My heart is seconds away from flatlining. “Dima…”

  But he doesn’t hear me. He pushes the door open, and I see that Ilarion is not lying unconscious on the table, bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the chest. Instead, he’s sitting up, gritting his teeth while Dr. Baranov stitches up his arm.

  He looks up the moment we enter. Our eyes lock. Every internal moral conflict that’s been raging inside my head since I was brought to the Diamond fades away.

  All that matters is that he’s alive.

  Which is why I run at him the same way that Mila ran at Dima. Dr. Baranov wisely steps out of the way just before I throw my arms around Ilarion.

  “Thank God,” I whisper. “Thank God.”

  He hugs me back with his one good arm, circling my waist and drawing me as close as possible.

  I always said he was the anchor tethering me to a world that’s trying to buck me off of it. One by one, my lifelines have been snipped.

  I’ve lost everything else. I’ve lost everyone else. My father, my mother, my sister.

  Ilarion Zakharov is the one person who feels invincible to me. And for a long, horrifying moment, I’d believed that the world was going to rob me of him, too.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of my head. “Everything is okay.”

  I still don’t let go of him. I can’t. He doesn’t seem impatient about that, either. He just holds onto me as Dr. Baranov hovers in the background.

  “I hope you gave as good as you got, brother,” Mila says from behind me. The relief in her voice is as obvious as my own.

  He chuckles. “I did my best.”

  “Mr. Zakharov, sir, I need to finish stitching you up,” Dr. Baranov interjects awkwardly.

  That’s my cue to release Ilarion and let the doctor do his job. But I can’t seem to let him go. I’m probably going to regret this embarrassing display of whatever you’d call this, but for right now, holding onto him is self-preservation.

  “It’s okay, Doc. Work around her,” Ilarion says. He shifts me to his left side so that Dr. Baranov can work on his injured arm.

  I press my forehead to Ilarion’s neck and shut my eyes. I’m not sure how long the stitches take, but eventually, I hear Dr. Baranov shuffle away and the door clicks shut.

  When we’re alone, I breathe in Ilarion’s musky scent and revel in the fact that he’s here at all. That he’s breathing. That his heart beats in time with mine, one steady thump at a time.

  He’s here.

  He’s mine.

  He isn’t leaving.

  “I’m sorry for being a baby,” I whisper after a while. “I can let go now if you want.”

  The sound of Ilarion’s chuckle sends a bolt of excitement zig-zagging through my core. “I like you right here,” he reassures me. “But don’t worry, tigrionok—I won’t disappear if you let go.”

  “You promise?”

  “I swear.”

  With that assurance, I slowly release my hands from around his neck. In my head, I was planning to keep them to myself, but they seem to have a life of their own, so they slip down to his chest instead.

  “What happened?”

  He shakes his head. “Later.”

  I don’t like that answer, but I’m in no mood to argue. My gaze drifts to the bandage around his right arm. “How bad is that?”

  “This? This is practically a bug bite.”

  I almost smile. “I was so scared, you know. I can’t lose anyone else.”

  “Not even me?”

  I shake my head. “Especially not you.”

  His eyes darken, but it’s not the stormy darkness of anger. It’s more than that.

  Which makes it that much more terrifying.

  “Ilarion—”

  His lips crush mine, and I gasp. I’m unable to stop myself from returning his fervor, meeting his hungry kisses with my own. I can feel his desire poking me in the stomach, and he lets out a low growl when I rub against him.

  He tugs at my shirt with one hand, then works my pants open. I help him, lifting my arms and wiggling my hips to discard my clothes because every layer between us is a layer too many.

  His eyes light up as he drinks me in. But it’s not until his hand strokes my hair back over my shoulder that something else occurs to me: did he worry, too? Did he worry he’d never make it home?

  I kiss him again. Slowly but thoroughly. I need him to feel me. We both need to feel each other—he’s home, he’s safe, and so am I, and we’re both right here.

  As long as that’s true, everything will be okay.

  I’m peeling the shirt off his shoulders when he winces with pain. “Shit!” I yelp, dropping my hands and leaning away from him. “Your wound. I’m sorry.”

  “Looks like you’ll have to be gentle with me,” he chuckles, pushing himself off the desk and walking over to the sofa across the room.

  He shrugs off the shirt himself, but I undo his belt before he can get to it. I undress him gently, taking my time, marveling at the beautifully sculpted contours of his body.

  I want to kiss every single inch of his body.

  I want to taste him.

  I want to feel him move inside me.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I rasp, even as my hand circles his cock.

  He tucks his fingers under my chin and tips my face up to his. “We resisted for long enough,” he growls. “There’s nothing stopping us anymore.”

  That’s wrong, though. It’s so fucking wrong. The thing that’s stopping us is upstairs, still living and breathing.

  But what if she isn’t? What if part of her—the important part, her soul, her life—is gone?

  What if it’s gone, and it isn’t coming back?

  A tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m a horri—”

  “Stop.” His voice is swift but not harsh. “Stop. The only thing that you are is mine.”

  He leans in and kisses the tear from my cheek, and when his lips slant over mine again, he tastes salty. I’m tasting myself, my sorrow, on his tongue, and it feels right.

  Like we’re sharing the pain, and that makes it easier to bear.

  To know I’m not alone.

  One by one, everyone I’ve ever loved has been ripped away from me. But not Ilarion. He won’t leave me. He’d never, ever leave me.

  He pulls me down on top of him on the couch, so that I’m straddling his hips and that throbbing shaft between his legs is stroking a tease against my wetness. He bends down and sucks a nipple between his lips, biting down gently enough to elicit a gasp and a riptide of pleasure.

  His lips and tongue work my sensitive nipple without mercy, each suckle and flick and tug sending more shockwaves straight to my pussy. He reaches between us, dragging his fingertips along my slit and teasing my clit until I whimper for more.

  That’s when he sinks two fingers inside me.

  I gasp and squeal, riding his fingers while he teases my nipple. I’m the one on top, the one who should be in control, and yet Ilarion steals that away so that all I am is a mess in his hands. I’m whimpering and moaning and begging him for more.

  “Now,” he growls, once my thoughts are mush and my body is a live wire. “Ride me, my little tigrionok.”

  I’m not naïve enough to believe that anything has been sorted out. This feels right for now, but then again, it always does when we come together like this. It’s everything in between that complicates matters.

  But I don’t want to think about that right now.

  Now is for giving and taking. For falling apart.

  My mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure as I push down, taking him inside me. Ilarion grabs my hip again and pulls me the final few inches.

  Fuck.

  Fuck yes.

  I grind and rock my hips back and forth, listening to my body, feeding it after all those torturous weeks of denying it what it really wanted.

  I’m in control, and I want to lose it with him.

  Our breaths mingle together as I lean forward for balance, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck. He’s panting as hard as I am, and with the way my breasts are rubbing against his chest, I can feel his heartbeat pounding as fast as mine.

  It crosses my mind that this is the kind of sin that might land me right in hell’s lowest circle. But with every labored thrust, every delicious rub against the sweet spot he hits so perfectly inside me, I’m coming to realize something I unconsciously decided a long time ago.

  If sinning feels this good, hell might be worth it.

  64

  ILARION

  When it’s over, I walk her back to her room. The whole time we’re snaking through the house, all I want to do is take her hand.

  But it’s one thing to fuck her on the couch.

  Touching her like that is something else entirely.

  She’s silent as we walk, and the silence is somber. She’s thinking about Celine. She’s worrying about the consequences of what we’ve done. We haven’t crossed the line once; we've done it twice now.

  We can no longer call it a simple mistake.

  When we reach her door, she stops and turns around before she’s even opened it. “I don’t think you should come in,” she says abruptly, as though she’s been working up the courage to say that the entire walk here.

  “Okay.”

  Her forehead crinkles with anxiety. “We shouldn’t have had sex, either.”

  “Which time?”

  The lines in her forehead only deepen. “Oh, God…” she mutters, dropping her face into her hands. I pull her body against mine and she shudders. “I know it sounds stupid, considering what we just did, but we can’t actually spend the night together. I know Celine’s not waking up, but…it still feels wrong to share a bed.”

  I nod, loosening my grip on her just enough to tell her that I’m listening. “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  She sighs, but it’s more of a tired sound than a relieved one. “Thank you.”

  “I have an idea.”

  There’s nothing I want more than to make her forget about all the imagined consequences she’s dreading. Well, that’s not true—there’s one thing I want more: to do what we just did again and again and again.

  The way she rode me…the way she came on top of me…

  I’ll remember that shit to my dying day.

  “Uh-oh,” Taylor says. “What idea?”

  “Let’s go away for a while.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Just for a few nights. Somewhere quiet and remote. Just the two of us.”

  Her eyes brighten. But something’s holding her back. “That sounds nice, but… I don’t know. It feels so selfish to leave everything behind and go.”

  I bring my lips so close to her face that I’m in danger of kissing her all over again. But I hold back, as fucking impossible as that feels. I want her to hear this.

  “I don’t care,” I growl. “I want to be selfish for a little bit, and I want to be selfish with you. Unless you’re gonna stand there and tell me that you don’t want me?”

  “I think what just happened between us is proof that I do want you,” she says tentatively. “That’s exactly the problem.”

  “Then let’s go. I want to be able to touch you whenever the fuck I please,” I croon, backing her into the door. “I want to be able to kiss you, and hold you, and fuck you whenever and wherever and however I damn well want.”

  My hand traces up her thigh as I speak. Taylor shivers against me and her lips part in a soft, silent exhale. She presses a hand to my chest, but she’s not even remotely convincing when she tries to push me away.

  I grab her by the wrist. “If you don’t want it, then say that. Look me in the eyes and lie to me, Taylor. If you say that, I’ll relent. If you don’t…”

  She chews at her lip for a long time before she finally drags her gaze up to mine. “Okay,” she murmurs. “Let’s go.”

  I nod and step away, giving her the space I don’t think she actually wants. “Good. I’m glad we settled that. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “What about my father, Ilarion?” she asks suddenly. “He’s still with that lunatic.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I’ve already set things in motion to get him back. I’ve got it under control. Just…trust me.”

  She hesitates for a moment, as though she’s trying to figure out how to tell me that’s the last thing she should let herself do. Then she nods. “I do trust you.”

  I smile. “Good.”

  “What happened today?” she asks. “The meeting with Benedict?”

  “He did what he always does,” I say with a shrug of my good shoulder. “He went back on his word.”

  She brushes her fingers gingerly down my bandaged arm. My cock twitches back to life, and all I want to do is carry her into her room and fuck her on the bed. My bed.

  “Does that mean you fought him while he was armed? And you weren’t?”

  I give her as carefree of a smirk as I can, given the circumstances and the hammering pulse in my veins. “Something like that.”

  Taylor swallows. “Right. Well, I just wanted to say…thank you. For coming back.” Then she pushes herself up on her tiptoes, kisses my cheek softly, and retreats into her bedroom. “Goodnight, Ilarion.”

  “Goodnight, tigrionok.”

  The door swings shut. The lock clicks closed.

  I look down at my erection. “Fuck,” I mutter. But there’s no fixing this right now, so I head downstairs in search of Dima and Mila.

  I find them out on the porch, next to the pool. They’re both fully dressed and soaking wet. Mila shrugs when she catches my judgmental look. “He pushed me in, so I took him down with me.”

  Dima shoots me a mischievous smile. “I needed to let off some steam after that shitshow of a meeting.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t you usually do that by fucking the first unfortunate woman you lay eyes on?”

  The moment I say it, Mila stiffens visibly. It’s not the first time Dima and I have made comments like that, but it’s the first time she seems to notice.

  “You okay?” he asks her. “Cold?”

  “No,” Mila says quickly. “No, just… Yes, actually. I am cold.”

  “I’d offer you my clothes, but I’m all wet, too,” he says, winking at her.

  She rolls her eyes. The annoyed expression she wears is quite convincing. But I can see through it now. I learned to read the signs a long time ago.

  After it was too late.

  The two of them sit up as I take one of the pool chairs facing them. “Did you fill her in?” I ask Dima.

  “Yup. Right down to the stupid suit that prick was wearing,” he grumbles.

  “I hate to say I told you so,” Mila says, glaring between the two of us. “But…I told you so.”

  “Did you say you hate to say it?” Dima asks. “Because I didn’t quite get that.”

  She ignores him and turns to me. “You know Benedict,” she points out. “Why on earth would you choose to trust the mudak?”

  “It wasn’t about trusting him. It was about upholding my own reputation.”

  “So basically, the meeting tonight was completely pointless?” she asks, folding her arms like our mother used to do. Not that I’m about to tell her that. She’d probably rather I spit in her face.

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that.”

  Dima and Mila exchange a glance. “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Remember when I grabbed for his gun?”

  Dima raises his brow. “To save yourself from getting shot? Again?”

  I scoff. “Fuck no. I needed an excuse…” I say, pulling out a tiny black tracker out of my pocket. “To plant one of these on him.”

  Dima’s eyes pop as he looks at the small device I’m holding up. “No fucking way. I can’t—You didn’t—Did you actually?”

  “Of course,” I scoff. “Why else would I throw myself at a gun? Now, we have a location, and I’m willing to bet it’s the same place that he’s holding Archie.”

  Mila gives me an impressed smile. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “You should be.” I gently nudge her with my elbow. “He’s not going to suspect this one, which is exactly why I want the two of you to gather up a team and strike while the lead is still hot.”

  “The…two of us?” Dima repeats, glancing at Mila. “I’m pretty bad at math, but I’m pretty sure you plus me plus Mila makes three. Is there something I don’t know?”

  “I’ve decided to take Taylor away for a few days. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

  Both of them look surprised, but there’s an understanding on Mila’s face beneath her shock.

  “Are you serious?” Dima asks. “You’re going to relinquish control of a mission this big?”

  “I trust you two.” The pair of them fix me with knowing smiles. I grit my teeth. “She’s been through a lot. She needs time away to get her head on straight. And hopefully, by the time we get back, Archie will be on my property, not Benedict’s.”

  Dima nods mockingly at me. “Riiight…”

  “And what about Benedict?” Mila asks.

  “It’s not enough to take out Benedict,” I say. “We need to take out his brother, too. Just do what you can, and I’ll handle the rest when I get back.”

  Mila rolls her eyes. “You’ll be busy ‘handling’ something while you’re gone, I’m sure,” she snorts under her breath.

  I laugh. “Don’t make me throw you in again.”

  Mila rises to her feet, and her expression turns solemn. “I’m glad for you, Ilarion,” she says. “It’s been a while since anything has made you happy.”

  Happy? Is that what I am? I wouldn’t go that far.

  But for the first time in my life, I see happiness on the horizon. And happiness has green eyes like emeralds. Happiness has blond hair that soaks up the sun. Happiness has a dimple in its left cheek when it smiles, and a V-shaped crease in its forehead when it frowns, and happiness makes me feel like nothing else matters as long as I have it.

  As long as I have her.