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“No one.”
Kirill and even Viktor narrow their eyes. Shit, shit.
“I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I struggle to a standing position with Maksim’s help. “I’m fine.”
“Nonsense.” Kirill watches me for a few silent seconds. “We’re going home.”
“Isn’t the club our next stop?” Viktor asks, threatening to ruin my plan.
Kirill doesn’t reply and heads to the car. Which means we have to go home.
Yes.
I start to follow and stumble. Yuri catches me by the arm at the last second, and I could swear he glares at me for a moment before his expression returns to normal.
Did I imagine that?
“I know you promised Miss Karina to bring him home, but don’t you think you went a bit extreme on this?” he asks in his usual wise tone.
I grin even as I limp to the car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sound so happy about something you don’t know.”
“Who? Me?” So, yeah, maybe I’m a bit over the moon because Kirill canceled the club altogether just because I got hurt.
It was a slim chance, and I didn’t think he’d actually do it. But then again, it goes against his territorial nature to send me back with Maksim or Yuri while he goes to the club.
So let’s say I’m a tiny bit happy.
Or a lot considering I can’t stop grinning like an idiot. But my good mood gradually disappears when I sit beside Kirill in the back of the car. As soon as we start moving, he rolls down the partition, cutting us off from Yuri and Viktor.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His deep voice swishes in the air like a whip.
My back snaps into an erect position. “N-nothing, I just tripped.”
“You want me to believe that nonsense? I would’ve bought that when we first met in the military, but now, you have better balance than almost anyone, so why don’t you tell me the actual reason you pulled that fucking stunt.”
Okay, it was a long shot to fool him.
“I just want to go home.”
“You could’ve simply asked for that like a normal human fucking being.”
“And you would’ve granted it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because you distrust everything?”
“Watch that fucking tone, and if you think this show will make me trust whatever you’re up to, then you’re in for a wake-up call.” He reaches out to me, and I grow still.
Kirill is intense on good days. On bad days, however, he’s a force to be reckoned with.
I feel stomped on in his path and can be either destroyed or discarded. Or both.
Kirill grabs my side, and I wince.
He lifts up my shirt and inspects the bruise that’s turning purple on my skin.
“You fucking—” He cuts himself off to breathe heavily. “If you hurt yourself for whatever reason again, I swear to fuck, Sasha…”
“I won’t.”
His light eyes taper as they watch me closely, intently, almost like he wants to cut my head off. But then he shakes his head and tucks my shirt back into my pants gently to avoid causing me any discomfort.
I don’t know what’s come over me.
He’s still carefully putting the shirt back in place when I lunge at him.
“What the fuck are you doing—” His words are cut off when I slam my lips to his.
I’ve never been the first to kiss Kirill, have never found the courage to do it, because I’ve always been insecure about the enormity of feelings I have for him.
It started in the army and has never dwindled. If anything, it’s been growing stronger and more dangerous until I couldn’t control it anymore.
But now, I don’t care if he knows how much I like him. No, like is too mild a word and describes nothing of the overpowering intensity my heart holds for him.
It hits me then as my lips find his.
I probably love the asshole.
Kirill is stunned for only a moment before he threads his fingers in and fists whatever length of my hair he can grab as he devours me. My kiss is tentative, emotional, and vulnerable. His is the epitome of destruction.
And you know what? I might be fine with that, after all.
His beastly side is part of who he is and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
The car comes to a halt and we break apart—or I do.
Kirill still has his hand fisted in my hair, and he uses it to force my attention back to him. “Care to explain what that was for?”
“We’re at the house,” I whisper.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
His face is close. It’s so close that I can count the tiny flecks of black in his light eyes through his glasses. So close that I can smell the whiskey on his breath from the drink he had earlier.
I can also taste it on my tongue. So strong and such a damn turn-on.
