Page 128 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. “For home.”
21
ANYA
For a few seconds,I can’t move.
Yaromir fixes my dress like he’s repairing damage he caused on purpose. His fingers are steady at my neckline, pulling the red silk back over my breasts, smoothing the fabric into place. My body is not steady at all.
My legs feel weak. My face is hot. My pussy is still throbbing from his fingers, from his mouth near my ear, from the way he made me watch myself in the mirror while he held my throat and took me apart without even undressing me fully.
And now he says home like it’s a promise.
Like what happened here was only the first course.
My stomach tightens. I look away before he can see too much on my face, but of course he already has. Yaromir sees everything. That’s one of the worst things about him.
Or one of the best.
I’m not sure anymore.
He washes his hands at the small sink, then dries them with a folded towel. His knuckles are swollen from hitting Dmitri. The cuts are open again, red across the skin. The sight pulls me back from the heat a little.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” I say.
Yaromir stops. Only for a second.
Then he looks at me through the mirror. “No?”
“No.”
His face closes. The change is immediate enough that I know I’ve touched something ugly. “I see.”
Before I can say anything else, he asks, “Did I misread you?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
His eyes stay on mine. “Earlier. In this room. When I touched you.”
Heat rushes back into my face. “No.”
“Then why are you defending him?”
“I’m not defending him.”
“Are you sure?”
The thought enters my head before I can stop it.
Is he jealous?
The idea should be ridiculous. This is Yaromir Volkov. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who gives anyone enough power over him for jealousy.
And yet his face has gone still in a way that feels almost personal.
