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Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling on the strands gently. Is this her way of letting go? I want to know everything she has to give. All the best parts as much as the worst.
She moans into my mouth, and I nearly lose it. I hold onto her tighter even though that should be impossible. I can feel how hard she’s breathing from the way her breasts press against my chest. Her sweater is the only thing parting her skin from mine.
Sloane lifts to her toes to reach me better. She deepens the kiss, her tongue fighting with mine. I never thought a kiss could say things words never could.
But then she pulls back from me and looks away. That look tells me too much.
It’s a look of regret.
“I can’t,” she says.
I nod even though she can’t see me. Without a second glance or thought, I turn away from her and make my way back to the stairs.
“Thyme,” I tell her before I walk up the steps. “You’re missing thyme.”
CHAPTER21
SLOANE
Why did I tell him I can’t?
Ican.
God, I am so fucking stupid. He finally showed me kindness and I shot him down. In the moment it seemed far too good to be true. How can a man like him all of a sudden want to show me he cares?
How could he ask me to let go if he hadn’t truly let go himself?
I eat dinner by myself, and the entire time I want to walk upstairs to get him. I think maybe we could watch a movie or even just have a civilized conversation without wanting to tear out each other’s throats. But I ruined it.
Shocker.
I think about the moment where I’m standing in front of the bedroom door—what I’ll do, what I’ll say. But there’s no time to think too hard because before I can second-guess myself that’s exactly where I’m at.
My hand rests on the knob while I try to figure out whether this is a stupid idea or not. There’s no chance in hell he’ll welcome me with open arms. Knowing Mikhail, he’ll hold this against me.
I force myself to open the door anyway and step inside the bedroom. I smile when I notice the small light shining from the corner of the room. He turned on a salt lamp. The warm orange light welcomes me as I lift up the sheets and climb into his bed.
Sharing a bed with Mikhail has proven to be far too comfortable. I hate to admit it, but I love being by his side the entire night.
Once under the covers, I turn on my side so I’m facing Mikhail. He doesn’t look peaceful like he did before. The darkness he carries with him during the day catches up with him at night, not giving him a break. I lift my hand to his forehead and feel droplets of sweat.
“Let him go ...” he mumbles.
I sit up and crawl closer to him. I’ve never seen anyone have this bad of a dream. I don’t know if I should wake him. Bad dreams are kind of similar to sleepwalking ... I think.
“Please,” he pleads.
I can’t stay here watching him and not do anything. It hurts to see him like this.
“Mikhail ...” I shake him.
He lets out heavy pants. “Mikhail, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” I shake him harder this time.
His eyes fly open, seeing me but not seeing me. He reaches under his pillow, taking out a pistol, and his hand grabs my neck, slamming me down on the bed.
“Mikhail!” I gag. I can’t fucking breathe. I claw at his wrists. “I can’t ... brea—”
The gun is pointed at the center of my head. I squirm my legs trying to get out from under him, but his weight is crushing me down.
