“I don’t regret a lot of things, kotyonok, but I do regret what I did last night.”
“Because you almost lost your collateral,” I replied emotionlessly.
“No,” he said harshly. “Because you could have died.”
I wanted to believe him so much a cold sweat spread through me, but his voice was also so heavy my lungs fought for a dose of oxygen. I needed air, though when I tried to escape, he wouldn’t let me go. Not from the room, the house, or his life. The hold he had on my waist was like granite; hard but smooth to the touch. Futilely, I struggled even as the smell of him—a scent so rough and persuasive—reached my heart, convincing me the last thing I wanted was for him to let me go.
“Tell me what you really want from me, kotyonok. You can have it. Anything besides letting you go.”
A part of me desired to say I wanted nothing else from him, but it was a lie. It seemed I couldn’t force those words past my lips even to save my own soul. It was already his.
“You want to make it even and shoot me for real?” He pulled back and forced cold metal into my palm. “Go for it. It’s fully loaded this time.”
Just the weight of the gun broke a dam inside me, sending hot tears down my cheeks. I sucked in a shaky breath and shook my head, letting the pistol drop to the floor.
“That’s not what I want.”
“A treasure chest of fake diamonds?” He wiped a tear away with a thumb, and the caress pulled honesty from my throat.
“I want you to care . . .” The words settled so thick and uninvited in the room they made my ears ring. It went so silent one could hear a pin drop. Or a heart-shaped earring.
Ronan’s hand dropped from my face, and with a harsh sound, he pushed away from me. “You’re a goddamn headache, you know that?”
His reaction hit me in the chest. I was the headache? He was the one who was so hot and cold, he gave me whiplash. I may be embarrassing myself again, but at the end of this, I would regret not having told him the truth. I would regret acting as if I didn’t care. Now, he knew, and clearly, he didn’t mean I could have “anything” by his look of disgust. This was turning out to be a really shitty day.
“I guess I’ll take the fake diamonds then,” I muttered and headed to the door.
“I feed my captive vegan,” he growled.
The force of his voice stilled me.
“She spends her days doing yoga and playing in the yard and her nights reading classics by the fireplace.” His sardonic tone lacked humor.
I couldn’t decide if he was insulting me or showing he did care in his own twisted way. I wanted to hear more, but all I could do was turn around and accuse, “You’ve been spying on me.”
“Be quiet,” he snapped. “This is my monologue.”
I closed my mouth.
“Keeping you here is a slap in the face to my men, but it seems I don’t give a fuck about that.” The eye contact seared. “The longer I put off revenge, the closer I get to another war with your papa. And I don’t give a fuck about that either.”
My throat tightened at the thought I was a source of that kind of violence. I had no idea my presence here had caused so much trouble.
His gaze narrowed. “You pull a trigger on me, and I can’t even leave you out in the cold for fifteen fucking minutes. So you tell me, Mila, who cares more here?”
The words crept beneath my skin, wrapped around my heart like barbed wire, and tightened a fight-or-flight response in my muscles. I fought the impulse to flee even as he took a step toward me, violence reflecting in his eyes.
“You were going to catch a plane home without saying a word to me, weren’t you?”
I swallowed. He knew I was planning to leave after the night I spent with him in my hotel room. For some reason, the knowledge contracted my chest with guilt. Ronan moved closer. His animosity wrapped around my body as his fingers gripped my face, forcing a ragged exhale from me.
“Am I that easy to leave, kotyonok?”
My breath shallowed at the angry vulnerability he let me see. The worst part was, I shared it: the fear of being abandoned; of not being good enough. This weakness of his twisted my chest. It forced me to change my view of him forever. I’d never again see him as the monster I’d once thought he was but as the hungry, abused boy the worst part of humanity had shaped into a cold-hearted man.
My heart felt so heavy, it compelled me to frame his face with my hands and skim my lips against his scar. The soft action contrasted his rough grip holding me in place. He tensed like he wasn’t sure what I was doing; like he’d never been touched this way before in his life; like he was expecting pain to follow. His simple reaction was my undoing.
“You wanted my misery, but I’m giving you my forgiveness,” I breathed, voice thick. “When you let me go, I won’t turn you in even though I should. I can’t be the person to send you back to prison . . .” I inhaled raggedly. “I’ll walk away when this is over and I won’t look back—though not because I hate you but because I don’t. Not even a little bit . . .”
The words settled around us for a beat before he said drily, “This is getting too close to a Nicholas Sparks movie for me, kotyonok. I just wanted to convince you to let me fuck you again.”
“I’m an emotional fuck,” I replied. “Get over it.”
He chuckled roughly. When my thumb brushed over his scar, he nipped it hard between straight white teeth. I hissed in pain and pulled it free with a glare.
“I’m a rough fuck,” he returned. “Get over it.” The look in his eyes turned turbulent. “If you want to turn me in, so be it. I’d go back to prison for you, kotyonok, but when I get out, there’d better be an ocean between us.”
I suddenly couldn’t even imagine returning to The Moorings; to Carter and the lonely sounds of the Atlantic. A weight compressed my chest, forcing the word from my lips.
“Why?”
His fingers tightened on my cheeks, voice dark. “You have no idea what you would be unleashing on Moscow after years of celibacy.”
As his words sank in, a hot rush of jealousy evaporated all other emotion. The idea of him with other women kicked me in the gut. My entire body rebelled against the idea. I suddenly wanted to imprint myself on him; to make him remember me forever—no matter the consequences.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to mine, sliding my tongue between his lips. He hissed and lifted me so I could wrap my legs around his hips. I’d never felt so small; so feminine and complete. I suddenly knew I would never feel this again; never fit so well with someone else; never meet another man like this.
I may as well enjoy the happily-for-now while it lasted.
He pressed my back against the overturned table and licked the roof of my mouth. At the taste of him and the heat of his body, a fire brewed inside, searing need through me in thick waves. I hummed against his lips, dying for more—for everything he had. Grinding against him and unable to find the friction I needed, a frustrated noise escaped me.
“Fuck me,” I breathed, tugging at his belt buckle.
He groaned and pulled back. “Not here.”
“Here,” I begged, closing the gap again and nipping his bottom lip. “Any way you want. Please.”
“Nyet.” He tried to slide me down his body, but my legs tightened around him. I felt how hard he was and relished in his reaction—that is, until he gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. “Don’t tempt me, kotyonok,” he growled. “I’m not noble enough to turn down the offer.”
“Then don’t.”
He watched me for a second. “Jesus Christ.” With a frustrated noise like he was in pain, he released my hair. “I’ve Stockholm syndromed you.”
I fought a smile. “Mmm,” I agreed and sucked at his neck. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.” I dragged my mouth to his, and after a second of kissing his tepid lips, he kissed me back, gliding his tongue against mine. An empty ache pulsed between my legs, and I grinded against him.
�
�I need it,” I pleaded.
He stilled my movements. “You’ll get it in my room where someone can’t just walk in.”
“Then take me to your room . . . please.”
One of his “fucks” sounded, and I kissed it off his lips then slid my mouth down his neck, sucking and biting wherever I could reach. D’yavol carried me to his bedroom, and the fact I was here against my will no longer mattered when I knew he’d fill the void inside me.
In one way, at least.
phosphenes
(n.) the colors or “stars” one sees when they rub their eyes
Ronan dropped me onto his bed from a height that made me bounce and fell on top of me. Roughly, lips and teeth ran down my throat, drawing a sigh from me. Even bracing himself on his forearms, he was heavy. The weight was perfect, yet so consuming, a fleeting thought of self-preservation rose to the surface.
Though all uncertainty was forgotten when he pushed my dress to my waist, pressed his face between my legs, and inhaled.
“Fuck, kotyonok.” He pulled my thong to the side and slid his tongue inside me.
I groaned, my hips arched, and my hand found purchase in his hair. My legs fell open farther when he licked up to my clit, a shudder running through me.
“God, yes,” I breathed. My fingers tightened in his hair to hold him right there, but he shook off my grip before moving his mouth back down to my entrance. I made a noise of frustration, which turned into a moan when he fucked me with his tongue.
He pulled back, yanked my thong down my legs, and tossed the fabric to the floor. Gaze dark, he stared at my pussy for a second before pressing his face between my thighs with a masculine sound of satisfaction that broke my body out in goose bumps. When he sucked my clit into his mouth, my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Has anyone else done this to you?” he rasped.
Barely interpreting the words, I shook my head.
He made a pleased noise in his throat and pushed two fingers inside me. “And this?”
Panting, I rocked my hips against his hand, but he refused to give me any movement.
“And this?” he repeated roughly.
I never assumed D’yavol would be one to initiate conversation during sex. Though it wasn’t the Russian kingpin between my legs; it was the man who stole my breath and virginity—and maybe my heart. Knowing I wouldn’t get what I wanted until I answered, I nodded.
“How many men have had their fingers inside you?” he growled.
With a heavy sigh, I asked, “How many women have you done this to?”
He didn’t like the question. Hypocrite.
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Why are we talking at all?”
“Because this body is mine, and I need to know who’s fucked with it.” His fingers were still inside me, and it was seriously distracting.
“Can we have this conversation later?”
“Nyet. How many?”
I groaned in frustration, then rattled off a random number. “Seventeen.”
“Malen’kaya lgunishka . . .” His eyes narrowed. “Seventeen, and not one could get you off?”
“How many women have you been with?” I snapped. “I’m sure I’d need to have a one-night stand every day for ten years to match your number.”
He smiled. “Three thousand six hundred and fifty-two is a sum I could only aspire to meet—that is, if we’re taking leap days into account. If not, minus two, and I may have a better shot.”
Did he just do the math in his head? God, that was . . . hot.
“I have faith in you,” I told him. “But be careful. One of them might end up meaning something to you.” The words seared like acid on my tongue.
He watched me for a second. “Ya dumayu uzhe slishkom pozdno dlya etogo.” I didn’t know what he’d said, but the significance of his voice made my throat thick. The words felt . . . oddly touching in a way, even while he was manipulating me to submit by use of sexual torture.
I didn’t want to tell him about my past. I didn’t want to think about Carter and the one other man I’d let get to third base. The Moorings’ Mila and the Mila lying in D’yavol’s bed were so different, I was afraid if I introduced them, everything around me would go up in smoke.
After a heavy moment of eye contact, he pulled his fingers free and moved up my body.
“I need to know, kotyonok.” He pressed his lips to mine softly, and I sighed into his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue. When he pulled away, I grasped his hair and tried to drag him back, but he caught my wrists and shackled them to the mattress on either side of my head, his gaze suddenly serious. “I need to know everything. Who’s kissed you. What you wash your hair with. How many licks it takes you to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.” His eyes hardened. “And if I have to tie you up again to get the answers, I will.”
It should matter that he’d just threatened to restrain me, but it didn’t. My heart loved everything he said and melted in my chest like chocolate. It was impossible to deny Ronan when he showed his semi-sweet side. And I really didn’t want to be tied up again.
“You first,” I said breathlessly.
By his unenthused expression, I didn’t think he’d actually indulge me, so I was surprised when he said, “What do you want to know?”
Oh, so much. Though now I was being given the green light for my questions, all of them evaded me. It was hard to think with him straddling me, his mouth so close to mine. If he wanted to delve into my minuscule sexual history, he had to be just as transparent.
“How many women have you been with?”
“I have no idea, but I can tell you how many I’ve gone down on.”
“And?”
“Four.”
Oh. That number was a lot smaller than I assumed. Still three more than I’d prefer to think about though. I pulled my lip between my teeth, wondering why he didn’t do it often.
“You don’t like it?”
A smile touched his lips as he kissed the hollow behind my ear. “I like it just fine.”
I shivered. “Then why only four?”
“Because it reminds me of shit I’d rather not think about.”
My chest suddenly filled with unease. His posture was relaxed and unmoving as he trailed his lips down my neck, sucking a spot hard enough to leave another hickey behind, but my imagination spun with a cold reality I found hard to stomach.
“You don’t have to tell me anything . . . but my mind’s thinking up the worst right now.”
He chuckled against my throat. “It’s probably right.”
My muscles tensed. “Ronan . . .”
“Relax. I wasn’t abused. Not that way at least.”
I exhaled, my body slackening, but I was still too disturbed to enjoy the press of his mouth. By the slight pause in his posture, he noticed my discomfort and sighed.
“My mother was a drug addict, kotyonok. Wouldn’t doubt if I was born one too.” He skimmed his lips across my frantic pulse point as if he was trying to reassure me. “She fucked to support her habit and was usually so high she had no idea what she was subjecting her sons to. My brother had it the worst. I just became very familiar with spots that can decently hide a five-year-old.”
My entire body was cold besides the burning in my eyes.
“Your brother was . . .” I couldn’t say the rest, but I didn’t need to.
“Da.”
“And you had to . . .” Watch?
“Da.”
Oh, God. I was going to be sick. How could a mother do that to her own child? The idea of how unloved and scared Ronan and his brother must have felt tore at my heart.
After a moment of silence, Ronan pulled back to see the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Fuck,” he cursed softly. “I told you, nothing happened to me.”
I shook my head because the fact he could see it that way and be so indifferent to it told me he’d been through things nobody should ever have to go through.
A tear ran
over my lips. He licked it away and then kissed me, slow and steady, until I found the will to return it. The stress faded beneath the press of his mouth, a kernel of warmth growing.
He ended the kiss. “Your turn.”
What?
Oh, right. His questions.
“Um . . . two,” I said unsteadily. “Two have touched me . . . that way.”
He made a rough noise. “Dvoye mertvetsov.” Two dead men.
I frowned. “I’m not going to tell you stuff if you’re going to kill people because of it.” Odd I needed to make that clear . . . but that was where I was.
His eyes darkened. “Was one of them Ivan?”
“No.”
The look in his gaze cooled. “Fine. They can live.”
“How noble of you,” I returned drily.
“Keep going.”
After a moment of thought, I said, “Five men have kissed me. When I’m not being held captive, I wash my hair with Pacifica. And it takes me three hundred and eighty-eight licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.”
He laughed at the fact I knew the answer to that question. “Fuck.”
That single word said nothing and everything at once.
“Is your curiosity satisfied now?” I questioned.
His eyes grew heated, then he released his grip on my wrists and ran a thumb across my lips.
“Nyet.”
His touch burned and swelled heat inside me. My breath grew shallow. My chest burned. I was at the bottom of a pool, curly hair floating and aglow. And I no longer cared if I drowned.
“Will you fuck me now?” I asked.
He nipped my throat and growled, “Da.”
D’yavol may have stolen my breath.
But I gave him my heart.
Sweat ran rivulets down my back, my long hair was damp and stuck to my skin, and my muscles embodied jelly, moldable and pliant as Ronan put me through every sexual position known to mankind. We would have gone through three condoms by now—if we were using them at least. Not that I didn’t try to encourage it.
The Darkest Temptation Page 30