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“Stop thinking, Misha.” She pulls me out of my black hole for the second time in as many minutes. “Just stay here with me.” I try. I pull off her sports bra and then her underwear. Her beautiful, pregnant body stretches out in front of me. Newly scarred. Covered in the proof of my failure.
“I’ve just been busy. I still am. I have to go to the office.” “In sweatpants?” Gray sweatpants, nonetheless. The male equivalent of lingerie.
“That bleeding heart of yours isn’t going to beat for much longer if you let it break for every sob story you trip over.”
letting myself care about you was a mistake. Nearly losing you blinded me to everything else. I can’t afford to let that happen again.”
“Misha, love doesn’t have to be a weakness. It can make you stronger.”
I touch his bottom lip with my fingers. Then I trail my touch down his shoulder to his elbow and grab one of his hands. I place his palm on my hip. “Come on, husband,” I coo. “Make me yours.”
I pull my thong down and sling it at him. It hits him square in the chest before he catches it, crushing the delicate material in his fist. “What are you doing?” he murmurs. “You’re a smart boy.” I lie back on the bed and spread my legs. “Figure it out.”
Paige, more than any enemy I’ve ever faced, is forcing me to reckon with the one truth I’ve tried hardest to avoid since becoming don. I’m only human.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you were not worthy of me, kiska. I’m sorry I forced you into a loveless marriage. But I’m most sorry for making you think that I didn’t care. Because the truth is, I love you, Paige Orlov.” He brings my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckle. “I’m sorry I took so long to say it.”
He laughs. “I was a monk. Never even looked at a woman until I met you.” He gives me a lopsided smile that makes my heart melt and my center throb. Honestly, I feel sorry for all the women that have come before me. None of them stood a chance.
What I feel for you is so much… bigger. It feels so much more intense, more all-consuming. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop fantasizing about you.
Anthony was just the calm before the storm. It was never going to last.” “Am I the storm?” Misha asks with amusement. I lean in and press my lips to his. “You are everything.”
“Would you like to tell me what is going on with you?” “Nothing is going on.” “Ah, see? There’s the trouble.” I slide onto his lap, straddling his thighs. “Usually, you’d say something like, ‘I’m about to fuck you until you convert to the religion of me; that’s what’s going on.’ But you aren’t even interested in my lingerie.”
“Aren’t you glad I’m on your side?” “Are you?” I ask, our hands finding each other instinctively. “Always,” he whispers. “Always.”
“Stop looking at me with those eyes.” “They’re the only eyes I’ve got.”
Petyr has no idea that his plan actually hinges on Misha being dead. And I know in the marrow of my bones that he is very much alive.
So much endless chase, and it’s all over in a second. It almost feels anticlimactic.
