When Knox said I was coming with him, I knew he’d take me to his apartment. He’s often suggested that I pay him a visit, but I always change the subject.
Why?
Because it’s too close, too intimate, and I won’t be able to keep the distance I’ve been fruitlessly trying to maintain between us.
And now, it’s worse.
It’s dangerous.
Fatal.
For his life, not mine. Despite everything, I’m still the Pakhan’s daughter, I’m still of value one way or another.
I’m one of them. The mafia men I often called pirates because once they came into my life, my childhood fantasy of being the forest fairy ended.
Knox is an outsider, an antagonizing one at that, and Adrian wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate him from his path. He’d erase him from the world as if he never existed. He wouldn’t be fast and swift about it either; he’d torture him first, until he wishes for death.
The images that play in my mind make me sick to my stomach and I have to place a hand on it to stop myself from vomiting.
But no matter how much I begged Knox to let me stay in my apartment, it didn’t make a difference. He merely threw me over his shoulder, took my bag and laptop case, then carried me to his car.
The drive to his apartment was mostly me arguing that I’m fine, and him ignoring me. I’m starting to learn that the moment he makes a decision, no one will be able to convince him otherwise.
Then, the second we stepped into his apartment, he grabbed me by the throat and fucked me against the door from behind. It was fast and dirty and I still haven’t been able to catch my breath.
Even now, as I lie on the sofa, I’m still dizzy, a bit disoriented. Which happens all the time after sex with Knox.
He has a mysterious ability to wipe my mind clean. It’s like we’re transported to an alternate reality where only he and I exist.
But I shouldn’t let that happen.
Not when Aleksander is probably watching me and could interfere any second and smash every ounce of happiness I’m feeling or trying to soak up.
But I’ll leave soon. One day, I’ll have to.
However, that day isn’t today.
Since I didn’t have the chance to check out his place earlier due to obvious reasons, I do that now.
My gaze flits around the glamorous apartment—sorry, penthouse. Of course someone like Knox would live in a penthouse. Not only is it on the highest floor of a building in the heart of the city, but it also has a dreamy view of New York.
The furniture and decor are classy and elegant, but they scream impersonal. As if he just paid someone to put things in place to get it over with.
It must be lonely to live such a glamorous life with no personal touches. I’m one to talk, considering my whole life has been dictated.
At least Knox has complete hold of his.
“Are you cold?” he asks from his position on the chair, looking up at me as his fingers pause on his laptop.
He still has work to do, but he told me not to move or put on anything—after he stripped me bare at the entrance while he remained fully clothed, as usual.
I can actually count the number of times I’ve seen him fully naked on one hand, and that was mostly in the shower. He has a lean but very muscled body, and it’s a shame to hide it and those gorgeous tattoos.
He told me to lie naked on the sofa opposite him and not make a sound while he works.
“I’ll be done with this in ten minutes, then I’m coming for round two,” is what he said.
I shift and bite my lower lip when I feel his cum pouring out of me and messing up my thighs. “Not too cold.”
He unbuttons his shirt and my eyes take in the perfection of his muscled chest and cut abdomen, then I focus on the samurai tattoo, the dark warrior that’s fascinated me since that first time I woke up beside him.
It’s like I’m staring at another facet of Knox, a part that he doesn’t like to show often.
Or ever.
The intricate design swirls around his shoulder and over his chest, and it’s like there are wires wrapped around him and the warrior.
I wonder if that has a meaning or if he just did it for the aesthetics. For some reason, I don’t believe he’d get that tattoo just because it looks good.
“When did you get your tattoos?” I ask, laying my head on my propped hand.
He continues unbuttoning his shirt. “Some in secondary school, but the bigger ones were after I left London or I would’ve risked being murdered by my dad.”
I smile a little at his tone. He always sounds so different and carefree whenever he speaks about his family—which can’t be said about me. “Is there a reason you chose a samurai?”
“I wanted something that represents strength, and from the sketches the artist made, I liked this the most. Probably because of the black eyes, though. They hinted at hidden darkness.”
“How about the wires?”
“No matter how strong one is, there’s always something that holds them back.” A distant look covers his eyes—pain, or memories sprinkled with pain.
I want to ask more, to learn about what possibly could hold someone like him back, but I don’t have the chance before he throws the shirt my way.
“Does this mean I can go to sleep?” I tease.
“Fuck no. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“I thought I had to be naked for that.”
“You do, but I don’t want you cold either, so you can wear that.”
I smile, putting on the shirt that swallows me and falls to the middle of my thighs. I have to roll the sleeves up to reveal my hands.
When I look up again, Knox’s eyes have darkened as they watch me with intense focus. His fingers still hover over the keyboard without typing and his jaw is clenched tight.
I sit up in case I’ve done something wrong, and that makes more cum coat my thighs because he totally didn’t let me wash up. “W-what?”
“From now on, you’ll either be naked or wear my shirt. No in-between.” There’s a raw possessiveness in his tone, a non-negotiable quality that robs me of breath.
“I can’t just wear your shirt all day.”
“No, but you can be naked.”
“Indoors.”
“For now.”
“For now?”
“I’ll find an outdoor place where you can be naked for me and only me.”
“Pervert.”
He stands up, and even though it’s not too abrupt, my heart lunges to my throat and I can’t help rubbing my thighs together.
It’s so rare to see him in his half-naked glory. His tattoos aren’t for show like they are for many people. Even the leaders of the Bratva consider it an honor to showcase their tattoos and explain what each one means, especially if it’s related to the brotherhood.
That’s not the case for Knox.
They seem to exist only for him.
He hovers over me, looking larger than life, but that doesn’t last too long when his body slowly lowers to mine.
My palms flatten on his shoulders and I suck in a sharp breath at how good he feels, shirtless, just for me.
Showing his tattoos only to me.
I never thought such a trivial thing would make me so elated, so ethereal.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I ask in a low voice, stroking my fingers on his skin like a junkie who’s toying with a drug before inhaling it.
“Not when you’re distracting as bloody hell.” He reaches a hand between my legs and a deep grunt leaves him when his fingers are coated with both our arousal. “Fuck, beautiful. Mmm. This might be my new favorite thing.”
Before I can ask what that is, he gathers his cum with two fingers and thrusts inside me. A moan rips out of me, though it shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be feeling this turned on by the act of him smearing his seed inside me, but I am and the guttural sounds that leave me are foreign to my ears.
He does it leisurely, fucking his fingers inside me with purpose.
“You look fucking beautiful with my cum in this tight cunt.”
“Please…”
“You want more?”
My nod is barely intelligible, but he catches it and he’s about to flip me to my stomach. This is what he does when he fucks me, always from behind.
I’m used to it after all this time, but I don’t want that now. I don’t want the distance.
I want him to show me the rest of him as he did with his tattoos.
I want him. Period.
So I dig my short nails into his skin, holding on to a hope I shouldn’t be having.
I’m hoping and buzzing with wishes that have no place in whatever relationship we have.
His hand finds my hip, which is his cue to turn me onto my stomach. My nails dig into his skin and I slowly shake my head.
The thrusting of his fingers slows until it’s an agonizing ache that’s torturous. But his features darken, his eyes turning a molten hazel that’s the weirdest I’ve seen.
His hold on my hip is as tight as his face, urging me to release him, but I don’t.
I can’t.
I don’t want to.
“Let go.” It’s two words. Two single words, but they sound non-negotiable and harsh.
When I don’t, he effortlessly removes my fingers from his shoulder, then easily flips me over. My breasts flatten against the sofa and my body heats so fast that it feels like I’ve been set on fire while being doused in gasoline.
Strange energy rushes through me, demanding I kick and fight, that I hit and claw.
Something. Anything. As long as I’m not in this position, beneath him, where he doesn’t want to look at me.
I think I must’ve moved, because when he gets behind me, he feels stiff, hard almost, as if he’s seeing my inner turmoil.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His tone is clipped, which is the tone he only uses when he’s mad.
And he shouldn’t be right now.
Like I shouldn’t be having these weird feelings.
“I don’t like it,” I whisper, burying my face in the pillow.
“You don’t like what?”
“This.” There’s a brokenness in my voice, and I wish it was because of Kirill and Adrian finding me. I wish it had something to do with them or my double life, but it doesn’t.
Because ever since I stepped into Knox’s apartment, I haven’t thought about that or them.
I’ve only ever thought about him.
The man who’s now pushing off of me. The absence of his weight and his touch make me feel empty, desolate even.
Slowly, too slowly, I turn my head to the side and catch a glimpse of him standing there like a god. His hands are crossed over his muscled chest and he’s narrowing his eyes at me.
“What’s the problem?” His question is calm, but the tone isn’t.
There’s so much tension there, so much punch behind his words that it tightens my throat.
“I just…”
“What? You’re just what?”
“I want to have sex while I look at you.”
“And I want to see your eyes, your real eyes, but neither of us is getting what we want.”
“Why are you so obsessed with seeing my real eyes?”
“Because I’d see the real you behind them. Not the Anastasia from that night or the Jane you became. Just you.”
My lips part and a flash of emotions attack my belly in need of a release.
So I stand up, bent on going to him, on kissing him, on telling him that if he wants to see my eyes, he can.
He’s the only one who can.
Because unlike everyone else who knows me, he wouldn’t see me as Anastasia Sokolov, the only daughter of Sergei Sokolov, the Pakhan of the New York Bratva.
He wouldn’t see me as a sheltered princess to be protected or used. He would just see me. The Anastasia who escaped her jail to be free, to live.
To be alive.
But my impulsive moment is put to a halt when the doorbell rings.
It sounds like an alarm in the stilled silence and I flinch.
Knox, however, seems more annoyed than surprised. “I’ll go get rid of whoever is there and then I’m coming back to see this to the end. Don’t fucking move.”
I wouldn’t even if he hadn’t ordered me, because I’m watching his strong back as he marches to the door.
My toes curl and I’m not sure if it’s because of him or what he said. I like how he never lets misunderstandings stand between us, that he’s always looking forward.
Never backward.
Never sideways.
Always ahead.
And I think it’s rubbing off on me, because I want to be that way, too—a forward-looking person who doesn’t let the past shackle them down.
But I have to talk about it first with him, no?
I have to strip myself bare and actually let him see a part of me that even I’m scared about showing to anyone.
“Good evening, punk.” An older male voice says from the door in a very distinctive, proper British accent.
Before I can wonder who it is, Knox’s next word answers my unasked question. “Dad?”
