I nodded, my chest growing lighter with the realization he was compromising with me. His thumb brushed my cheek, and my body ached for him to draw the caress to my lips, which tingled in awareness.
“You’ll let Yulia stitch you up without a single complaint,” he continued.
Breathlessly, I nodded.
“And if I find out you’ve been anywhere near Khaos again”—his grip tightened—“not even a river of your tears will save him. Do you understand me?”
I pulled my lip between my teeth, liking that condition the least. Though keeping my distance from Khaos was better than the alternative. When I nodded, his hand slipped from my face, leaving a hot impression behind. I wanted a verbal promise, but the subtle look in his eyes seemed to be more than enough.
I just compromised with D’yavol.
My heart clenched with all kinds of naïve assumptions: Maybe this promise would open up another; maybe deep beneath Ronan’s hard shell, lay a wonderland made of chocolate; maybe I’d found his saving grace.
Though my hopeful musings nose-dived when he left with a parting word.
“Don’t ever fucking disobey me in front of my men again.”
kilig
(n.) the feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach
Inked fingers slid down my legs, and the roughness of his hands left goose bumps in their wake. My breath caught when he pushed my thighs apart. My skin was so sensitive, the lightest touch hummed below the surface. His mouth trailed down my neck, sucking and biting a path to my breasts. An emptiness pulsed in my core, begging for pressure and friction—
A thump snuffed out the flame inside of me like a candle.
My eyes shot open to see the noise was due to the book falling off my lap. I exhaled a ragged breath and, with a sense of disgust at the immoral daydream that sucked me under, I got up from the window seat to pace my room.
It was after eleven, but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, a restlessness played beneath my skin, stretching my body thin. The pull of the moon was working its magic on my newly defiled state. I wished that was all it was, but my fantasies had nothing to do with carnal rituals and lesbian trysts in the woods.
I could still feel him all over me: my mouth, my neck, my mind. The persistent ache between my thighs. At the thought, my heartbeat slid to my core, my nipples hardening beneath my tank top.
I was losing my mind.
With rising frustration, I grabbed my book and padded down the hall. The house sat still and dark without Ronan’s presence. He left for Moscow shortly after Yulia finished stitching my wrist and hadn’t returned. I wondered if he was dining on Nadia at the moment; if he was fucking her how she needed it. The thought soured in my stomach, so I pushed it away.
I headed down the stairs, which gave a quiet creak under my weight. Moonlight cast the library in rays of silver that sparkled with particles of dust. I stretched to my toes to put The Grapes of Wrath back in its rightful place. And then the familiar smell of cigar smoke—spice and eucalyptus—filled my senses.
“Kotyonok.”
The book slipped from my fingers, and I spun around, my heartbeat shaking. Ronan sat behind his desk, a formidable shadow below a white cloud of smoke.
I put a hand on my chest. “God, you scared me.” It was at that moment I realized I no longer feared his presence and that the monster I once dreaded was now the one I was relieved to run into in the dark.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me,” he drawled, his dark gaze running down my bare thighs with a tingling glide of heat. “But we both know your efforts are more forward—and, shall we say, awkward—than that.”
He looked and sounded like a gentleman, but as he exhaled an indifferent breath of smoke, tendrils curled like horns above his head.
He was talking about the first time I kissed him—how I almost missed his mouth completely. The annoying comment should stamp down all lust inside, but it didn’t.
“It’s not as if your seduction efforts couldn’t use a little more tact,” I told him.
He watched me for a second. “Don’t worry about my efforts, kotyonok.”
I raised a brow. “Then don’t worry about mine.”
His eyes held mine, something darker than the shadows slithering through them. Silence settled in the air, putting pressure on my lungs. Trying to find my breath, I pulled my attention from him, picked up the book, and made sure I didn’t damage the spine before putting it back in its spot.
I felt his gaze trail down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. The look seared—hot and cold, like the burn of an ice cube on skin. I skimmed my fingers across the old spines, unable to focus on anything besides his presence wrapping around my body like black silk.
The ibuprofen Yulia shoved at me every four hours kept the pain in my wrist down, but it did nothing to stop the throb between my legs. The heat inside rivaled the time I was pressed against a hotel door with Ronan’s thigh working me higher and higher.
My mind hit rewind, taking me back to that night in Moscow and my stay thereafter. Something clicked into place. The realization hit me in the chest, and my fingers slipped down the spines.
I turned to face him. “Why did you play with me for so long when you knew who my papa was from the beginning?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
I knew why he’d waited so long to follow through with his plan of revenge.
He liked me.
Every yellow, rebellious, heart-on-my-sleeve inch of me.
An hour had passed since I walked out of the library and fell into bed. Sleep was now impossible to find. If it wasn’t my heart jumping to ridiculous conclusions, it was my body growing hotter with every brush of the covers.
I kicked off the sheets, but I was still spun in a web of heat. With a groan of frustration, I rolled to my other side. My sleep shorts rode up, pulling tight between my thighs. I tried to ignore the way my clit tingled for friction, but all I could think about was how it felt when he went down on me and the roughness of his hands on my skin. My heart ran off course, my breaths becoming too tight to release.
The longer I lay there, the more the fire and resentment burned. Ronan had taken my virginity, stepped on it like garbage, and I was just supposed to say thank you. Frustration seared the back of my neck. It felt like I was in some kind of limbo that wouldn’t end until he’d finished what he started. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to feel like this for the rest of my life.
I shot to my feet and strode down the hall, determination urging me on. When I stepped into Ronan’s room, I stopped short. My mouth went dry at the sight: smooth, inked muscle beneath black sheets. He slept like a human man—lying on his stomach with one arm under the pillow.
For a moment, I second-guessed myself. He looked larger than life with so much skin visible. The sheets were down by his calves as if he’d gotten too hot and kicked them off, leaving the length of his toned back and black boxer briefs on display. All hesitation stalled at the desire to see the ink he hid behind Versace.
I moved closer until I stood beside the king-size bed. His face was turned from me, his breaths steady. The entirety of his back was covered with tattoos, from Russian letters spread across his shoulder blades, to a tiger, and a devil with wings and horns.
It was strange to see this man at his most vulnerable. Did he dream? And if he did, was it filled with blood and murder? We might not see each other ever again shortly, but a part of me hoped I’d leave him to dream of yellow.
Subconsciously, I reached out to touch the ink—though before I could, I was thrown onto my back on the bed, the coldness of a gun pressed against my temple. My chest heaved, my gaze on Ronan straddling my hips. He took me in for a second, almost as if he was confused.
I found another weakness.
He was weak right when he woke.
“Fuck, Mila,” he growled and then threw his
gun across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor. “I could have fucking killed you.”
As the shock died, I became aware of all the heat pressed against me; of his legs straddling my hips; of his shirtless torso decorated with more ink. My eyes slid down his body. I had no idea why he hadn’t taken his clothes off sooner if he was trying to sleep with me. I’d like to say I was strong enough to resist temptation in all its forms, but . . . just seeing him in a pair of boxer briefs made me want to rock my hips against him and slide my hands from his pecs to his abs.
I pulled my lip between my teeth and dragged my eyes back up to his.
The confusion melted from his gaze when he saw my expression, morphing into a heat that smoldered. One hand braced beside my head, he ran the other across his face before dropping it and saying harshly, “I get enough easy pussy. I’m not in the mood for more.”
His words should dissuade any woman and send her running to find literally anyone else. But I didn’t want another. Not to mention, he was incredibly hard against me. Who was the liar now?
“You did this to me.” My eyes narrowed. “Now, fix it.”
noctilucous
(adj.) shining or luminescent in the dark
“When someone calls you a whore, you get the fuck out of their bed,” I growled. “It’s called having a little self-respect.”
Did I have to teach this girl the basics before she went home to Miami and let men degrade her? Simply the thought sent a violent fire up my back, searing me with the claim only I was allowed to degrade her.
“I don’t need your respect.” Her soft American accent crept beneath my skin, slid downward, and grabbed ahold of my cock just as I imagined her hand would.
My gaze hardened. “You don’t know what you need.”
“Maybe not, but I do know what I want.”
It was clear what that was, but I found myself asking anyway. “And what do you want?”
“Right now . . . you.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what I expected her to say. I anticipated a silent blush or for her to ask for an orgasm. Not me, her goddamn kidnapper. And right after I insulted her no less—which was a reflex to get her out of my bed before I took what she was offering. She had no reservations about putting herself out there. Her soft heart was going to get her killed. How she’d survived so long and still maintained her innocence was a mystery.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m not the one with a hard-on,” she returned.
A sliver of humor rose up my throat, but I held in the laugh. I was trying to make a point here—that you shouldn’t put your heart out for the world to see if you wanted to live—and I wasn’t going to let her ruin it with her mouth.
“This is why I don’t fuck virgins. They get clingy as hell.”
She laughed lightly. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
First off, “afraid” was the last thing I felt when it came to fucking her. Second off, what the hell? This girl could fall in love with a goddamn rock. Then my thoughts went to Ivan, and poison blistered through my veins.
“Why not, kotyonok?” I slid my thumb across her lips, my voice lowering to a warning. “Is your heart already taken?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what she had to say, so, when her lips parted with a shallow breath, I pushed my thumb between them. Her eyes were half-lidded as she closed her mouth around my finger. The hot glide of her tongue slid down to solidify in my groin. I pulled my thumb free and wiped the wetness across her lips, taking in everything about her.
Moonlight played across her body as if it loved her. Venomous snakes had stripes; Mila glowed. The only shadows that touched her were mine.
Her skin was flawless, her waves of hair spread out like she was posed for a centerfold. A thin tank top concealed the rise and fall of her breasts. She was hard to look at and hard to look away from. So soft, so perfect, so goddamn fuckable.
It was a nightmare.
She sawed her lip between her teeth, her breath growing slower the longer I looked at her. I could close the distance so easily and feel her tongue against mine. I wasn’t against kissing, but I’d never been so compelled by the idea like I was with her either.
Unwillingly, my gaze drifted to her nipples, visible beneath her tank top. The bright, sexless sunflowers all over it did nothing to help control the urge to yank down the thin fabric and suck a nipple into my mouth. As if her tits weren’t tempting enough, the heat of her pussy seared my cock through her shorts. My muscles tightened as I resisted the urge to grind against the warmth; to tug her flimsy shorts to the side and push deep inside of her. I knew I’d find her wet and tight—so fucking tight. My blood roared in my ears and cast a cloudy sheen over my vision.
With a growl of frustration, I sat back on my haunches in an effort to put some distance between us so I could think. Karma would bite me in the ass if I fucked this girl. I knew what she needed and that I couldn’t give it to her. My conscience was a goddamn cockblock. I wanted Mila so bad, the desire grabbed ahold of me, twisted beneath my skin, and demanded I take her. At this point, I didn’t think I could allow her to go even if she changed her mind. And the loss of control suddenly made me hate her a little bit.
All thoughts stalled when Mila pushed up from the bed with a hand and ran the other down my chest. The simple touch burned like a line of fire, sending all the blood in my body south. We both watched her hand trail down my abs before it stopped at my briefs, where she traced the waistband with a finger. Each back and forth motion throbbed in my groin.
When her hazy gaze lifted to mine, a ripple of darkness slithered through me. The lust in her stare was all mine. Until Saturday at least. The idea she would give those eyes to someone else afterward made me fist a hand in her hair to keep her stare on mine. Fuck karma. I needed to get this shit out of my system right now.
“I want . . .” She flushed and, unable to finish the sentence, her fingers tugged my waistband down an inch, showing me what she wanted but couldn’t say. Her hand grazed the head of my cock. The smallest brush turned my blood to liquid fire, drumming hot and heavy inside of me. But I needed to hear her say the words.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“English,” she said softly.
Jesus Christ. For the fifth time with this girl, I didn’t realize I’d spoken in Russian. Frustration lit up my back.
“Be more specific.”
My annoyance faded when her hand slipped beneath my briefs and over the length of my dick. I hissed through my teeth. Heat curled at the base of my spine, sending a shudder outward. Nothing was practiced about her touch—in fact, it felt a little unsure. I didn’t know if it was because I’d waited so long to get to this point with her or because her inexperience was a novelty, but, disturbingly enough, her hand down my briefs made me harder than I’d ever been in my life.
“I want this,” she breathed, wrapping her fingers around my cock before slowly stroking it from the base to the head. A low groan rose up my throat. I needed to tighten her grip, but knowing I couldn’t let her push me too far yet, I covered her hand with mine to still the movement.
“There aren’t going to be any rose petals or lit candles,” I told her.
She pursed her lips. “Not even one—”
“No.”
The smallest smile appeared, and I experienced the weird urge to kiss it off her mouth. I found the compulsion so annoying my grasp on her hair tightened, roughly tugging her head back farther.
She exhaled. “Fine.”
Feeling like I needed to make myself crystal clear, I said, “I’m not going to fuck you slow and sweet.”
“Bummer.” She pouted. “I thought I was in for something really romantic here.”
I was too hard to be amused by her sarcasm.
“It’ll mean nothing to me afterward.”
“God, stop talking,” she said with frustration. “I’m not tha
t delicate. Just fuck me like you would Nadia.”
My entire body quieted. The fact that shit just came out of her mouth sent a wave of fury down my spine. In a flash, I threw her onto her hands and knees, yanked her head back by her hair, and pressed my hard cock against her ass.
“This?” I growled. “This is how you want me to fuck you?”
She panted, not resisting the hold I had on her hair, before saying harshly, “As long as it lasts longer than two seconds this time.”
I was now more pissed than I was hard. And it had nothing to do with her revoking my man card. Mila didn’t seem to give a shit if I fucked her like anyone else, while I felt like setting Moscow on fire at just the idea she was imagining someone other than me.
When I released my grip on her hair, she exhaled, her head falling forward.
“I don’t want to hear that name on your lips ever again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I fucking said so.” Because I didn’t like it. If she wanted it just like Nadia, she should have brought another woman in with her. And, oddly enough, I didn’t want anyone else’s hands on Mila—females included.
She glanced at me over her shoulder, and the soft look in her eyes, unsure but hot, rushed all my attention to my dick pressed against her ass. The anger dissolved, leaving my body tight and throbbing with suppressed lust.
I grabbed her shorts and pulled them down, exhaling a ragged breath at the sight. Running my hands over her ass, I molded the soft flesh to fit my palms before slapping it. Mila inhaled, and her hips arched, all that blonde hair trailing to the small of her back.
I couldn’t stop myself from pulling back to bite each bare cheek and then lick her from her pussy to her ass. She moaned and rocked back against me. I wanted to make her come on my tongue, but a single taste made my balls ache.
I wiped a hand across my mouth in an effort to calm the blood pounding in my ears. Though the sight of her on her hands and knees stretched my willpower thin. She was so goddamn hot, I slapped her ass again hard.
The Darkest Temptation Page 27