Rest

IVAN

I can't breathe—I'm in tears, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. The incredulous way Zander looked at me just now was everything. I should be mortified that my traitorous, growling stomach shattered the mood, but his reaction? Utterly priceless.

He's grumbling under his breath as he wheels in the room service cart, every movement stiff with irritation. His pheromones are anything but calm, and I can't help but notice the unmissable tent at the front of his impeccably tailored suit pants. The absurdity of it all is too much—I choke on another laugh, barely able to hold it in.

Zander glares at me, his dark eyes simmering with promises I probably shouldn't find thrilling. "I'm going to take a shower," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "and when I'm done, I'm not letting you off the hook. So eat. Your. Fill."

With that, he stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The moment it clicks shut, I lose it again, clutching my sides. Between my stomach's betrayal, his flustered frustration, and that ridiculous dark aura he's trying so hard to maintain.

After Zander stomps off, I eye the room service cart. The sheer amount of food is ridiculous—clearly meant for a party, not a single person. Not that I'm complaining.

Grabbing a plate, I start sampling everything within reach. Sweet, savory, spicy—I take a bite of anything and everything, stuffing my face with zero shame. Fluffy pancakes drenched in syrup? Yes, please. Crispy fried chicken? Definitely. Even the fancy little canapés that look too pretty to eat don't escape my fork.

I'm stuffed. Completely and utterly full. Leaning back against the ridiculously plush chair, I glance toward the bathroom. Zander's been in there forever, the sound of running water a steady hum in the background. What's he doing, preparing for battle?

The soft glow of the hotel room lights and the impossibly luxurious bed catch my attention. It looks like it was designed by the gods themselves to lull people into sweet oblivion. My body feels heavy, warm, and with the weight of all that food settling in my stomach, it's impossible to resist the siren call of comfort.

Just for a moment, I think, sinking onto the bed. The sheets are silky, the pillows like clouds. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing second, and before I know it, the world fades to black.

***

ZANDER

I step out of the steamy bathroom, running a towel over my damp hair before securing it around my waist. The cool air of the hotel room does nothing to ease the tension thrumming through my body. I glance down, scowling. No amount of cold water had calmed me, and the source of my frustration? That damn stomach growl. Cock-blocked by hunger. How pathetic.

But now? Now that Ivan's eaten, it's my turn to get what I want. My pulse quickens at the thought, the anticipation curling hot and restless in my chest. I can almost feel the warmth of his skin under my hands, his scent wrapping around me like a drug. The body of my dreams, finally within reach.

I stride into the room, fully prepared to claim what's mine—only to stop in my tracks. Ivan is sprawled on the bed, blonde hair gleaming under the soft glow of the lights, his face peaceful and unguarded in sleep.

I step closer to the bed, my gaze fixed on the man who occupies my every thought. "Ivan," I murmur, my voice soft and low. He doesn't stir, his breaths steady and even in the quiet room.

I sigh, letting the tension seep from my shoulders. Not tonight, I think, resignation settling in my chest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take a moment to simply observe him. His lashes flutter faintly, catching the light, and his hair spills over the pillow like spun gold. Even in sleep, he's breathtaking—serene and unguarded in a way he rarely is when awake.

A sharp, almost primal wave of possessiveness washes over me. He's mine. Every fiber of my being screams it, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that even death couldn't keep me from him. If I had to claw my way out of the grave, I would, just to see his face again.

I lean closer, running a finger lightly along the curve of his cheek. His skin is warm, impossibly soft beneath my touch. My lips tilt into a faint smile. So unguarded. So perfect.

It doesn't matter that tonight wasn't what I imagined. We have time—time to build something deeper, something unshakable. For now, I'll let him rest. And as long as he's by my side, anything is fine.