Page 78 of The Bittersweet Bond

Hercheeks had burned with irritation. “Are you even listening to me, Sergej?”

“Puh…” he had scoffed, pulling back slightly. “You’re a mystery to me.”

He had scoffed, pulling back slightly, running a hand over his buzzed hair. His usual confidence wavered for just a second, his expression flickering with something—something unfamiliar. He had looked away, his jaw tightening, his tattooed arms hanging by his sides as if, for the first time, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

And then he had thrown her a look that made her hesitate. It was small, almost imperceptible, but she caught it—the vulnerability in his eyes, buried beneath layers of indifference and self-assurance. A moment of fragility. A crack in the armor he always wore. It was gone in an instant, but it was enough. Enough to make her step toward him, enough to make her want to erase it.

“The last thing I want is to hurt you,” he had said, his voice quiet.

Something in the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about this moment, but something deeper, something unspoken—made her pause.

For the first time, he didn’t seem untouchable, didn’t seem like the version of himself he so carefully curated. And in that sliver of vulnerability, she felt an almost instinctive pull, a need to give him what he was silently asking for. To make him feel wanted, needed.

The shift was sudden, electric. Before she could think twice, she was the one pushing him against the wall, her lips crashing into his with a force that startled even her.

Sergej had barely needed a second to respond. His hands had roamed her body with deliberate slowness, as if committing every inch of her to memory. The energy between them was like fire, all-consuming, his presence overpowering, suffocating in a way that felt both exhilarating and dangerous. The way he touched her, the way his body fit against hers—it made her dizzy, like she was caught in something much bigger than herself. It was reckless. Uncontrolled. And yet, she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

With a sudden motion, Sergej had lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed and tossing her onto it with an almost feral determination. He had stripped off his shirt in one swift movement, his toned body illuminated by the dim light.

Then, his hand had slid down her back, pressing firmly at the base, pulling her closer in a way that made her breath catch—just enough to make her stomach tighten, to send a shiver racing through her spine.

Their bodies tangled in the darkness, every touch charged, every movement a push and pull between dominance and surrender.

Evin’s nails had dug lightly into his back, her breaths uneven, her body responding before her mind could catch up. There was no space for hesitation, no room for doubt—only the burning intensity of him.

And for that moment, it had felt right.

Until it didn’t.

With a deep sigh, Sergej had eventually leaned back, visibly satisfied, before immediately drifting off to sleep. She, on the other hand, had stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, her pulse still erratic.

She had made sure not to cross her boundary—allowing him close, giving him what he wanted, but holding back from taking that final step, the one that still felt foreign to her.

But now, as she stood alone again, slipping into her jacket, the doubt crept in.

Had she wanted this? Really wanted this?

The intensity of the moment had been fascinating, yes—but now, in the quiet, she felt the weight of it pressing down on her.

Sergej’s desire had been overwhelming, almost consuming.

In the heat of it all, she had let herself be swept away, but at some point, the line had blurred. At some point, she had stopped feeling like a part of it and started feeling like a means to an end.

And that thought sat heavy in her chest as she finally slipped out the door.

In the dim glow of the streetlamps, far from the heat and chaos of the club, it all felt… hollow. As if she had done it only to fill the emptiness inside her, the one that had been growing for weeks. But even Sergej’s touch hadn’t been enough to make it disappear.

Then, another image flashed through her mind—one she tried to push away. Bas.

The way he had looked at her, the quiet claim in his gaze. It had both infuriated her and, inexplicably, sent a pulse of heat through her.

How many times had she sworn to finally let him go?

And yet, in moments like this, when she was at her weakest, he slipped back into her thoughts like an unanswered question she couldn't escape.

Why couldn’t she just be done with him?

Why did he linger in the back of her mind when she had already decided to move on?

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