Her innocence and vulnerability made me weak in a way I hated. As I looked at the towel at her feet, felt her bare skin pressed against me, and inhaled the scent of her, the edges of my control started to fray.
I should’ve stepped away the second her arms started to wrap around me.
But I didn’t. Because a dark part of me—the bratva-born part—wanted to mark her. Ruin her.
~Nikolai Volkov, Eyes on You