room,” he muttered.

“Too bad. I really enjoyed eating that sweet ass.” I tiptoed to the door. “Good night, Zhukovsky.”

I felt the weight of his gaze on my back, heavy as a hand.

Inside, the air was warmer, but the quiet rang louder. I went upstairs, peeled off my sweats, and slid beneath the sheets. For a long time, I stared at the ceiling, listening for footsteps in the bathroom. Every creak of the house had me glancing at the door, half expecting to see him there but half dreading it.

Minutes passed, then an hour, and nothing. I exhaled, dragging my hand over my face. “Didn’t think so,” I muttered to the empty room.

Still, I left the covers turned down. Just in case.

10

STAS

Before I reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of coffee hit me. Warm. Familiar. Almost enough to make me believe nothing about last night had happened.

Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows across the counters in slanted stripes. Yelena sat at the table, her feet propped up on a chair, a bowl of strawberries balanced on her belly. She looked radiant—tired but happy—and for a brief second, the world was simple again.

Until I saw him.

Yuriy stood by the sink, sleeves rolled to his elbows, rinsing dishes. The sound of running water mingled with Yelena’s laughter, sharp and unrestrained. Whatever he’d said must’ve been funny because she was wiping tears from her cheeks while he grinned over his shoulder at her, the natural light catching the curve of his mouth.

Not the usual smirk he wore like armor. Not that cocky tilt that made me want to break his nose. This smile was different, and real.

I froze in the doorway, watching him. The easy slope of his shoulders. The way his hair fell over his neck. No trace of dangerous swagger, no hint of the chaos he carried like a scent. Just a man making my daughter laugh.

He was stunning.

One of those bastards who’d tried to rob me last night had called him a pretty boy. At the time, I’d thought it was meant as an insult. Now, standing there, watching Yuriy bathed in sunlight, I wasn’t so sure he was wrong. My gaze swept over him, uninvited, traitorous. The faint pull of his T-shirt against his back when he reached for a towel. The dark ink of the tattoos on his arms. His sweats hung low on his hips, the material clinging in ways that made my pulse hitch.

And that hair.

Jesus Christ.

Dark mahogany with a kiss of red fire when the light hit it. Too damn pretty for a killer. Too damn soft for the things he’d done.

I remembered the feel of it in my hand last night, silky, heavy, curling around my fingers while he was on his knees, doing things no one had ever dared to do to me. The sound of my own breath breaking apart while I came, while his tongue…

I swallowed hard, forcing the thought out of my head, but it lingered, drifting through me like smoke from a dying fire, waiting for the smallest spark to set it raging again.

Yuriy looked up, and our eyes met. The spark crackled between us. His hand stilled in the sink. The water ran on, steaming against the porcelain, but neither of us moved.

For a heartbeat, everything in me stuttered, the air, my pulse, the fragile illusion of calm I’d built after what we’d done last night. I’d told myself I’d come to terms with it. That it was over. Just one fucked-up, unrepeatable mistake.

I’m not into men. And definitely not into Yuriy fucking Orlov.

But the rush in my chest said otherwise. I’d jerked off in the shower earlier with my eyes clamped shut. Behind my lids had flashed images of him bending me over the sink and me moaning with his tongue inside me.

He tilted his head slightly, that slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Of course I got the fake smile. The one he wore like armor. Because god forbid I ever saw what was really underneath that mask.

“Papa,” Yelena said softly, smiling as I crossed the kitchen.