I can still smell her.
I watch my fingers as they dance on the dining table, the lingering scent on them. Sex. That’s what she smelled like. Even before I turned, I could tell she was aroused.
For a moment, I thought about telling her to leave. It wasn’t how I planned—taking her to bed and making her mine. I want her to beg for it. To watch her eyes roll back as she takes my cock. To see her spent, speechless afterward.
But the smell. It wrapped around my senses, dug under my skin, and worked its way into my head until I struggled to breathe and think.
And I would’ve fucked her there, against the wall, if Polina hadn’t interrupted.
“Mr. Volkov.” Polina appears. “Apologies for the delay. I’ll be serving dinner in a moment.”
“Tell me—” I stop her before she can leave. “Why did you ask me to eat here?”
She shrugs. “It’s a dining room, sir. It should be used. And I thought Miss Ricci could join you tonight. It’ll make it easier to serve you both and ensure that nobody skips dinner.”
Isabella?
“She’s coming?”
Polina nods. “Yes. I informed her. She should be down any moment.”
My fingers stop drumming as my eyes dart toward the only entrance into the dining area, half expecting to see her. When I look away, Polina’s staring at me with curiosity.
She clears her throat when I arch a brow. “I’ll set the table.”
I inhale as she walks away, pressing my fingers into the hollows of my cheeks. “It’s just dinner,” I mutter as my mind fills itself with images of her clinging to my arm and the tight feeling…wet with my finger inside her.
My dick twitches, and I sigh again, flattening my palm on the table. It might be near impossible to eat in this state—a state of being undone by how much I want her—but I have to maintain a semblance of control.
It’s sex.
I don’t need anything more from her. Not emotions or feelings or affection. When she’s in my bed, it will be because I want to see the way her eyes roll back and her legs tremble.
It’s solely because I want to fuck her. Nothing more.
“Miss Ricci. Glad you could join us.”
My fingers dig into the polished wood, and I force my head to keep from turning when Polina announces her presence. I keep a flat expression as Isabella comes into view. Her hair is swept into a quick updo, and she’s wearing something simple—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.
A basic fucking outfit.
And yet, my thoughts still find a way to veer off, especially when she sits, and it becomes obvious that she’s wearing nothing underneath. The her nipples are visible under the shirt, poking against the cotton.
I drag a hand over my face with an exasperated sigh. I shouldn’t have touched her, because her smell. Jesus. It’s headier now and messing with my senses. I can imagine the feel of her breast in my palm—soft, round, her nipple between my fingers.
Polina shows up, filling the dining area with a different aroma. I sigh as I rub the bridge of my nose, silently grateful for the interruption. I wasn’t happy when it happened hours ago, but I couldn’t be more relieved now.
Dinner goes painfully slow, and the silence does nothing to help. With a mind of its own, my gaze wanders each time Isabella leans forward, and each time her hand brushes against her chest. The subtle movement does everything it’s not supposed to do to me—and I lose count of how many times I look down to see that I have barely gotten through the food.
My self-distaste rises until I can barely sit without gritting my teeth. There’s no reason she should have this much effect on me.
Grunting, I push the chair back and rise to my feet with the napkin crumpling in my fist. I catch the look of surprise that flashes on Isabella’s face, but she doesn’t comment.
“Goodnight,” I mutter, tossing the napkin on the table before storming away.
I stop at my study instead of my bedroom, choosing to throw myself into more work instead. Besides, I still have a lot to sort out after my father’s unexpected demise. Documents, deeds, and certain ownerships with companies that no longer have any functionality. He left so much I wasn’t aware of.
Grabbing a fresh stack of contracts, I slip behind my desk, spreading them out before sitting. The first one dates back ten years, and I flip open yellowed pages, hoping to make sense of the fading letters.
“This might take hours.”
Even better. I’ll have enough to keep my mind and head busy. By morning, things will have returned to normal.
Time passes, and I’m halfway through the yellow pages with scribbled notes on another paper when I hear a sound.
Like a thud.
I pause, glancing at the door.
What was that?
Polina, probably. I dismiss it, turning to the document again. A minute later or more, I hear the same thud but even louder. I look at my phone, contemplating if a call to Polina is necessary.
When the thud comes a third time, I grab my phone as I stand, hurriedly leaving my office. She might be in danger. Not from someone breaking in, but perhaps she fell and got stuck somewhere.
Walking down the hallway, I hear a faint sound, like a cry, but it’s coming from upstairs. Without thinking, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I dash into the hallway, expecting to see a catastrophe, but I see Isabella.
…standing in front of her bedroom door, banging with her fists.
My lips flatten into a thin line. “What are you doing?” I scold.
She doesn’t reply. Or look at me. Then I notice it…her fists aren’t touching the door. The thuds might’ve come from her, but they’re not hitting the door anymore. It’s almost as if she’s pushing against something else.
Something that isn’t there.
And then I hear the faint cry.
“Isabella?”
My chest tightens as I walk toward her, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. When I take her hand, she jerks, eyes wide and unfocused. And suddenly, she’s pushing at my chest with both palms, whispering frantic, broken things I can’t make out.
She’s looking at me but not seeing me, like I’m a ghost.
She’s having a night terror.
My protective instincts take over, and I wrap my arms around her body tightly, giving her no room to pull away. “I’m here,” I murmur. The words come out easily, and I give them to her without holding back. “You’re safe, Bella. I’ve got you.”
She resists for another few seconds, and then something in her gives out. Her muscles go slack, and her body trembles.
I don’t let go until the crying stops and she’s quiet. Then I unlock the door, open it, and carry her back to bed, tucking her under the covers.
As I turn to go, I hear her rustle. Then my name, as a whisper, like she’s unsure of what’s in front of her. “Roman?”
I look over my shoulder. She looks fragile and frightened—a bird with a broken wing needing care and protection. It tugs at a part of my heart I never thought existed, pulling so hard that ignoring it causes physical pain.
“Did something happen?” she asks quietly.
“No.” I shake my head. Admitting what happened would make it seem more than it actually is. I would’ve done the same thing to anyone to keep them from hurting themselves.
And what good would Isabella be to me with cuts and bruises? I’m just protecting what belongs to me.
“I see,” she sighs. “Could I—could I ask for a favor?”
Don’t ask me to stay.
“Sure.” I shrug. “Go ahead.”
“Could you…” Her eyes turn downward as she hesitates, then up again as she continues with some courage, “…stay? I feel so scared. It’s silly, I know, but I promise I won’t talk about it tomorrow. Or any day after.”
Again, I think about what would happen if I turned her down. I’d be inconsiderate and selfish, but it’s not any more than what she already thinks of me. “Fine.”
A soft smile touches her lips. “Thank you.”
I grunt in response, heading to the armchair in the corner of the room. Leather creaks beneath me as I settle in, elbows on my knees, eyes still on her. Isabella doesn’t say another word. She just pulls the covers over her head like a child hiding from monsters.
After a couple of seconds, she goes still. But I can see the way her shoulders tremble beneath the sheets. Like the fear hasn’t left—it’s only burrowed inside her bones.
My mind replays the scene again—watching her hit something imaginary with her fists. Another door, maybe? Why? What happened to her?
“No.” I shake my head vehemently before I go down an emotional rabbit hole. With one last look at her sleeping figure, I stand up.
I did what was needed, but I also overstayed.
It won’t happen again.
