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A long pause follows. I watch her, studying her features, seeing the determination etched into every line of her face. "I didn’t know about Viktor's plan to throw the fight,” she admits. “But looking at it now, it’s a smart move. In doing so, he avoids the more dangerous rounds of the Death Match but still walks away with enough money to change our lives.”
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to process it all. "You're trying to escape a legacy," I murmur, a realization dawning.
Her eyes, dark and intense, search mine. "We're trying to live, Samuil. Truly live, without constantly looking over our shoulders. Without fearing that every new day could be our last."
The weight of her words settles over me, the implications of their choices, their dreams, and their struggles becoming all too clear.
The room grows quiet as I wrestle with my thoughts—the pressure of the looming tournament, the dangers of this life, Ana and Vicktor leaving—all threatening to drown me. An idea, wild and reckless, sparks in my mind. I lean forward, eyes locked onto Anastasia’s. "Throw the next match. Just like Viktor was going to."
Her eyes widen, taken aback. "What?"
"Bet against yourself," I clarify, my voice as firm as iron. "Throw the match early on. The odds would be in favor of your opponent, anyway, given who you’ve been put up against to fight. People will think it's just a slip, but we could make a lot of money if you play it right."
Her face contorts in disbelief, eyebrows furrowing. "You're asking me to lose on purpose?"
I swallow, searching for words. "Ana, it's a way out. A way to gather enough to start fresh, away from here, away from the Bratva, like Viktor intended."
Her stance grows rigid, disbelief clear in her eyes. "I’m not Viktor. I don’t know if I can lose on purpose."
The desperation in her voice is palpable. It hurts to see her this way. "I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt," I confess, every word drawn from the depths of my being. "Not when there's another way."
She takes a step back, her breathing ragged. "It's not that simple, Samuil. My pride—"
I cut her off, moving closer. "I know. But sometimes, the hardest choices are the ones that lead to a better life. I'd rather see you safe, away from all this chaos, than standing in that ring one more time."
A conflicted look crosses her face, emotions at war. "Why?"
My throat tightens, the words I've held back for so long threatening to spill out. "Because I care about you," I admit, voice rough. "More than I should. More than is safe in our world."
Chapter 13
Samuil
Her eyes search mine, seeking the truth. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, our lips meet. The world fades away, the looming threats and danger evaporating in the heat of our shared passion. The kiss is desperate, a mingling of fear, longing, and need.
The passion between us is a raging fire, consuming everything in its path. The heat of the moment takes us, and clothes fall away one by one, landing carelessly on the floor. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of us in our own cocoon.
Ana's gaze is hungry, predatory even, as she teasingly runs her fingers down my chest, her nails scratching lightly, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. I watch, captivated, as she shifts, moving down my body, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
The heat of her breath against my skin is tantalizing. As she takes me into her mouth, my body tightens in response. The sensation is almost overwhelming, a combination of the pleasure she's giving me and the intoxicating intimacy of the moment. I can't help but watch as she works, her movements confident and sure.
It's not long before the pleasure intensifies, threatening to become too much. With a growl, I gently grip her hair, signalingher to stop. She releases me, her eyes shimmering with mischief, lips moist, a smirk of satisfaction playing at the corners of her mouth.
"So," she breathes, her voice laced with pride, "you liked that?"
I chuckle, a deep rumble from the depths of my chest. "You have no idea."
Ana laughs, her teeth catching her lower lip in a move that's both innocent and seductive. We're both caught up in the haze of desire, the raw intensity of the moment binding us together.
We continue our dance, teasing, tasting, touching. Every movement, every whisper, a promise of the pleasure yet to come.
I lift Ana effortlessly, placing her on the couch. A soft gasp of surprise escapes her lips, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and anticipation. The wicked smile she wore moments ago now replaced by a look of longing. I meet her gaze for a heartbeat, savoring the raw emotion there before I make my move.
Slowly, deliberately, I move between her thighs. My hands grasp her hips, pulling her closer, aligning us perfectly. I can feel her trembling, a shiver of anticipation running through her. I lower my head, and the heady aroma of her arousal fills my senses. I pause for just a moment to drink it in, then with a firm and confident touch, I begin exploring her most intimate places.
The room is silent except for the sounds of our breathing and the soft moans escaping her lips. Every gasp and every quiver fuels my need to please her, to make her lose herself in the waves of pleasure I'm determined to bring her. She tastes like a combination of sweet nectar and fiery passion, and I'm intoxicated by it.
Her hands find their way to my hair, fingers threading through the strands, gripping and tugging with increasing intensity. I can feel the crescendo building, the tension in herbody reaching its peak. I double my efforts, driven by the primal urge to see her come undone.
