The next morning, I wake up tucked into Alexei’s warm, hard chest, his soft sheets against my skin, his scent in my nose, and the thick head of his erection pressing against my ass.


    Need gathers between my legs, but I ignore it.


    “I did it again, didn’t I?”


    He got hurt. I always sleepwalk after he gets hurt, but I don’t want to think about why.


    He rolls away, stretching and letting out a groan that sounds a lot like in the library, when he came. Mydy parts flutter. He looks disgustingly hot first thing in the morning, hair a mess and eyes all sleepy. That broad, carved chest. The trail of hair into his boxers.


    “You begged me to kiss you.”


    rm fires through me, and I sit up, searching his expression with shock. “No, I didn’t.”


    God, I fucking pray I didn’t.


    “You did. You said I was the make-out king and you’d do anything for just one more.”


    Myugh is soft and relieved. He’s fucking with me. I slide out of his bed. “Get real, Volkov.”


    I’m almost at the door, my legs and ass prickling with his gaze, when he says something that stops me in my tracks.


    “You should just start sleeping in my bed.”


    Every brain cell in my head explodes. “You have to be joking.” He’s fucking with me again. He has to be.


    He shrugs. “You just end up here, anyways.”


    I choke out augh. “In your dreams.”


    “Not my dreams.” His mouth nts in a cruel smirk, like he can read my mind and count how many times I’ve thought about himtely.


    “I’d rather sleep in a locked coffin.”


    A low, surprised huff slips out of him. “Fine. If you do it again, though, I’m getting rid of your bed.”<hr>


    That afternoon at the hospital, a purple orchid arrives for me. From the make-out king, the card reads. The second I have a spare minute, I hurry to my office and flip through the book, which I’ve started bringing in myptop bag.


    Purple orchids—Respect and admiration.


    So he apologized for calling me ipetent, and he actually looked sincere and contrite when he did it. So he took my advice about the rookie. So our hate fuck was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life and I’ll be thinking about it until I’m a deceased speck of dust floating in space.


    So what?


    My gaze swings out the window to the banner of him hanging from the arena, mid-skate with a determined expression on his handsome face. I’m not going to soften for this guy just because he did something decent and apologized. Alexei Volkov is still the kind of guy to put himself first. What we’re doing isn’t real. Even these flowers are for show, and the meanings are some sick little game he ys. It’s a power thing.


    Neither of us actually wants to be married, and I’m not going to forget it.