Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Angela stirred from sleep, her body feeling strangely warm, cocooned in an unfamiliar heat. A heavy weight draped over her, pinning her in place. Her mind was slow to process, lingering between the remnants of slumber and the creeping awareness of reality. She shifted slightly, but the hold around her tightened instinctively.
Confusion morphed into full–blown panic when she felt the slow, steady rise and fall of another body pressed against her back. A hot breath fanned against her temple, and the familiar, intoxicating scent of musk and whiskey filled her senses.
Mikhail.
The memories of last night came flooding back, hitting her like a crashing wave. She had gone to sleep alone, certain she was safe for the night. Then why–why was he here? Why was he holding her captive in his arms? He was on the couch last night.
Her heart pounded erratically as she stiffened. Carefully, she tried to inch away, hoping–praying–he was still asleep. But the moment she moved, his grip tightened. His muscular arm pulled her closer, her back flush against his chest, his warmth seeping into her skin like fire.
“Going somewhere, Angel?” His voice was thick with sleep, husky, and utterly devastating.
Angela sucked in a sharp breath, her heart beating at an abnormal pace. “Let me go,” she demanded, her voice shaky, betraying her.
Mikhail hummed, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “And why would I do that?”
She clenched her fists, pressing them against his forearm in an attempt to pry herself free. It was useless. His hold was like iron, unyielding, possessive. Her struggles only seemed to amuse him. The more she struggled the more his hold tightened on her. She was at his mercy and it scared her.
“Mikhail,” she gritted out despite the fear coursing through her veins, hating the way his name rolled off her tongue, hating the shiver that coursed
through her at his proximity.
“Mmm,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply as if memorizing her scent. “You smell like heaven, Angel.”
Her breath hitched. “Get off me.”
He chuckled against her skin, the sound deep and rich. “You wound me, little one. Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my hands to myself all
night?”
Angela’s face burned. She could feel every inch of him–his firm chest, the way his arm molded around her waist, and the way his legs tangled with hers beneath the sheets. Her pulse pounded in her ears, an unrelenting rhythm of fear and something else she refused to name.
She swallowed hard. “You had no right to be in the same bed as me.”
He finally loosened his grip just enough for her to twist in his arms. She could feel his piercing gaze on her, could imagine the smug expression that no doubt played on his face. Her hands pressed against his chest, only to be met with the firm wall of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was maddening how effortless he made this seem–how he had the power to reduce her into a trembling mess with just his presence.
Mikhail reached up, tracing a finger along her cheek. “You looked so small, so lost. I couldn’t resist.”
Angela’s breathing turned shallow. “I am not your plaything.”
“No,” he agreed, his thumb brushing over her lower lip in a slow, torturous glide. “You’re my obsession.”
Her stomach twisted, her mind screaming at her to move, to shove him away. But she remained frozen, ensnared in the trap he had so expertly laid.
Mikhail tilted her chin up slightly, his voice a whisper. “Why do you keep running from me?”
She clenched her jaw. “Because I don’t belong to you.”
His fingers tightened ever so slightly, his patience thinning. “Then tell me, Angel,” he murmured, his lips a mere breath away from hers. “Why do you
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Chapter 11
tremble every time I touch you?”
Angela sucked in a shaky breath, the war within her raging, pulling her in opposite directions. She hated him. She feared him. And yet, his prevencias suffocating in a way that made her dizzy, that made her weak.
“I” she started, but no words came.
Mikhail smirked, his thumb brushing along her jawline. “You feel it, don’t you?”
She turned her head away, willing the tears not to spill. “You’re delusional.”
His low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. “Perhaps. But you’ll come to see, Angel… there’s no escaping me.”
Angela swallowed, her throat dry. “You’re playing with me.”
His eyes darkened, the amusement fading just slightly. “Playing?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “No, Angel. I don’t play games when it comes to things I want. And make no mistake, I want you.”
She tried to push him away, but he caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Mikhail—”
“Shh.” He pulled her closer again, letting his hand rest against her lower back. “You don’t have to fight so hard.”
She inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed against her spine. “I will never stop fighting.”
A small, knowing smirk curled his lips. “Good,” he murmured, releasing her wrist only to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It makes this all the
6 more fun.”
Angela’s heart pounded as he finally–finally–moved away, leaving her breathless, shaken, and more confused than ever as the girl scrambled out of the bed, almost stumbling down but she steadied herself. Angela’s arms spread out as she searched for the door only for her hands to touch a hard chest. It was Mikhail, the girl abruptly pulled her hands back making him chuckle as he stepped aside. “Go straight ahead.” He instructed her.
As he put distance between them, she knew the truth deep down.
Mikhail wasn’t done with her.
And worse yet…
Neither was she.
AD
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