Chapter 10 - Anya

Rodion leads me towards the office, holding my hand tightly. It hurts, but I don’t tell him that. He seems to need this kind of control over something. So, I just let him lead.

My heart is racing fast and in all honesty, I am terrified to my core, that was so close. I am so lucky to be alive. Then witnessing Rodion’s outburst afterwards—but I can’t focus on my own thoughts right now—I have to force myself to calm down in order to get Rodion to calm down.

I thought he was going to kill that guy. He was savage. What he did was absolutely brutal. I’ve never seen someone so aggressive towards another person before.

I don’t know what I would have done if he had killed him.

I know he was angry because he was scared of what almost happened to me—he actually wasn’t that mad with the guy until he saw that the bullet had grazed my arm—then he flared up like a savage beast.

And all I could do was stand there staring in horror.

Except—if I am honest with myself—that isn’t actually true.

I wasn’t completely horrified about what I saw. Not as much as I should have been.

There was a part of me that was really turned on by his wild aggression. His uncontrolled animal side. The brute force he used against the man who hurt me.

Does that makes me a terrible person?

I bite my lip thinking about it.

I didn’t have any control over my reaction. It just happened. My pulse quickened and my heart was racing, and I could have mistaken it for adrenalin except for the heat building between my legs.

His brutal strength and all of that pent up masculine rage. It showed me what he was capable of. It showed me how far he was willing to go to protect me and defend me.

Yes— it turned me on. A lot more than I want to admit.

Even now, my skin tingles at the memory of it.

And then he went from a wild, raging beast to a man who wanted to hold me in his arms and kiss my head in the most gentle way.

I continue to bite my lip as we enter the office. I desperately need to think about something else.

Without any warning, Rodion lifts me in his arms and sits me on top of the desk. My legs are dangling over the edge.

I swing them impulsively, trying to disperse some of the pent up energy. Both desire and shock—mixed together in the strangest ways.

I’ve never been shot before. It doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I thought it would. I know it’s just a graze, but it still counts.

I’ve also never had a man fight like that for me before, either.

But it does bother me to be tuned on by aggression in this way. What does that say about the type of person I am?

Rodion is crouched down on his knee in front of one of the office cupboards. He’s pulling out a large canvas black zip bag.

He mutters something I can’t hear, then stands up and places the canvas bag on the desk next to where I’m sitting.

“Let’s see what we have in here. It’s been a while since I had to use this one. The staff have their own first aid kits in the locker room.” He unzips the top and pulls the flap open. I peer inside, curious about what’s in there.

It’s very neatly packed with bandages and disinfectants, a sewing kit with fishing line,scissors, alcohol wipes, Q-tips, creams—

“Here we go,” he says, placing a few items in a row on top of the desk.

Then he turns to me and raises his brows.

“Take off your top,” he says, completely matter-of-fact.

I glare at him in horror. “I’m only wearing this top—I don’t have another one on underneath it,” I say, aghast.

“And? The office door is closed. No one is coming in here.”

I chew my bottom lip. It’s not like he hasn’t already seen me in less than my underwear—it just feels really weird to be doing it now, at work, after I got so turned on watching him fight the other guy. It wasn’t even much of a fight. The other guy didn’t get one shot in.

My body is still very much responding to Rodion being so close to me and now he wants me to take my clothing off.

I sigh, then lift my top over my head, carefully sliding my arm out of the sleeve. The top is ruined. Even though it’s a darker color, and the blood isn’t showing too much, there is a tear in the sleeve, and it will be stained.

I glance up at Rodion. He’s staring at me.

It makes my body flare with desire.

He notices me watching him, clears his throat really loudly and picks up the gauze and alcohol.

“This is going to sting. Sorry, but I have to put it on to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Ok,” I say, already gritting my teeth against the pain that hasn’t started yet.

He pours some alcohol onto the gauze, takes my arm gently in his hand and raises his brows—giving me a look to warn me. I nod.

He wipes across the open wound. It isn’t a deep injury, but it burns like fire shooting into my arm.

I whimper and wince away from his touch, but he grips my arm a little tighter, forcing me to handle the pain.

“It’s almost over, princess, bear with me.”

I nod again, unable to speak.

When he’s done wiping it clean, he steps away and tosses the bloodied gauze in the bin nearby.

“Do you do this often? First aid, I mean?” I ask, my words tight.

I just want to distract myself.

“I’ve done it enough times to know what I’m doing,” he chuckles, picking up fresh gauze, pressing it over the wound, much gentler this time. He holds it there while he unravels the start of a bandage.

His fingers against my skin are like a low thrum of electricity running through me.

I sigh softly, trying to ignore the impulses heating between my legs.

“You ok?”

“Yup., I say a little too clipped.

Between his touch now and his masculine display of aggression earlier,all I actually want to do is ask him to take me—right here on the office desk. My body is screaming for it.

“You—um—you are really good at fighting,” I say quietly, distracting myself again from my own thoughts and my body's reaction.

He carefully wraps the bandage around my arm.

“I have to be. I never know when I’ll need it.”

“So, you fight often?”

“No, not if I can help it. I don’t go looking for unnecessary fights if that’s what you are asking. But if someone comes at me, I’m certainly not going to let them get away with it.”

He tapes the end of the bandage down, then runs his hands over my arm. “Does that feel ok? It’s not too tight, is it?”

My body shudders with delight as the heat from his hands seeps into me.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper.

“You sure you're ok? You look a little flushed.”

I feel my cheeks grow hotter and redder and I giggle, knowing the real reason I am flushed has nothing to do with the wound on my arm.

“In the business—is this something you have to deal with all the time? Is it normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes. You know, a lot of the guys who work jobs like this don’t come from a good upbringing or a healthy family life. They grow up learning that violence is the answer to most problems. I’ve had to learn how to deal with it. I have strict consequences in place and since we opened this business, we have reduced the number of issues—but there will always be things like this happening.”

I’m talking to him to try and distance myself from the thoughts in my mind but it’s not working. If I don’t get out of this small office space soon, I am going to be the one jumping him.

“Can we go for lunch or something? I think eating a little bit will help me.”

“Sugar.”

“What?” I say, confused.

“Sugar is good for shock. It helps calm the system. I know an excellent bakery nearby. Are you in the mood for something sweet?”

What I’m in the mood for is none of his business. I chuckle to myself.

“Did I say something funny?” he knots his brow and narrows his eyes towards me.

“No, I’m just—I’m happy we are all ok.”

He picks up my top from the back of the chair and hands it to me. He never tries to hide the fact that he is admiring my body. His boldness is taunting me. “Put this on. Let’s go and get you something tasty.”

With his help, I slip my top back over my head. He is very gentle guiding my injured arm into the sleeve.

He wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me off the table. I feel regret when he lets me go.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand.

I place mine in his, enjoying the physical contact.

He leads me out to the car.

Driving to the bakery, I am quiet and lost in thought about how much his fighting turned me on. It scares me a little.

I can’t help but wonder if I always had Dubrov’s aggressive nature despite the fact that my brothers did their best to shield me from it all my life. Was I always like that anyway? Like is it just something in my blood, unavoidable? I imagine most people would have been horrified to witness someone fighting another person like that right after almost being taken down by a gunshot—but I got turned on.

That’s not normal.

Maybe it wasn’t the fight itself but the idea that he was willing to do that for me. Because realizing that someone is willing to protect you on that level—it means he must care for me a lot more than I thought he did. I’ve been thinking this entire time that I was just a tool. A little trophy of some kind. He gets to parade his Dubrov wife around in front of everyone we know. But maybe I’m wrong about that. What if there is more to it than I think?

We park outside a quaint little bakery with pink walls and a bright purple frame around the doorway. Rodion opens my door for me and holds out his hand to help me out of the car.

My heart flutters just because of the way he looks at me. What in the world is going on with me?

Ever since he walked away the other night and left me hanging, desperately wanting more despite my better judgment, he’s been driving me crazy.

That’s all it is, though, isn’t it. Here I am, overthinking everything, but actually it’s just that my body never found satisfaction and it’s searching for it.

I roll my eyes as he leads me into the bakery.

I’m such an idiot for reading anything more into it than that.

Instead of going to one of the tables Rodion takes me to the glass display front around the counter. It’s filled with the most beautiful, delicate, fun, colorful-looking cakes I have ever seen.

My eyes light up and a grin splashes across my face.

“I knew you’d like it,” he chuckles and when I glance at him, I see he is watching my reaction and not even looking at the cakes.

“Which one do you want to try, princess?” he asks.

“The blue one that looks like the ocean. Or maybe that one that looks like a rose. Or maybe—oh that one that looks like a rabbit.”

He chuckles and orders all three.

“What? There is no way I could eat all of that even if you helped me,” I say in shock.

“Don’t worry. We can take them home too. But now you can try all of them.”

We find a seat inside the bakery and the waitress delivers all three cakes to our table along with two coffees.

I grin and shake my head. Rodion hands me a little dessert fork.

“Here you go, you’ll feel better after some sugar, I promise.”

Beneath the table, his legs are brushing against mine, and all over agai,n I acknowledge that it isn’t sugar I need—but rather him .