Page 11 of Hostage with Benefits'

I wokeup wondering if last night’s orgasms had permanently altered my brain chemistry.

I stared at the ceiling, inventorying the soreness between my legs, the light bruising on my wrists, and the memory of Mikhail’s weight pressing me into the mattress. What kind of person sleeps with their kidnapper?

This kind,apparently.

A knock at the door jolted me from my existential crisis. I yanked the sheet up to my chin.

“Who is it?” I called, my voice scratchy from sleep. And screaming. Definitely some light screaming was done last night.

Mikhail entered carrying a mug. He’d already dressed in another one of those criminally well-tailored suits. His hair was styled, and I had the absurd urge to run my fingers through it just to mess it up a little.

“Good morning,” he said, setting the mug on the nightstand. The smell of coffee hit me, and my stomach growled in response.

“Morning.” I sat up, keeping the sheet tucked around me. “Do kidnappers usually provide room service? Is this what that is?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “No. This isn’t room service.”

“What are you doing here, Mikhail?”

“I wanted to tell you that you are free to move around the house. The door will remain unlocked. You can lock it from the inside for privacy.”

“Upgrading my accommodations already? What did I do to deserve that?”

His gaze traveled deliberately down to where the sheet covered my body, then back up to my face. “I think you know.”

Heat bloomed across my skin. “So that’s how it works? Sex for hostage privileges?”

“No,” he said sharply. “That is not how it works. Do not suggest it again.”

The shift in his tone was jarring.

“Sorry,” I said, not entirely sure why I was apologizing. “I just meant?—”

“I know what you meant.” He moved toward the door. “Join me for breakfast in thirty minutes. That is not a request.”

After he left, I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting hot water wash away the evidence of last night’s activities. My mind kept replaying fragments—his hands pinning mine above my head, his mouth on my neck, the way he’d looked at me when I came, and my body responded with an embarrassing eagerness for a repeat performance.

Cold shower. Definitely needed a cold shower.

I dressed in yesterday’s clothes, grimacing at the wrinkles. My laptop sat on the desk, reminding me of my deadline. I should be working, but the prospect of breakfast with Mikhail was far more interesting. I took a sip of the coffee and took a deep breath.

What was wrong with me?

The dining roomwas just as intimidating in the daylight. Mikhail sat at the head of the table, reading something on his phone. He looked up when I entered, his eyes tracking me as I approached.

He nodded, gesturing to the chair on his right. The table was set with food: pastries, fruit, eggs, and things I didn’t recognize but smelled amazing.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as I sat down.

“Is that a serious question?”

His lips twitched. “Fine, just eat.”

I reached for a pastry. As I ate, I caught him watching me with that same intensity from last night; occasionally, he would do this thing where he added one more of the things I already had on my plate.

“I can feed myself, you know,” I said after the third time.

“Clearly not. You are too thin.”

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