Sara

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Anton has a few gashes and shallow puncture wounds where the shrapnel from the grenade got his arms, but otherwise, he’s okay. I change his bandages as Peter glowers from the other side of the room, and then I give Anton some instructions on how to take care of the wounds. Not that Peter’s teammate needs them; from what I can tell, these men are pros at treating basic injuries.

“Thank you, Dr. Cobakis,” he says when I’m done, and I smile at him.

Even scary-looking bearded assassins seem to respect the medical profession—when they’re injured, at least.

Peter says something sharp in Russian and crosses the room to stand next to me. “All done?” he asks irritably, glaring down at me, and I match his frown with one of my own.

“Yes, for now.” I have no idea what his problem is, but he’s been acting like a bear with a thorn in its paw ever since he entered the room.

If it weren’t so ridiculous, I’d think he’s jealous of my attention to his injured friend.

“Then let’s go.” Grabbing my hand, he leads me out, and my pulse jumps as I realize he’s bringing me to our room.

“Peter…” I feel myself getting breathless as I try to keep up with his long strides. “What are you doing? You need to rest.”

He gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t stop. His jaw is tightly clenched, his grip on me so hard it’s almost painful. Towing me along, he enters our room and purposefully shuts the door behind us.

“Peter…” I back up as soon as he lets go of my hand. “You’re hurt. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you need to—”

My words end on a gasp, because Peter stalks after me, closing the distance between us in a few decisive strides before sweeping me up against his chest. Three seconds later, I find myself on the bed, with two hundred pounds of furious, aroused male sprawled on top of me.

“What are you—”

His mouth slants over mine, hard and hungry, and his hands tear at my clothes, literally ripping my shirt in half. I tense, startled by the violence, but he doesn’t stop, working my jeans down my legs with rough, jerky movements as he devours me with his brutal kiss. As he yanks down my underwear, I spare a moment’s thought for the sheets and the bloodied pad I’m wearing, but his fingers twine with mine, pinning my hands above my head, and I forget all about it, swept up in the savage storm of his lust.

It’s overwhelming, even frightening, yet the desire is still there, lurking underneath the fear. My muscles instinctively lock tight even as warm slickness lubricates my sex, the tension intensifying my arousal. I burn for him, craving the danger and the roughness, and as he plunges into me, I cry out from the shock of it, from the dark pleasure and stinging pain.

He pauses then, lifting his head to meet my gaze, and I remember our first time, the way he took me, losing all control. He hurt me then too, but unlike that time, there’s no hate in my heart today, no bitterness or stifling shame. The pain feels good, pushing away the remnants of my worry, reminding me that he’s alive.

Reminding us both that we’re alive.

“Sara…” My name is a hoarse exhale on his lips, his molten silver gaze holding me captive even as he throbs inside me, his thick cock stretching my inner tissues, filling me to the brim until I ache. “Ptichka, I need you so fucking much…”

“And I need you.” The words feel like they come from the very center of my being, torn out of me by the impossible fire burning in my veins. I can’t fight it any longer, can’t pretend I hate this beautiful, lethal man. It’s not love between us, nor anything resembling friendship, but our connection is undeniable, the bone-deep chemistry binding us together in coils of dark need and violent attraction. I want this from him: the roughness and the tenderness, the fear and the all-consuming heat.

He’s everything I never knew I needed, and as his eyes darken at my admission, I realize what this means.

I am his, as terrifying as that thought may be.

Closing my eyes, I wrap my legs around his hips, taking him even deeper, and as he begins thrusting, his muscled ass flexing against my calves, I give in to the inevitable.

I give in to him.