For a second, I feel that crippling vulnerability that I loathe so much. "Do I need to need something?" I snap. He arches a brow. I roll my eyes on a sigh and turn away, pulling the door open. "Dick," I mumble. Of course, Donovan is right in front of me like Ronan's prized lap dog. "Ronan, tell your fucking dog to heel before I snap his neck."
"Come back here, Camilla."
I spin to face him with a smirk. "Don't mistake me for one of your pets, Russian."
Inhaling, he pushes up from his desk and crosses the room. The second he's in front of me, he's fisting my hair and yanking my head back. "Oh, I don't." He grins.
Pain reverberates through every inch of my stomach, but I mash my teeth together, refusing to show it. The door slams shut behind me and then it's just me and him again, that familiar tension crackling between us. The dominance, the pain, the ruthlessness of war...such a heady blend. He tightens his hold in my hair, bringing my face mere inches from his. The warmth of his breath washes over my face and I close my eyes, succumbing to his allure.
"I expect you to treat me with more respect." His lips brush mine with each word.
"I get stabbed at one of your stupid parties, and you can barely be bothered to speak to me. And you want to talk about respect," I practically growl.
One side of his lips curl. "I've been busy."
I try to break from his hold but he won't let me. "Ah, yes. World domination. Of course."
"No." He backs me against the wall. His fingers trail down my throat. Softly, gently. "Torturing and killing the man that dared to touch what is mine." His eyes light up with a sadistic pride, flickering like the flames of hell.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You don't get your hands dirty."
"What can I say," he leans in by my neck, "sometimes emotions get the best of me." His teeth rake along the side of my throat, sending goose bumps scattering over my skin.
"You don't have emotions," I say on a shaky breath.
"I didn't think so either... But nobody touches what's mine."
I lift my hand to stroke my fingers over the stubble on his cheek. "You killed for me?" I ask, biting my lip on a grin. Ronan Cole broke his rules for me...again.
"Someone else made you bleed." His tongue traces over my collarbone and I tilt my head to the side.
"Pity. I wish I'd seen it," I breathe, scraping my teeth along his jaw as my pulse picks up.
"He begged for his life," he groans against my ear.
My nails rake through his hair. "Was he alone?"
"No. Just a hitman."
"Do you know who hired him?"
"Not exactly." He grins against my throat. "So much more blood to spill, krasivaya."
I bite back a moan when his fingers trail over my side, sliding the material of my tank up slightly. "I want him, Ronan. When you find him, I want to slit his throat and watch him choke on the blood while he burns."
"So savage." A groan slips through his lips. "They don't understand what you mean to me..." His hands slide along the back of my neck, into my hair. "But they will."
My pulse races and I sway toward Ronan as if pulled by an invisible thread. My lips brush his as a shuddering breath leaves me. I shouldn't like his possession, but I love it. I shouldn't crave this madness, but I revel in it. I need it. I need him. "You'll find him for me?" I kiss him. "So I can do horrible things to him..." I whisper against his lips. His fingers tighten in my hair before he tips my head back, scraping his teeth over my lip.
"Would you really want to take that simple joy away from me?" He kisses my throat, his hands roaming over my body as he backs me against the desk.
Sliding my fingers beneath his shirt, I scratch my nails over his taut stomach and watch his jaw clench. "I'll let you slit his throat if I get to burn him." He swallows hard on a groan. "I know how much you like the blood," I whisper.
There is no greater rush than this, than being wanted by him, than knowing that I and I alone have the ability to unravel his rigid control. He's killed for me and I've been willing to die at his hand. Such bonds are not easily broken, but I'm not sure it scares me as much as it should anymore. His lips trail over my neck, and with each kiss, his hold on my hips grows tighter. His breaths grow ragged, strained. "He made you bleed..."
I stroke his cheek. "He bled more."
"You should be untouchable because you belong to me." He sighs. "But therein lies the problem, no one knows you are mine."
I glance up at him. "I've been seen with you at some of the biggest public events in the country. I'm pretty sure they all assume."
A sly grin works over his lips. "You'll marry me, and then you will be untouchable. We'll be untouchable."
I freeze, and then I laugh. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Russian." I push him back a step, forcing some space between us. A stern expression hardens his face. He's not laughing. Oh my god. "Ronan...don't be ridiculous," I stammer, backing away further.
"You'll be fitted for a dress once your wound has healed."
"No." I shake my head. "This is not... we are not..." I edge around the desk until it's between us, and he eyes the piece of furniture with disdain.
One brow cocks. "It wasn't a question, little kitty."
"You can't just order someone to marry you!" I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
"I thought all savages preferred being dragged to a cave..."
"I do not want to marry you. Jesus, you put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger a week ago!"
"Don't lie to yourself, Camilla." He rounds the desk and I work my way to the other side, determined to keep this piece of furniture between us. "The power beckons you." He smiles.
"I'm Catholic," I blurt.
"Tsk. Tsk. And sharing a bed with the devil, how very unorthodox of you." He stops behind the desk and leans over it.
I lift my middle finger. "You do know, marriage is for life?"
"You do realize I take what I want?"
I throw my head back on a groan. "Ronan!"
"I don't understand why you pretend you hate this." He steps around the desk and takes my hand, that electrical current between us palpable. "We both know you don't. You want me every bit as much as I want you." He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses over my knuckles. "I own you." His gaze lifts to mine. "You own me."
"A man like you cannot be possessed," I whisper. And that's what terrifies me. If I agree to this madness – and it is pure insanity on a level only Ronan could possibly come up with—and marry him, I will never escape him, and god knows I need to before it's too late.
"So certain, little kitty." He presses his body to mine, breathing hard against my cheek. His hands rub over my arms, the stubble on his chin creating friction on my jaw. "I think you're just bad enough I'd allow you to possess me. Mind. Body." He bites at my ear. "Soul. And that is quite the feat."
I place my hands on his chest, staring at them for a moment. "You want to marry me to protect me," I clarify.
"Yes."
"And what if I hadn't been stabbed?" I lift my gaze to his and tilt my head to the side. "You're acting out of fear. It's not you, Ronan. You don't let emotions cloud your judgement."
"This is not fear." He laughs. "It's simply pride." He threads his fingers through my hair. "No one takes what is mine—and you are irrevocably mine, krasivaya."
He's not going to let this go. If I know one thing about Ronan, it's that he always gets what he wants. He will chase me down and force me into this if he has to. I still have time though... until I heal. With any luck, he'll calm down and be rational—if I agree. If I deny him, he'll force the issue on pure principal. I know him. "Okay," I say. "I'll marry you."
15
Ronan
She looks utterly horrified, and I revel in it. She's terrified, I believe, not of me, but of herself—of what she's doing. The color has drained from her face. "You need to go rest, Camilla."
Without a word, she slips through the door, disappearing down the hall. I make my way behind my d
esk and take a seat, drumming my fingers over the wood.
Mr and Mrs Ronan Cole. It has such a dignified ring to it... I busy myself by checking accounts, transferring money from one account to the next. There's a knock on the door and Igor steps inside the room, concern wrinkling his brow. "Nero Verdi canceled his arrangement."
I cock my head to the side and grip the edge of my desk, my blood pressure slowly ticking up. "I'm sorry?"
"Nero Verdi canceled—"
I stand abruptly, tossing my chair to the ground. "I heard what you said," I shout, my face heating as I pace the floor. Nero is the boss of the Italian mafia in New York—a huge client that has been with me since day one.
"He said he'd found a better deal, and..." Igor shifts uncomfortably on his feet, "to tell you it was just business. He hoped you'd understand."
"Oh, I understand," I say through gritted teeth, and with a slow nod, Igor slinks from the room.
In the grand scheme of things, losing the Italians is mere pennies, but I don't lose clients. Ever. Something is off. I feel it, as though something in the wind has changed. My empire is shaking beneath my feet and I'm not yet certain of the cause.
My mind drifts to the man who stabbed Camilla, to his thick Spanish accent. The mention of the ever-elusive Horseman. Could it possibly be that there are invisible tripwires tied to my little kitty and I'm now in the middle of a mine field? A twinge of paranoia sets in, but I manage to shake it off.
I took Camilla with no intentions of keeping her alive, and it would have been stupid for someone to believe I would do anything but kill her. The probability of this being a set-up is non-existent, but... I grab my phone and text Sokolov, demanding he move the detonation of my beloved missile to next week.
If someone is after me, I'll show them I'm no one they can contend with.
16
Camilla
I'm out of time.
It's been nearly three weeks since Ronan made his outrageous proposition. The stab wound in my stomach is still raw, but it no longer hurts. And here I stand, staring at my reflection in the enormous mirror. All I see is endless white lace, and I half expected the dress to be black to match his heart. I look ridiculous. I look... like a bride. At what point did I become someone that anyone would want to marry? But of course it's not just anyone. It's Ronan Cole, the Russian devil, a monster...my monster. And for all of his many faults, I want everything he has to offer. Like the addict I am, I seem to circle the very thing I crave, desperate for just a touch. Only, I'm not circling him anymore. He's consuming me, tearing through my veins until his darkness invades my mind, calling to my own blackened soul.
"I don't like it," Ronan says from behind me.
I turn to face him, placing my hands on my hips. "It's a big white dress, Ronan. What more do you want?"
"Elegance. This," he picks at the lace and drops it, disgust curling his lips, "is offensive."
"Can't we just get Igor to get a marriage license? Why do we have to do the whole thing?"
"And miss the theatrics of it all?" He grins. "Never. Can you imagine if the Queen of England didn't have a ceremony?"
"I'm not the Queen of England," I say, frowning at him.
"Not yet..." He sighs. "Pick another one."
"Ugh!" I tilt my head back and pray for patience. "You pick it."
He walks to one of the racks, picks up the skirt of a dress, and rubs the fabric between his fingers before he tosses it down. He goes through the entire rack before huffing and puffing and turning to another. "Ah," he says, pulling a long, sleek dress out. "Yudashkin. Russian elegance for my cartel princess." He smiles while handing the dress to me.
I take it from him and his fingers brush mine. He motions me toward the fitting room, holding the curtain for me. No sooner have I stepped inside than his fingers are brushing my hair away from my neck. He lowers the zipper of the dress I'm wearing. The warmth of his breath skitters over my neck when I drop the material below my shoulders.
"White does look so pretty on you." His hands glide along my sides, before he gathers the dress in his hands and tugs it over my hips so hard the material rips. All the air rushes from my lungs, and I grab his arm to steady myself.
"You're going to have to pay for that," I say, glancing over my shoulder at him.
"I know." He takes me by the shoulders and slams me forward against the mirror. My nipples instantly harden when the touch the cold glass and his warm body falls against my back. My heavy breaths fog the mirror. Every muscle remains tense. I love when he's like this, rabid, teetering on the edge. "You can't fuck me, Ronan," I tease, knowing exactly what's about to happen.
He tears my underwear off, running his finger over my throbbing pussy before he freezes, a sick grin working over his face. "You think this," he yanks on my tampon, "would stop me?" He laughs while tossing it to the corner of the room. "Oh, little kitty..." He shoves his fingers further inside me. "It's so wet. So bloody." His fingers work hard and deep, and when he pulls them out he smears the blood all over the pristine fabric of the dress on a groan.
I hear the clink of his belt buckle and my pulse skyrockets, thrumming in my ears. This is dirty. Wrong...so wrong. He grabs my hair, winding it around his wrist and yanking my head back so hard I'm afraid my neck will snap. "Tell me, how would you kill me today, krasivaya?" He nips at my ear, teasing me with his cock.
A moan slips from my lips. I can't think straight. "Right now?" I gasp when his cock presses against me, threatening to slip inside. "I wouldn't."
He huffs a small laugh before he pushes the tip in and freezes, scratching his fingers over my scalp. "Then tell me your pussy is bleeding for me."
I push back against him, begging for him to fill me, but he holds me in place, his fingers digging into my hips. "Ronan," I snap, slamming my palm against the mirror in frustration.
His teeth sink into my shoulder and I groan. "Tell me."
"My pussy is bleeding for you," I say in a rush. "Now fuck me." I'm literally begging him but I can't find it in me to care.
"Mean it when you say it," he all but growls into my ear.
I snarl, raking my nails over his arm as I try to force him deeper. "I'm always bleeding for you!" Sometimes I like his games, but now? Now, I just want him.
He laughs and grips the back of my neck, smashing my cheek against the glass. He invades me in every sense of the word, his hard body trapping mine with hot breaths dancing along the back of my neck. My skin flushes with goosebumps and my breaths become nothing more than rapid pants. He reduces me to animal urges and sheer desperate need.
"And you will always bleed for me." His elbow presses into my spine, forcing my chest flush to the mirror as my hips angle toward him. There's no build up, just him driving into me in one thrust. I choke on a breath, biting my lip until I taste blood. "How does it feel to have me inside you?"
I don't respond and he pulls my hair, snatching my head so far back that my back screams in protest. He pulls out and pushes back in on another hard thrust. "Does it make you feel powerful, krasivaya?" He groans beside my ear.
"Yes," I breathe. To be with Ronan like this is to be utterly possessed, wrapped in his power like a moth hovering near the heat of a flame. He makes me want to burn for him, and he knows it.
He pulls out, grabs my shoulders, and spins me around before taking my wrist and pinning it to the mirror. My legs spread and I wrap them around his waist before he laces his blood-coated fingers between mine. Leaning next to my ear, he drags in a staggered breath as though he can't contain himself. Part of me hopes he won't. "Your blood looks so pretty on my skin, Camilla."
I glance down, watching him drive into me. "It looks better on your cock."
"God, yes." He fucks me harder, his hand trailing along my arm to my neck. One by one his slick fingers wrap around my throat and a small smile dances over my lips. A low growl builds in his chest. His grip on my neck becomes bruising as he pushes me higher and higher. "I love your blood on my cock," he groans.
/>
My fingers slip into his hair and I yank his head back, slamming my lips over his. The fingers at my neck tighten and my air supply cuts off for a second. My body hums with pleasure and my mind spins as I come for him. He stiffens, tossing his head back on a groan when my pussy clamps around him.
His hand slips from my neck and I drag in several deep breaths, scratching my nails over his scalp before he slowly disentangles himself from the white fabric bunched at my waist.
"I hope you didn't want this dress." I say, staring down at the streaks of blood.
A slow grin works over his lips. "No."
I force the material over my hips, letting it puddle around me on the floor before I step out of it. There's something powerful about standing in front of him completely naked with my blood and his come running down my thighs.
"I do believe I've never seen you more beautiful."
I smirk and close the small space between us, tracing my fingers over his lower stomach, stopping just short of where he pulled his boxers over his dick. "I should have known you'd like blood on your cock."
He lifts a brow before straightening his coat.
"Give me your jacket," I say.
Ronan glares at me for a moment before sighing and slipping out of his jacket, tossing it at me. I shrug it on and open the dressing room door to find the retail assistant standing in the middle of the showroom, her face white.
I glance back at him. "You can explain the state of that dress to her," I say as I slip from the room.
"Bill me for the dress," I hear Ronan say as I step into the bathroom to clean up.
Only Ronan Cole... He's sick and I shouldn't like it, but of course I do.
17
Camilla
I'm lounging in Ronan's library, a Russian to English dictionary perched on my lap when the door clicks open. Ronan strolls in looking every bit as refined and deadly as always. I close the book and place it beside me.
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