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I touch the lapel of his jacket, taking in the hint of tattoos peeking through the top open buttons of his shirt.
Although I woke up with his cock sliding inside me, and he fucked me senseless just this morning, I can’t seem to get enough of him.
My sex drive matches his—if not more. I could blame the hormones, but then again, there has never been a day when I didn’t want Kirill Morozov.
Even during the time I planned to kill him.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a careful tone.
I hate it when he deliberately closes himself off from me.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He takes my hand in his and basically drags me into one of the rooms.
The nurse and doctor are waiting while carrying a tray with some equipment on it.
“You can get started,” he tells them and applies pressure on my shoulder so that I sit down on the bed.
“Get started on…what?”
Shit.
Don’t tell me he already found out I’m pregnant? And if he did, what is he getting started on?
Kirill looms over me, his shoulders appearing wider and more frightening. “The doctor will now put a tracker in your arm. It shouldn’t take long.”
My lips part. “W-what?”
“You heard me just fine, Sasha.”
“Yes, I did, but I’m trying to figure out if you’re joking.”
“I never joke.”
“You already track my damn phone. Why would you need this as well?”
“Because your phone isn’t reliable when it’s turned off or when you lose it intentionally or unintentionally.”
“So you’re putting a tracker in me? Just like that?”
“It’s the only option to ensure your safety.”
I stand up and jam a finger in his chest. “More like, the only option for you to monitor me. I’m not doing this.”
I start to move past him, but he grabs my arms and sits me back down so fast, dizziness assaults me.
He lowers himself so that his cold eyes are level with mine. “Don’t be difficult.”
“Difficult? So I’m the one who’s being difficult in this?”
“You have a tendency to disappear, so this is the best solution to make sure you’re safe.”
“Don’t do this,” I whisper gently. “This isn’t how you make me your partner, Kirill.”
“I can’t make you my fucking partner when you’re thinking about running off.” He looks back at the doctor and nurse, who have been watching the show silently. “Do it.”
I start to fight, kicking and clawing at his arm, but he pins me down on the bed with brute strength. His knees are on either side of my thighs, keeping them in place, and he imprisons my wrists above my head on the bed.
I have to loosen my muscles so he doesn’t crush my belly or something.
He hovers above me and releases a hand, but he keeps my shoulder flat and immobile on the bed.
The nurse disinfects my upper arm. The coldness of the alcohol isn’t even uncomfortable, but moisture gathers in my eyes.
I stare at him through my blurry vision, then whisper, “I hate you.”
“You can hate me all you like as long as you’re safe.”
“The one person I need to be safe from is you, asshole.”
“Get it all off your chest,” he says in a nearly sarcastic voice.
“I’m going to remove this the moment we’re divorced in a few weeks.”
He doesn’t like that. In fact, he dislikes it so much that I feel the weight of his negative emotions squashing my chest.
Good. I said it to hurt him as much as he’s hurting me.
I expect him to say that won’t happen or that I’m dreaming, but he says nothing and leaves me at the mercy of his darkness.
The prick of whatever the doctor is doing doesn’t hurt. The fact that Kirill is subjugating me to this does.
I glare up at him. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed and I forced you to do this?”
“I’d do it.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“If you want a tracker on me, I’ll get one this instant, Sasha.”
“Then do it. Let’s see how you feel when I monitor your every move.”
A second passes.
Two.
On the third, he lifts himself off me and sits on the foot of the bed. Then, he announces, “Put another tracker in me.”
The nurse is finishing with my arm, but I can’t focus on her as the doctor heads to the closet and then returns with another tray.
Kirill removes his jacket and unbuttons his shirt with meticulous, calm movements before he bares his left arm.
Once the nurse is done, I slowly sit up and settle beside him. “You’re really doing this?”
“If it makes you feel better that we’re on the same page, I don’t mind.”
I prefer that neither of us gets a tracker, but since that’s not possible, this puts some form of a balm on the wound.
There’s still the tiny fact that he’s doing it willingly, and I don’t have to hold him down for it.
