His urgency matches mine. I can taste the desperation in his kiss and feel the unbound obsession in each of his thrusts.

It doesn’t matter that I said goodbye or that this is only temporarily. At this moment, all I can do is get lost in him and pray there will be no way out.

His fingers tighten around my throat and I feel my walls clenching around his dick at the same time. He’s all over me, inside me, around me, and it’s impossible to escape his hold.

The piercing blue of his eyes captures mine as his touch leaves the confinement of my skin and shoots straight into my chest.

He said I poisoned him, but he’s the one who poisoned me. He’s the one who’s firing an arrow at my heart, and I have no way to stop it because he destroyed my fortress.

The orgasm hits me like a slow-burning explosive. I moan, shaking, as tears slide down my cheeks.

Kyle kisses them away as his abs tighten and he spills inside me. I’m tempted to close my eyes to soak in the sensation, but I don’t. I prefer watching him instead, even if his face isn’t the same as usual.

We’re both panting, his breaths mingling with mine, and a sheen of sweat covers our skin.

I lay my head on his shoulder, but I remain silent because the moment I speak, everything will end and I will have to return to the bleak reality where he really has to leave.

And this time, I don’t know if I can handle it.

13

Kyle

Rai is fast asleep, her lips parted slightly and her golden locks splayed all over the pillow.

I’ve spent the last hour watching her; the slight flutter of her thick lashes, the steady rise and fall of her chest under the blanket, and how peaceful she looks—safe almost. Her fair complexion appears bluish in the darkness, ethereal, and so fucking appetizing I want to take her all over again. But at the same time, I love how she drowns into me as she sleeps. How she wraps her hand around my torso and intertwines her legs with mine.

She’s so beautiful, it’s maddening.

My obsession with this woman runs deeper and darker than I originally calculated. The thought of putting distance between us felt like ripping my heart out from between my ribs.

I think it started when I first met her. When Nikolai introduced her to me with a gleam in his usually bland eyes, I wondered what could have made the merciless leader of the New York Bratva so proud.

At the time, I thought she looked normal like all American-born Russians with her head held high and her eyes sparkling like she wanted to discover the world and all of its galaxies in one lifetime.

The only difference was that Rai didn’t seem like she only wanted to discover the world. Even at that age, she was set on conquering.

The part that stayed with me other than her expressive eyes was her smile. Unlike other spoiled mafia princesses, Rai was too mature for her age.

She might have been spoiled by Nikolai, but she always knew her place and strived to be more for the brotherhood.

Back then, I didn’t realize I was obsessed.

After I left Godfather and the others back in London, my aim was to stay by Nikolai’s side. Not having a place to belong to ate away at my soul, but I couldn’t stay just anywhere; I had to be where I could somehow plot my revenge. So I figured if he trusted me enough to protect his granddaughter, he would keep me around.

My plan worked, but I didn’t count on this woman getting under my skin.

The first time I noticed how much of an effect she had on me was after I left. That morning I woke up and didn’t have someone knocking on my door demanding that I teach them how to shoot or accompany them on a walk.

I went into withdrawal with its buried screams, its burning memories, and its silent breakdown.

And I remained in that fucking withdrawal for seven years. But it’s not withdrawal if it lasted that long; it’s an obsession. As soon as I returned, that obsession grabbed me by the throat like nothing ever had.

It’s different from the obsession pulsing under my skin that’s been demanding I avenge my parents’ death.

One is bloodlust with the need to hurt. The other is still some sort of lust, but it’s like a never-ending ache, the type that carved its place into the very marrow of my bones.

Stroking her hair behind her ear, I brush my lips to her forehead, lingering for a second too long so I can inhale her. Then I carefully untangle her from around me and stand up.

I slide my boxer briefs on and head to the bathroom. I hit the light switch and stand in front of the mirror.

My hands grip the marble counter as I stare at the galaxy of colors. Scarlet red, violet, bluish. That fucker Vlad made a painting out of my face—a chaotic one at that.

My eyes are swollen and the cut on my lip has dried blood all over it.

I should have probably taken care of it a bit more before I got here. Peter had a fright when he saw me. The kid shouldn’t have joined the Bratva at all.

Instead of thinking of mundane things like cleaning my face, the only thought in my mind was that I needed to see her before she completely erased me.

I have no doubt she would live a perfectly normal life without me. I’m the one who kept having withdrawals for seven fucking years.

Reaching into the cabinet, I retrieve the first aid kit so I can clean the wounds.

Vladimir, the fucker, should start picking his funeral song, because he’ll pay. Not only for hitting me, but for taking my wife away from me.

The condescending piece of shit always made it clear that I shouldn’t be with her. She’s a mafia princess and I’m a nobody, a killer who should remain in the shadows and only come out when he’s needed to take care of extracurricular activities.

He’s not wrong, but fuck him and everyone who thinks of me as a bloody shadow.

The padding of feet comes from behind me. I don’t turn around, not wanting her to know I feel her, even when she’s far away.

She already thinks I’m abnormal, and I cemented that fact by telling her about my bloody past.

I never divulged those memories to anyone except for Godfather. With her, the words tumbled out of my mouth so easily, as if I was always meant to tell her about it.

Rai stops behind me and tilts to the side so she can peek at me through the mirror.

Her brows furrow when she makes out the cotton filled with alcohol in my hand. “Does it hurt?”

“It looks worse than it is.”

She slips under my arm so she can stand between me and the counter. The only thing that covers her is a flimsy white gown that teases at her rosy areolas and hardened nipples.