He says it like a threat. Like I should be terrified.
In a way, I am.
I’m terrified he won’t follow through.
The air is still and heavy for three, maybe four seconds. Mikhail is rigid against me, frozen except for the scrape of his dark eyes over my face.
Then he snaps into dizzying motion.
My feet are off the floor and he crushes me against his chest. The air whooshes out of my lungs as he spins me towards the center of the room.
But as it turns out, I don’t need air.
I don’t need gravity or oxygen or any of those useless fundamentals of life. The only thing that matters is the way he throws me down on his desk and settles his weight between my legs.
With one swipe of his arm, the desk is cleared. A cup hits the wall, pens skittering across the wood floor. Papers are still flutter
