I tried averting my gaze and felt the heat of his stare as his eyes bore into me like a flame against my skin. My hands pressed against his chest and I pushed him away. Surprisingly, he let me go and a smirk tugged at his lips. I willed myself not to look down between his legs, but the shameless man hadn't even bothered putting his clothes back on.
He chuckled, taking a lazy step closer and it didn't hide the fact he was a foot taller than me and almost twice my size. He lifted his hand and brushed my hair from my face, letting his fingers linger for a lewd second. His mouth curved into a wicked grin as his voice dropped.
"Why so shy now?" he teased. "My cock's been inside you more times than I can count."
He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck, his fingers trailing along my collarbone, possessive and slow, reminding me of every moment he'd claimed me.
My jaw clenched so tightly I could feel my teeth grinding together. My grip tightened around the sheets, pulling them closer, holding onto that thin shield between us as if it might somehow keep him at bay. I forced myself to take a deep breath, steadying the surge of anger and the strange, disorienting heat his presence seemed to drag up inside me.
"Where are my clothes?" I demanded, keeping my voice steady, eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder as he stood there, shameless and entirely unbothered by his nakedness.
He chuckled, that low, dark sound that grated against my nerves and curled around something deep inside me. "Clothes?" he repeated, mockingly, as if the word itself was laughable. "Ptichka, you won't be needing them here."
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to let him rattle me any more than he already had. I didn't let my gaze drift, no matter how much he moved, no matter how he seemed to lean in, making every angle and edge of himself visible in my periphery. "Believe me, I do need them," I said coldly. "Unlike you, I have some boundaries."
He laughed again, unbothered, and took a step closer. "Boundaries?" his voice dripped with a sarcastic amusement that only infuriated me further. "You lost the right to boundaries a long time ago."
I gritted my teeth daring a glance at him and finding those icy eyes watching me intently. "You're delusional if you think you have any right to keep me here like this," I spat.
He tilted his head, his expressions darkened but his freaking smirk was still there. "You're mine. Here," his eyes dropped to where I clutched the sheets, "and anywhere else I decide to take you."
Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine, but I swallowed hard, refusing to let him see it. I turned my gaze to the window, forcing myself to look out at the bleak, white landscape beyond, hoping the sight would somehow ease the tightness in my chest.
"Till then, if you want to take a bath, the bathroom is all yours. I'm expecting you to be in the kitchen in twenty minutes. One second late and I'll drag your ass out myself. Don't even think about testing me, or you'll regret it." His gaze darkened and without another word, he turned and strode toward the other side of the room and my eyes widened at the sight of his arse. What this man was? How could he be so casual about roaming naked…
His back was to me, and for a brief, dangerous moment, I considered grabbing something-anything-to use against him. But I knew he'd see through that in an instant.
"Enjoy the view, little bird," he said as he disappeared into the next room before looking over his shoulder and winking. "You'll be seeing it for a long, long time."
********
The bathroom door closed behind me with a quiet click, and I took in the vast, gleaming space around me. Marble walls soared high, polished and cold, and every fixture gleamed with a calculated luxury, meant to dazzle, to awe. But it felt like a gilded cage, an inescapable prison with no windows, no way out, and nothing sharp enough to use if I ever needed it. A hollow sigh escaped my lips as I turned on the shower, the water pounding to life like a heartbeat, steady and scalding hot.
Steam unfurled around me as I stepped under the hot spray, letting the water drench every inch, hoping it would wash away the lingering imprint of his touch-the trace of his fingers that still burned against my skin. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the heat, willing myself to forget the way he'd spoken to me but his every word was like a brand, sinking in deep. His smug tone, the way his fingers pressed into my shoulder, possessive, claiming, as if I was already his.
When I finally stepped out, I wrapped myself in the thick bathrobe, pulling it tight as if I could seal myself off from everything outside the room. I caught my reflection in the mirror and hardly recognized the girl staring back-her eyes shadowed, hollowed out with exhaustion, yet carrying some quiet, hidden ember. A fire I couldn't quite put out.
Something had changed ever since he pressed that trigger.
My hand lifted, fingers grazing the place on my collarbone where his touch had dawdled. It felt raw, like a bruise beneath the skin.
I was trapped, locked in his world, in this grand, beautiful prison, and all I could do was wait.
The door clicked shut behind me as I slipped out of the bathroom feeling strangely cocooned in the bathrobe, still warm from the lingering heat of the shower. The silence around me was thick, pressing against my ears and the sickening silence was broken only by the soft hum of the house's ventilation system.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. This house was smaller than his mansion in Moscow-though only relatively. Here, the rooms felt almost intimate, as if designed to lull me into forgetting I was still trapped. Every piece of decor spoke of subtle luxury: polished wood floors, soft lighting from tasteful fixtures, and walls adorned with expensive, understated art.
My eyes swept the corridor as I walked, searching for the kitchen, and caught sight of the snow dusting the land through a small window down the hall. Outside, snow was falling softly, blanketing everything in white. Inside, the air was warm but almost stifling in its stillness. And like always, the house was empty, the kind of empty that felt calculated, and purposeful. As if he'd carefully erased every sign of life but his own.
Rounding the corner, I heard a faint clatter and paused and my heart pounded. My gaze darted to the right, and there it was-the kitchen. The smell of something rich and savoury wafted through the air mingling with the faint steam that rose from a pot on the stove.
And standing there was my nightmare in flesh. His back turned toward me but relaxed as he worked at the counter. He was dressed casually in gray sweatpants, damp hair still tousled from the shower, and-my throat tightened-barefoot, his powerful frame on full display.
A tattoo coiled across his back the freaking snake that seemed to move with every flex of his muscles, its head curled at his shoulder blade in a silent snarl. The more I looked at him, I felt like an intruder.
How could he be so handsome when his heart was black?
It didn't make any sense.
Devils were supposed to be ugly monsters, not… not ethereal.
That was unacceptable and not justified.
I sighed in frustration and averted my eyes when my eyes caught on the large bowl of fruit on the table nearby.
And lying there beside it-a knife. My fingers tingled at the thought of that cold metal in my hand.
Knife. Only if I could get my hands on it. I could sue it later.
Swallowing hard, I took a step toward it, keeping my gaze trained on his back. He didn't turn, and I edged closer, the knife's handle now within reach. The moment my fingers brushed the cool steel, his voice cut through the silence making me jump and the knife slipped from my fingers landing with a loud clank on the marbled floor.
"You know," his voice dropped, "if you wanted to play with something dangerous, you could've just asked." Still not looking at me, he reached up to grab a spice jar and his muscles rippled beneath that tattooed snake. "But you and I both know that knife wouldn't get you very far."
I swallowed hard quickly picking up the knife and placing it in the bowl as if I didn't just try to steal it.
"Besides, I don't think you're ready to touch anything that sharp." He glanced over his shoulder, a glint in his eye that made my pulse spike and there was something almost daring in his smirk. "Though... I wouldn't mind seeing you try."
Without another word, he turned back to the stove and a chuckle escaped him, leaving me gripping the handle, torn between wanting to hurl it at him-and wanting to step closer.
Damn him and his entire existence.