Page 36 of Tattooed Vow

I need space.

Instead, I reach for the bottle and refill our glasses, taking a long sip to cool the fire licking at my insides.

I stand, pacing toward the window, needing distance. Behind me, the checkerboard clatters as Sandy suddenly, frustratedly, sweeps the pieces off. I turn to find her standing, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

“I'm tired of this,” she says, her voice low but steady. “Tired of pretending I don't notice how you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. Like we’re just two strangers thrown together by circumstance.”

She takes a step forward, and I fight the urge to retreat.

“You’ve been protecting me since the day I met you," she continues. “But you won't talk to me. Won't let me understand what's happening.”

“Understanding won't make it safer,” I snap. “It'll only make it harder when this ends.”

“When what ends?”

“This.” I gesture between us. "When you’re safe and far away from me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispers.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Everything.”

The firelight dances along the curve of her jaw. “I don’t know what I want either.”

I cross the room slowly until I stand in front of her.

“You look at me like you’re afraid of me one second…and then like you need me the next.”

She doesn’t move away when I brush a loose strand of hair from her face. Doesn’t stop me when I cup her jaw with both hands.

“I can’t be what you need,” I murmur.

Her gaze lingers on mine, guarded but unwavering. “Then why does it feel like you already are…even if I don’t want you to be?”

And just like that, I snap.

My mouth crashes onto hers, all the restraint I’d been clinging to unraveling in an instant. She tastes like wine and fire. Like danger I saw coming and walked straight into without flinching.

She doesn’t resist. Not at first.

Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer, and a low sound escapes her throat—half growl, half plea. I press her back against the cabin wall, my body caging hers, and for a moment, I let myself pretend she is mine. That the world outside doesn’t exist. That we aren’t caught in the middle of a war.

My hands slide down to her waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her sweatpants that hang low on her hips. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound, deepening the kissuntil we are both breathless, until I can feel her heart pounding in time with mine.

“Dimitri,” she breathes, and my name on her lips is both salvation and damnation.

I trail kisses down the column of her throat and feel her pulse racing under my lips. Her head falls back, giving me better access, and her fingers thread through my hair, holding me against her as if she’s afraid I'll pull away.

She doesn’t know that nothing short of death can tear me away from her in this moment.

But then she pushes me away.

She is breathless and shaken. “I—” she starts, but her voice breaks.

I step back, my chest rising and falling like I just ran a marathon. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t—” She swallows. “Don’t apologize. I wanted it too.”

I wait.

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