Bind Me

Chapter 2

2

Lucas

Yulia’s breathing evens out almost immediately, her body turning boneless as she falls asleep in my embrace. Her hair is wet from the shower, the moisture seeping into my pillow, but it doesn’t bother me.

I’m too focused on the woman in my arms.

She smells like my body wash and herself, a unique, delicate scent that still somehow reminds me of peaches. Her slender body is soft and warm, the curve of her ass cushioning my groin. My body hums with contentment as I lie there, but my mind refuses to relax.

I f****d her.

I f****d her, and it was once again the best s*x I’ve ever had, surpassing even that time with her in Moscow. When I entered her, the intensity of the sensations took my breath away. It didn’t feel like s*x—it felt like coming home.

Even now, remembering what it was like to slide into her tight, warm depths makes my c**k twitch and my chest ache with something indefinable. I don’t want this with her, whatever “this” is. It should’ve been so simple: f**k her, get her out of my system, and then punish her, extracting information from her in the process. She killed men I’d worked and trained with for years.

She nearly killed me.

The idea that I can feel anything but hatred and lust for Yulia infuriates me. It took everything I had to ignore the softness in her gaze and treat her like the prisoner she is—to f**k her roughly instead of making love to her. I knew I was hurting her—I felt her struggling as I drove mercilessly into her—but I couldn’t let her know how she affects me.

I couldn’t give in to this insane weakness.

Except I did exactly that when she sucked my c**k without a hint of protest, milking me with her mouth like she couldn’t get enough. She gave me pleasure after I treated her like a w***e, and that damnable need came over me again.

The need to hold her and protect her.

She knelt in front of me, her wet, spiky lashes fanning across her pale cheeks as she swallowed every drop of my c*m, and I wanted to cradle her, to take her in my arms and make her promises I should never keep. I settled for washing her, but I couldn’t bring myself to tie her up and make her sleep on the floor—just like I couldn’t bring myself to truly hurt her earlier.

What a f*****g mess. She’s been here less than twenty-four hours, and the fury that’s burned inside me for two months is already beginning to cool, her vulnerability getting to me like nothing else. I shouldn’t care that she’s weak and starved, that her body is a shadow of its former self and her blue eyes are ringed with exhaustion. It shouldn’t matter to me that she was recruited at eleven and sent to work as a spy in Moscow at sixteen.

None of those facts should make a difference to me, but they do.

Fucking hell.

I close my eyes, telling myself that whatever it is I’m feeling is temporary, that it will pass once I’ve had my fill of her.

I tell myself this even though I know I’m lying.

It’s not going to be that simple, and I should’ve known it.

A strange noise startles me out of deep sleep. My eyes spring open, all traces of sleepiness gone as adrenaline rockets through me. I tense, preparing for a fight, and then I recall that I’m not alone.

There’s a woman lying in my arms, her left wrist handcuffed to mine.

I exhale slowly, realizing the noise came from her. She shifts restlessly, and I hear it again.

A soft whimper that ends as a choked cry.

“Yulia.” I place my left hand on her shoulder, bringing her arm up with it. “Yulia, wake up.”

She twists, struggling with sudden ferocity, and I realize she’s not awake yet. She’s half-crying, half-gasping, and yanking at the handcuffs with all her strength.

Son of a b***h.

I grab her left wrist to stop her from hurting us both and roll on top of her, using my weight to immobilize her. “Calm down,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s just a dream.”

I expect her to stop struggling then, to wake up and realize what’s going on, but that’s not what happens.

She turns into a wild animal instead.