“Fool,” Gradov mutters almost angrily, intercepting my palm raised to strike. He squeezes my wrist, looking intently into my eyes, trying to find something important for himself. And carefully, tenderly touches the broken knuckles with his lips, reverently running his tongue over the raw skin. “Don’t,” I whisper silently, not even trying to pull my hand out of his grip. . I feel my legs trembling and my pulse beating like an alarm bell in my ears. “I didn’t start this game,” Stas chuckles, intertwining our fingers. Lightly strokes the protruding bone on the wrist with the pad of his thumb. Restriction: 18+.